“I took it like a grown man, crying on the pavement, hoping you would show your face.”
mark loves you in every dimension. every timeline. every universe.
but for sinister, you are nothing more than a ghost, haunting every corner of his mind.
you couldn’t understand when he started to change into this version of himself. you didn’t approve. you loved him – why would hurt you like this? why would he treat your world – your home – like an afterthought?
he was teetering on the edge of oblivion, and you were the tether that kept him upright in the light. until, one day, you were fighting. yelling. crying. you stormed out of the house, telling him not to follow as you slammed the car door shut and drove away. he never listened to anyone anymore, but he listened to you. so he stayed.
it had only been twenty minutes. not even half an hour that you’d been gone. he was on the couch, trying to justify his darkening mindset by watching the fucked up reality that was the 24 hour news cycle. another war, another bombing, another human trafficking ring.
and then, a car crash. a semi that lost control of its breaking system. barreled straight through an intersection at a red light. the news painted it like a miracle that only one car was hit.
his stomach turned inside out.
he didn’t even open the door. blew through it like paper and cut through the sky with a sonic boom. he couldn’t think a single thought other than no. no no no.
but he knew the minute he reached that street. knew the minute he collapsed into the fires and gasoline. he was on his knees, curled over himself. the whine of sirens echoing in his ears drowned out the sound of his own cries.
please god don’t do this – please please please don’t take her – PLEASE i have never asked you for anything i just need a miracle, an angel—
his prayers were answered in the form of a uniformed medical personnel placing a hand to his shoulder, asking if he knew the victim. telling him you were in an ambulance. he couldn’t bring himself to sit in the back with you – as if it would be different if he just didn’t look. he sat in the passenger seat, every muscle in his body visibly shaking. his eyes tight as he starred out the windshield.
“[y/n], do you feel okay? are you okay?” he asked you.
you never answered, and he couldn’t handle the truth in the silence. he needed to hear your voice, needed to hear you telling him you were fine.
the driver flipped off their sirens before they’d even reached the hospital. mark’s nails dug so harshly into his palms they bled.
your face was covered with a white sheet when they wheeled you out at the ambulance bay. some faceless EMT tried to tell him not to think too much about it – that it was just procedure. he would’ve killed them at any other time for talking to him as if he were dumb. he knew this wasn’t procedure. he knew what this meant.
and yet, he wanted to believe them.
It felt like a lifetime, but was probably closer to an hour, when the doctors came out and told him. you had been with child.
suddenly all he could see when he closed his eyes was his child, crying inside your stomach.
mark reshaped the entire landscape of the planet in his grief, his teeth ripping out of his head as he screamed through every punch, every dive of his body through a mountainside, every ocean that boiled beneath his heat.
he lived his life with restless nights and haunted nightmares from that day forward. and he, along with humanity, never knew peace, or love, again.
this first line is from the song 'I Can Feel a Hot One' by Manchester Orchestra
the whole thing takes snippets from the lyrics
