Chapter Text
The screams, the pleas, and then the silence.
Silence. Emptiness. Nothing but the wreckage of Paris, and the endless skies above him. Somehow Mark was still alive. This was how he was supposed to die, for another’s vengeance, another’s anger. He was not a hypocrite, he couldn’t begrudge Angstrom for it. For the rage, for the sheer senseless destruction.
But it was supposed to be the end. Mark was not supposed to be here still, covered in the blood of those who were supposed to defend this place, supposed to kill him. They were not supposed to be ripped apart, paper thin, he did not want to be invincible.
Why was he here then?
It was true that nobody could withstand him, but he did not need to fight, he did not need to tear through so many heroes, and he did not need to deny them the chance to destroy him. Their weakness didn’t matter, it was not their fault they had failed to kill him, he had not allowed it. It did not matter how often Mark wanted to close his eyes, to let his final thought be the hope of somewhere better, somewhere he could see him again… the power to let this happen was always in his hands, but he never allowed it.
Some lowly obsolete part of him still craved life, to continue drawing breath into his lungs, to stave off starvation, to maintain hydration, and what was the point anymore? It never brought him any closer to…
The realization hit him suddenly, and the ground beneath him cracked with the force he left it, a violent ascent into the sky. His eyes widened, gaze darting about, frantic in his attempt to figure out which horizon he needed, which direction would take him to the one thing that could make him whole again.
This entire time, Mark had been a fool, he’d operated on autopilot, thoughtless until now. Another universe, the implication of that had not been reflected on. Every Mark Grayson that Angstrom recruited was there to cause devastation for the one who lived in this place. And yet he hadn’t thought about it, where there was another Mark, there could be another William.
He could still be alive, here and now.
With this newfound information, Angstrom did not matter, his vengeance was unimportant, and his promises were dust. There was only the horizon, the very one that would take him away from Paris, and towards the States. Towards Chicago, towards Upstate University. For the first time in so long, there was a purpose, he was not operating from subconscious impulse, there could be something, he could be someone again.
But… Was that right?
He was there quickly, mere seconds passed before he arrived but it was still enough time for his rational mind to interfere, to question. Did it matter if William was alive in this world? Mark might as well have been a stranger to him, he was not from here, he did not belong here, he was an invader. What right did he have to imagine this? To put the William of this place on a pedestal, to think that everything would be fixed once he saw him? Once he could hear his voice, once he could hold him again.
It was absurd.
The disconnect had returned, he gave up once more, so close to being certain, to feeling. He descended, boots meeting the ground, staring at the burning university. It was wrong, it was pointless, he shouldn’t have come here.
“I miss you, William,” he said, and the world answered.
“...Mark?”
He was an idiot.
William knew. He knew that at any moment, something like this was going to happen. These were the people bringing ruin to the world, the ones uprooting everything, murdering millions. And yet, they wore Mark’s face. The one that had grown alongside him, through scraped knees and first crushes, to be afraid of Mark was something foreign, strange, and alien.
And so, the sound of somebody flying by, the sight of that familiar costume, that familiar face, none of it incited fear. Instead, there was safety there, salvation. Enough to ignore the terror of his boyfriend behind him, to step forward and speak his surprise.
“Mark?” He called, a relieved smile already gracing his face.
But there was no outward reaction, no calling back. Instead, the person in front of him, their savior, remained silent and still. Too far away to perceive the widening of his eyes. Before William could correct this, he was being pulled away, Rick’s back entered his view, a barrier between himself and his best friend.
“That’s not Mark!” Rick yelled, trembling.
Ah.
They were dead. They were going to die, and all because William had been an idiot. All because he had forgotten the very real situation. All because he’d wanted his best friend, he’d yearned and craved for Mark to come down and save them, and now the both of them were going to die. Enhanced as Rick might have been, so many parts of him replaced by machinery, there was no chance of survival against somebody like… this fake, this copy of Mark. Rick might as well have been tissue paper.
William wondered if it would be painful. Would they be ripped apart piece by piece? Peeled and torn? Or was the creature in front of them at least merciful enough to make it quick? To let their heads roll and be done with it. This was all William could do, wonder and wait, utterly powerless. All because he hadn’t run as soon as he could.
He couldn’t even say he was sorry, he couldn’t even say goodbye to Rick, so heavy was that terror, all he could do was cling, tremble and wait…
And wait… And. Wait.
…
For the love of god, what was this? Time dilation? Were seconds ticking down like hours? Did his mind snap? What was with all the waiting? Why weren’t they dead already? Why did they still have all their limbs? Why were they not torn away from each other? Why are they still alive? The terror could not remain the dominating force in his body, under the weight of all these questions, and the need to verify. He tilted, and he dared a glance from around Rick.
Only to see that familiar face, staring at them. Watching them. This… fake, this invader, this… Mark, hadn’t moved, not even an inch toward them. He only watched, with an expression that really shouldn’t have been present on his bloodied face.
A mirror of William’s expression, and the expression he was sure rested on Rick’s face as well. Like a deer in headlights, wide-eyed and frozen, clad in that outdated blue and yellow costume.
The seconds drummed by long enough that even Rick could not stay still forever, he could not stay resolutely there. William witnessed the shift in his posture, and soon he met Rick’s gaze, their confusion laced together, for a moment they were one animal, confusion, and optimism as one…
Rick began the motion, and William followed, stepping back, creating distance between themselves and ‘Mark’. But the further they moved, the greater the distance, the harder it became for William to keep that up. It was inevitable that he stopped, that Rick ended up bumping into him, and that he had to whisper.
“Rick, we can’t just leave him there.”
“What?? William- What are you talking about? We have to. We need to get away while he’s still-”
“Rick, look at him. He’s─ I’m not leaving him here.”
It was insane. It was the exact line in the sand he shouldn’t have made. But seeing Mark right there, staring at him in that way… William couldn’t leave it like that.
Rick didn’t respond right away, there was silence, and silence, until finally: “If he snaps, I want you to run, as fast as you can.”
With that grim portent, their progress away from that murderer was reversed. Until together, in silence, all three of them stood. Each waits for the other to break the tension, each waiting for the quiet to end, each unwilling to be the first.
Instructions were being spoken into his ear.
Phase one was complete. Mark wasn’t supposed to be there any longer. He was off-script. It was the perfect reason to leave, to end this. Even if he didn’t care for what was promised, surely it would have been better.
Because the evidence was right there. He wasn’t a stranger to this William, but it was near enough, they weren’t even together here. There was someone else. Rick. Of course, there was some universe where those two ended up together. But that variation was not particularly striking, not compared to the more relevant fact: William is alive here.
He’s breathing, he’s standing, he’s talking. He even came back. Mark had almost let himself settle on a simple glance, he’d almost accepted that William was about to leave him again, forever. But no, he came back, he was right there, Mark could walk over and touch him if he wished, have him, tear him away from the guy who had their hands on him. Right on his shoulders… it looked like he planned to throw William at the slightest disturbance.
Not that it mattered. They were right to be afraid, if he wanted he could cross the distance between them and neither would be able to react in time. He could pretend, he could have everything he wanted right then and there, he could have William.
He turned away instead.
“Wait!”
By itself, the command was debilitating, but not so restrictive. It would not have been enough on its own, but it seemed William had pulled himself from Rick’s grasp, for it wasn’t just the voice. It was his hand, his fingers, wrapped around Mark’s wrist. That was what froze him to the spot, that was what had him so easily trapped, even as he kept his gaze on the horizon, on the burning buildings, on anything other than the replica of his beloved right behind him.
“You can’t just leave. I mean, what the fuck? You think you can just.. Come here, scare the shit out of us, and then dip out? No. Look at me, Mark.”
The strength he had to deny William, to refuse him of anything had already died out in the last few seconds. He didn’t want to, he knew where this road led, but he followed the command nonetheless, he turned, he looked, and he remembered.
Mark had stopped counting the days, the months, the years. It stopped mattering once William had died. But now he knew it must have been a long time. Because he’d forgotten William’s face, the details bled away over time. And now, he was right there, vivid in a way Mark never imagined he’d be able to regain.
Not to mention the voice, asking such a ridiculous question.
“... Why aren’t you killing us?”
How could he not laugh? How could he stop himself? Sure, in some part of his mind, Mark knew the question was rational, he knew why William would ask that. But it was so nonsensical, kill him? Kill William? It was impossible, it was unthinkable. Amid Mark’s laughter, William had let go, fear reinstated. Rick was moving closer, but Mark was faster, so much faster.
His arms wrapped around William, he heard the frightened gasp, felt the tension of the other’s body, the terrified squirming of an animal backed into a corner. He heard Rick’s yells, heard him begging. But it all fell on deaf ears.
By the time Rick was trying to wrench him away, Mark’s laughter was laced with sobs, tears freely streaming down his face. It wasn’t right, he knew it wasn’t right, he knew he didn’t belong here, that William wasn’t his, not in the here and now. He didn’t care.
For the first time in so very long, Mark was whole.