Chapter Text
[William]
William had carried feelings for Mark for as long as he could remember. It was this constant, annoying hum in the background of his life, anchored to that goofy nerd who couldn't start a conversation without tripping over his own tongue. Mark was a total disaster when it came to being smooth, and William had spent years pining from the sidelines, basically memorizing every awkward stutter and shy grin like it was his job.
But William wasn't stupid. He knew how the world worked. Mark was the classic guy, straight as a ruler and destined for some girl in a sundress. For William, the fact that Mark even took the news of him being gay without making it weird felt like a damn miracle. It was a sharp sting compared to his own parents, who treated his identity like a seasonal flu that would just pass if they ignored it long enough. Mark actually saw him, and William would rather die than ruin the only safe spot he had by confessing something that would just make things awkward.
They were supposed to be a duo, an inseparable set. Then senior year hit, and the forever William had imagined started to rot.
The distancing wasn't some dramatic explosion. It was just... quiet. Mark’s entire universe started revolving around Amber. He was so busy playing the charming boyfriend and trying his best to impress her that William was left to just sit there in the silence of another canceled movie night. He’d never felt so much like a discarded toy, watching from the side while Mark built a life that didn't have a single opening for his childhood best friend.
So, William did what anyone does when they’re lonely... He grabbed onto the first person who didn't look away and gave him attention.
He met Rick during the summer and tried his absolute hardest to force his heart to do something, anything, for someone new. He wanted to love Rick. He really did. He wanted to overwrite every single memory of Mark with something that didn't hurt so much. It was a desperate move to kill off a crush that had stayed past its welcome.
When Mark finally resurfaced, he didn't lead with an apology. There was no "hey William, sorry for ghosting you" or a promise to make up for the weeks of silence. Instead, the first thing out of his mouth was a question about how Amber was doing. It tore a fresh, ugly scar right through William’s chest. Even with Rick stepping up, offering constant affection and messages that actually meant something, the jagged edges of that betrayal wouldn't smooth over.
It wasn't exactly a shock that Mark and Amber were hitting the rocks. Turns out, disappearing into thin air every other day is a great way to tank a relationship. William couldn't help but let out a bitter snort when Mark suddenly decided he wanted to gatecrash the campus trip William had planned with Rick. He actually had the gall to ask if he could bring Amber along, like he could just use William as a prop to manufacture some "normal" double-date moment. It was pathetic, and for the first time, William felt less like a pining best friend and more like a spectator watching a train wreck he no longer cared to stop.
Then the nightmare with Sinclair happened. When those metal monstrosities tore through the campus like a meat grinder, William’s very first thought was a bitter, exhausting wave of déjà vu. He assumed it was just classic Mark, ditching them the exact second things got heavy, and he was already preparing to chew his best friend out for the rest of the semester.
But then Invincible dropped from the sky.
Watching the local hero block those lethal claws and absolutely dismantle those mechanical corpses with ungodly force should have been a relief. Instead, it brought a sickeningly cold, hyper-focused clarity right to William's chest. Even with the stupid mask, the body language was identical. The posture, the build, the voice, it was all so glaringly obvious he felt like an absolute idiot for missing it.
Invincible was Mark. His nerdy, comic-shop-dwelling best friend was the latest hero sensation in Chicago.
When William finally backed him into a corner and confronted him about it, the guy was a complete disaster. Mark was dodgy, stuttering, his face a total mess of pure panic and stress because Amber had officially dumped his pathetic ass right after the campus scuffle. And for a split second, a dark, incredibly toxic little thought crept into William's mind. He looked at that stressed-out face and thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the exact opening he had wanted for years. If Mark was single, if he needed comfort, maybe he could finally look at William the way William had always secretly wanted.
He banished the thought instantly, feeling a sudden wave of intense guilt. He couldn't do that to himself, or to his partner... He had Rick. Beautiful, sweet Rick.
And then his entire world fucking fell apart. Rick was gone, snatched up by that psycho Sinclair, and when William turned to his literal superhero best friend for immediate help, the absolute bastard didn't even take him seriously. Mark actually thought William was just acting out for attention, blowing off his boyfriend's literal kidnapping like it was just some dramatic tantrum. William had never felt so utterly disgusted in his entire life.
He was forced to save his boyfriend completely on his own, marching into that basement only to get knocked out cold by that crazy scientist like some helpless, tragic extra in a horror movie. In the end, Mark finally showed up to play hero, but the big guy was just getting his super-powered ass handed to him by those metal monsters. If William hadn't managed to shake off his fear and talk the mechanical version of Rick right out of Sinclair’s programming, both of them would have ended up as the next set of screaming victims pinned to a lab table. The celebrated local hero wasn't the one who saved the day, the human was the one who had to pick up the broken pieces.
Months passed, and the world just kept finding creative new ways to break him. Then the big one hit. Omni-Man wasn't a noble guardian, he was a cold-blooded alien conqueror, and before the world completely fractured, that monster came looking for his son.
That was easily the scariest moment of William’s life. Nolan had cornered him on the road home, looming over him with an oppressive, suffocating aura of pure death. The man who had practically been a second father to William was suddenly a terrifying stranger demanding to know exactly where Mark was.
William had been completely paralyzed with fear, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it was deafening. He knew he was one wrong word away from being painted across the pavement. Terrified out of his mind, he had forced himself to stammer out a dodging, vague answer, playing dumb just well enough to deflect the extraterrestrial killer. Nolan had stared right through him for a horrifying, endless second before flying off, leaving William shaking on his car, acutely aware of how lucky he was to even be alive.
Then the actual nightmare began. Mark got the absolute shit beaten out of him by his own father. Watching the news feeds afterward, William spent hours glued to the screen in a daze. Chicago was completely leveled, thousands of innocent people were dead, and William wanted to be there for Mark through the aftermath. He really, truly did. But when the dust settled, Mark was so caught up in the heavy wreckage of his own monumental trauma that he couldn't even see the people around him who were losing sleep over his crumbling mental health.
Then, of course, Mark had to go to space. Apparently, dear old Dad wanted a little chat, and wouldn't you know it, Nolan Grayson had already moved on to some alien bug and shoved the resulting purple baby right into Mark’s hands. It was a cosmic joke, and the ultimate punchline was Mark dropping out of school entirely to become a full-time intergalactic babysitter and hero.
The connection between them didn't just snap, it eroded over weeks of silence. Every text back and forth was incredibly strained. Every conversation felt like pulling teeth without anesthesia. William didn't know how to talk to a guy who was busier saving the planet from alien threats than passing basic exams. When Mark officially packed his bags and dropped out of college, the room they shared felt less like a home and more like another dull, empty space he was forced to live in. It was hollow, echoing with the crushing silence of a friendship that was already dead on arrival.
What made it worse was his relationship with Rick didn't survive for long either. Rick was struggling hard, his mind completely fractured by severe body dysmorphia and the recurring, screaming nightmares of what Sinclair had done to his skin and bones. William tried his absolute best to be the stable anchor, but he was already drowning in his own emotional mess. He couldn't fix a broken cyborg when he couldn't even fix his own feelings. In the end, they called it quits, deciding a clean break was the only way to keep from destroying each other entirely.
So now, here he was, sitting on a rusty swing in the same rundown playground where it all started. He’d ditched the college dorms, looking for some quiet in this abandoned corner of his childhood neighborhood. He stared at the dilapidated metal structures and remembered a time when his biggest problem was snatching Mark’s stupid comic books and making him chase him around the block until they both couldn't breathe from laughing so hard.
A small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was all so simple back then. He wished they could go back to a time when Mark wasn't a hero, back when he hadn't been beaten half to death by his own father. He deeply missed the nights when they’d stay up way too late playing some childish video game he could barely remember now, eventually falling into a tangled heap on the floor and passing out on top of each other, only for Debbie to find them giggling in the morning. Back then, they were just two stupid kids. Now, they were just two total strangers who happened to know each other’s names.
He gripped the cold, rusted chains of the swing, moving back and forth just enough to coax out a soft, rhythmic metallic creak from the frame. It was a incredibly lonely sound, a mechanical whine that seemed to echo the hollow feeling in his chest as he slowly drifted into a quiet lull. He wished he’d never done it. He wished he had never wasted all those painful years feeling this way for a guy who couldn't seem to see past the wreckage of his own life to notice the person standing right in front of him.
The evening air was getting cooler, freezing his bare skin, but William didn't have the energy to move. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, the deep exhaustion of the last few months finally catching up to him in one massive, suffocating wave. The world began to blur at the edges, turning the playground into a smear of grey shadows and rusted orange metal.
The last thing he saw before the darkness pulled him under was a sharp white streak cutting through the evening sky. It was incredibly fast, purposeful, and flying so far above him that it felt like it belonged to another world entirely.
Probably just another global crisis, he thought bitterly, his head lolling against the rough metal link of the swing chain.
"Good luck with that one, Mark." He murmured. Then, his eyes slipped shut, and the quiet completely took over.
[Full Mask]
Mark hovered in the stagnant air, his chest heaving behind the reinforced fabric of his cowl as the others flew overhead and went right past him toward their destructive destinations. They were really doing this... He was really doing this. He wished he never had to cause untold death and destruction, but the universe hadn't exactly left him with a choice. He missed his mom so much, he felt so entirely hollow since her passing. He just wanted to hear her soft laugh again, to have her wrap him in a hug and tell him she was proud, that he was doing the right thing. But she was gone. His bastard of a father had made sure of that, tearing her away from him in the most brutal way possible.
He was drowning in so much desperation and rage that he hadn't even hesitated when he agreed to Angstrom’s plan to ruin this dimension's Invincible. Apparently, the local version of him had done something so unforgivable that Angstrom was consumed by a multi-dimensional grudge. The crazy bastard claimed they were evil, but Mark highly doubted anyone in any reality could be worse than the monster who’d butchered his mother. Flying toward his assigned sector, the landscape below blurred into a dull streak of gray and brown. Then, a familiar, heartbreaking shape caught his eye. The old park. The exact playground where he and William used to spend every summer afternoon when they were still kids.
William.
God, his father hadn't spared his best friend either back home. It was entirely Mark's own fault for not joining his dad when he had the chance, because he hadn't, everyone close to him had paid the ultimate price in blood. He clenched his fist so hard his knuckles creaked through his gloves, slowing his flight to a complete hover as he looked down at the skeletal remains of his childhood. Memories of happier times flooded his mind, back when his only worry was keeping up with William's frantic energy, racing toward the slides, and sharing cheap popsicles under the sun.
He was incredibly glad he was faster than the robotic drone that had been assigned to follow him. If he’d been even a second slower, he’d still be hearing that bastard Angstrom’s voice screaming in his ear through the comms to get on with the killing. He descended slowly, his boots crunching softly onto the gravel of the dilapidated playground. This place was an absolute wreck. It seemed the city council in this universe didn't care enough to fix it up, unlike the pristine, vibrant version he remembered in his own world before everything went to hell.
A bittersweet smile pulled at his lips beneath the mask, his chest tightening as the sudden memory of his mother bringing them here struck him like a punch to the gut. She’d always take him and William because the brunette's parents were always too busy with work or just plain gone, leaving his friend to rot in that empty house all alone. It had been a true miracle their homes were right next to each other. Thinking back on it now, it was a wonder nothing terrible had happened during all those late-night bedroom visits, considering the literal alien conqueror living under his own roof.
Mark scanned the skeletal remains of the rusted equipment until a subtle, rhythmic motion nearby caught his eye. His heart didn’t just skip, it stopped entirely. A cold, leaden weight dropped into the pit of his stomach, freezing the blood in his veins.
There, slumped in a swing seat that complained with every tiny sway, was a figure. A messy shock of familiar hair and a frame that looked far too fragile against the jagged, peeling metal around him.
His thoughts ground to a complete halt as his brain refused to process the person he was looking at. He couldn't believe his eyes. The sheer shock hit him like a tidal wave, sending a rush of overwhelming emotion crashing through his chest. It was him... It was actually him! The agonizing ache of missing his friend for so long flared up, making his eyes sting behind his cowl.
The brunette looked utterly drained, his head lolling to the side with a heavy, unnatural weight that made his neck look painfully thin and vulnerable. This wasn't a cruel hallucination or another of Angstrom’s sick, multiversal tricks. This was William, alive and breathing. As Mark took a tentative, trembling step forward, the nonsensical destructive mission he’d been sent here to execute dissolved into distant, meaningless static. He should be out there leveling city blocks. He should be causing untold suffering and despair to the common populace and yet he couldn't pull his gaze away from the teen on the swing for even a fraction of a second.
"William?" he breathed. The name came out as a broken, fragile whisper, a hollowed sound that the evening wind tried to snatch away before it could ever reach those sleeping ears.
He moved forward with agonizing slowness, his heavy boots barely disturbing the loose gravel beneath him. He was absolutely terrified that even the slightest sound would shatter this impossible illusion, destroying the first moment of true peace he’d seen in years. As he got closer, the details began to sting his eyes. William had deep, bruised bags hanging under his eyes, and the faint, salty tracks of dried tears stained his pale cheeks. He looked like someone who had been running on empty for months, finally collapsing into oblivion the second the world stopped looking.
Mark stood directly in front of him, his broad shadow falling over the swing like a dark, protective shroud. When William mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, the soft, pained sound made Mark’s chest tighten with absolute agony. The brunette was slumped awkwardly against the heavy chain, sleeping like that would leave him a mess of aches when he finally woke up. Yet, Mark didn't dare wake him. He couldn't bring himself to face those kind, familiar eyes while hiding the face of a murderer beneath his mask.
Slowly, he dropped to his knees in the dirt. He was stronger than almost anyone in this world, a literal weapon of mass destruction capable of cracking mountains, and yet he felt incredibly small as he studied that serene, exhausted face. Mark found himself utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his eyes away from the guy before him. He drank in the sight of William like a man dying of thirst, capturing the way the faint evening light caught the curve of his cheek, the soft flutter of his eyelashes, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing. For the first time in years, the chaotic noise of the world completely faded, replaced entirely by the beautiful, agonizing reality of the person right in front of him.
The guilt hit him then, a visceral, sickening realization that twisted tightly in his gut. He knew he hadn't been a good friend. Back in his dimension, and clearly here in this one too, he had been so completely obsessed with the world at large. He had been a selfish bastard, a terrible friend who took every ounce of William’s boundless kindness for granted, giving nothing but the barest minimum in return. He had been so desperately chasing the approval of his mom and dad, so utterly infatuated with his flashy new superhero life and the exciting new bonds he was forming with the Teen Team, that he had simply pushed William into the periphery. He had treated the one person who actually gave a damn about him like a background character in his own grand, epic tragedy. He had ignored the frantic texts, skipped the planned hangouts, and left William waiting around in empty rooms while he went off to play the hero.
He clenched his fist, the leather of his glove creaking loudly in the quiet of the park. He had done William so dirty. He’d let his friend offer up every single ounce of unconditional emotional support, happily absorbing the sarcastic jokes, the fierce loyalty, and the welcoming presence, yet he’d never bothered to truly return the favor. He had treated a fragile human heart like it was just as indestructible as his own Viltrumite flesh, entirely forgetting that unlike him, William could actually break under the weight of neglect.
And William did break... His William back home was gone because of it.
As he stared at that face, at the familiar line of that perfect Greek nose and the soft, vulnerable curve of his jaw, Mark couldn't stop himself from trying to close the distance. His hand reached out automatically, his dark, heavy glove looking like an ominous shadow against such pale, soft skin. He took his time, using the moment to memorize every single microscopic detail of William's face, meticulously capturing the image to fill in the dark, hollow spaces of the lost memories he carried of his deceased friend back in his own dimension. He traced the lines of his features with his eyes, committing the sight to his soul so he would never, ever forget it again. Gently, he brushed a stray strand of brunette hair off William’s forehead, the tender motion earning a little, familiar grumble from the sleeping boy.
Mark paused instantly, his heart hammering violently against his ribs like a trapped bird. He froze in place, waiting for William to bolt upright in terror, to scream, to realize that a dangerous Mark from another dimension was kneeling in the dirt right before him. But the brunette didn't wake up. Instead, as if seeking comfort from the freezing evening air, his cheek naturally leaned over and rested against the back of Mark’s gloved hand. He let out a soft, deep sigh of pure contentment, tilting his head to sink into the steady warmth of the touch instead of the cold, biting iron of the swing chain he’d been resting on.
The sheer trust in that unconscious movement was enough to make Mark’s chest tighten until it hurt. William was actively seeking comfort from the very thing that was supposed to end this world and make their version of Invincible hated. He looked so incredibly worn down, so thoroughly abandoned by the Mark of this world. Mark would know, after all, the countless, agonizing viewings all the variants had been forced to watch back in Angstrom's domain showed the exact same pattern. The Mark of this dimension only had one person occupying his entire month, that being Eve, completely forgetting about his friends and his family in the process. It made a burning hatred flare up in Mark's gut for the local hero. It was an absolute tragedy, seeing a masterpiece of loyalty like William being left to rot alone in a rundown playground.
Mark had been a fool back home, and the Mark here was an even bigger idiot. They had possessed something truly precious, something that didn't need a cape or a medal to be perfect, and they had just let the wind blow it away. Mark didn't move his hand. He stayed right there, kneeling in the dirt and gravel, acting as a human heater for a guy who had finally stopped shivering against the cold air.
“I've got you,” he whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion and barely a sound at all.
In the far distance, the low, irritating hum of the drone buzzed as it scanned the area to search for him, a stark reminder that Angstrom was watching and the destructive mission was waiting. But looking down at William, Mark felt a cold, jagged resolve take root deep in his soul. If this world didn't want him, if this world’s pathetic Mark was just going to ignore him until there was nothing left, then maybe it was better if he just took what remained. If the local hero could do this to his own best friend, then this version of his mom wouldn’t be treated any different. Neither of them deserved the people who loved them, but unlike this world's Mark, he would happily ignore the entire world for those who actually deserved his attention.
He shifted his weight, moving with a fluid grace that felt predatory even in its absolute gentleness. He reached out, his powerful arms sliding beneath William’s knees and behind his back to cradle him away from the rusted seat. He moved with agonizing slowness, making sure the brunette was still entirely lost in that heavy, exhausted sleep as he gathered the human into his arms. The swing gave one final, sharp creak, and the sudden change in motion caused Mark to freeze instantly.
He looked down and saw William’s eyes flutter, blearily opening just a tiny crack.
“Hmm?” William’s voice was barely a thread of sound, thick with the kind of deep sleep that made reality feel like a hazy dream. He stared up at the dark, unfamiliar fabric of the mask, his pupils blown and completely unfocused. “Huh?”
Mark gently shushed him, the low sound vibrating through his own chest to soothe the boy. “Shhh, William. It’s me.”
The brunette didn't pull away in fear. Instead, he naturally snuggled closer into the embrace, his head lolling against Mark’s shoulder as if the Viltrumite’s intense body warmth were a beacon in the biting afternoon breeze. He was so completely pliable, so heavy in that specific way only a truly tired person can be when they finally give up.
“Mark?” William mumbled, his eyelids drooping heavily as he fought a losing battle to stay awake. He squinted weakly at the dark, reinforced lines of the foreign suit. “Why are you wearing a mask?”
Mark let out a low, soft chuckle at the slight, adorable slur in the boy's voice. It was the comforting sound of someone whose brain hadn't quite caught up to the waking world yet.
“Don’t ask, William. Just sleep. I’m taking you home,” he said, his voice dropping into a soothing, commanding tone that brooked no argument. He adjusted his secure grip, pulling William even closer against his chest, shielding him from the world.
William didn't fight him on it. He didn't notice the entirely different texture of the suit or the way this specific Mark’s arms felt a little too solid, a little too scuffed from reuse. He just felt the intense warmth and the familiar, grounding scent of someone he used to trust with his life.
“Hmm,” William hummed, a small, trusting vibration against Mark’s neck. His head grew heavy again, his breathing slowing down into a steady, deep rhythm as his eyes finally slipped shut once more.
Mark looked down at the sleeping boy, his jaw tightening with absolute finality. He wasn't taking him back to whatever lonely, empty apartment he was living in now. He was taking him somewhere else entirely, the only place where they used to be truly happy before the capes ruined everything. He was taking him home, and he was going to protect them from the upcoming Invincible war.
He caught sight of the drone scanning the area, its mechanical eye searching for the carnage he was supposed to be causing. He quickly ducked behind a thick cluster of oak trees, pressing his back against the rough bark. He remained perfectly still, his eyes tracking the drone as it spun in a frantic search. It beeped angrily, the sound sharp and grating, before it surged forward to another location to seek out easier targets to watch.
He exhaled a slow, shaky breath of relief. Angstrom couldn't know about this... He couldn't know that instead of leveling the city, Mark was shielding a version of his best friend and was basically abandoning the deal they made.
He quickly took flight after checking once more if the coast was clear, but he didn't just soar. He moved with a protective caution, tucking William’s head deeper into the crook of his neck to shield him from the biting wind. He used the thick, rolling clouds as a shroud, staying high where the air was thin and quiet. Every time a gust of cold air threatened to hit them, Mark shifted his body, taking the brunt of the chill himself so that William remained wrapped in that artificial heat. He looked down at the boy's face, watching the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks in a deep, undisturbed sleep. It felt like a miracle that he was holding him again.
He used to take him flying once, but then… he shook those horrible thoughts away.
It didn't take long to arrive at the familiar street. He descended with agonizing slowness, bleeding off speed until the rush of air died into a gentle breeze as he didn't want the sudden change in pressure to startle William awake. The moment his boots touched the grass of the front lawn, he took a few quiet steps toward the porch, only for his heart to run completely cold.
The front door didn't just open. It swung wide as if kicked, vibrating violently on its hinges and spilling bright yellow light across the porch. A figure stepped out into that glow, radiating a frantic, jagged energy that set Mark’s nerves on edge.
“Argh, fuck. I thought that bitch would be here,” his Mohawk variant grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair in annoyance. He looked up, his curious gaze locking instantly onto Mark and the bundle held tightly in his arms.
A sudden, freezing stillness locked the air between them, sharp with the taste of blood and impending violence. Mohawk’s eyes widened, a slow, deranged grin stretching across his face, splitting his features in a way that looked entirely unhinged as he recognized the messy shock of brown hair resting against Mark's shoulder.
“Well, well,” Mohawk purred, his voice a sharp, oily contrast to the quiet of the suburban evening. He stepped off the threshold, his boots making a heavy, deliberate sound on the porch. “Look what the cat dragged in. And here I thought I was going to have to go hunting for entertainment~”
Mark pivoted on a dime, his broad frame cutting off the line of sight like a protective shield to obscure Mohawk’s view of the sleeping teen. He tensed his muscles, poised to launch into the sky, but the bastard vanished. A split second later, a sharp crack of displaced air shattered the silence, and Mohawk was suddenly standing directly in his path. His eyes locked onto William with a sick, hungry fascination, his head tilted like a curious animal.
“Hey, if it isn’t Willy,” Mohawk laughed loudly, the sound abrasive, cruel, and far too close.
William scrunched his face at the harsh noise, letting out a soft, irritated mumble in his sleep, his brows furrowing as he fought against the intrusion. But the absolute depth of his exhaustion held him under. Mark felt the brunette instinctively snuggle closer into his chest, seeking warmth and safety while the danger stood just inches away.
“Holy shit, dude. I didn’t expect one of us to go out of their way to find the annoying twink,” Mohawk snickered, leaning in so close that Mark could smell the metallic tang of dried blood coating his suit. He reached out a gloved hand, his fingers twitching in the air as if he wanted to snag a lock of William’s hair just to see what it felt like.
Mark frowned, his jaw tightening until it clicked as he took slow, silent steps backward, away from the deranged variant. He adjusted his hold on William, his arms locking into place with a possessive, iron grip. He wasn't letting go for anything. He felt a low, dangerous rumble building deep in his throat, a primal warning that wasn't entirely human.
“So, what are you doing here?” Mohawk asked, giving him a conspiratorial look, his predatory eyes gleaming in the porch light. “Don't tell me you're playing house? Angstrom sent us here to burn this world to the ground, not to waste time on whatever little kindergarten games you’ve got going on. Especially with a side bitch who doesn't even like us!”
There was a bitter, jagged edge to the variant’s tone, but Mark ignored it completely. He didn't flinch. Instead, he tightened his grip, careful to not bruise, feeling the steady, fragile rhythm of William’s heart thrumming slowly against his own chest. He looked at the variant with eyes that were cold and completely unyielding behind the white lenses of his mask.
“I’m taking him inside,” Mark said, his voice a low, jagged rumble that vibrated right through William’s sleeping form. “He isn't a stray I pick up,” he growled out. “Get out of my way before I make you.”
He forced the words out with as much venom as he could muster, though a small voice in the back of his mind doubted he could actually win a direct fight. This variant was noticeably larger, broader, and clearly possessed a killer instinct that Mark hadn't fully embraced yet.
Mohawk paused, his manic grin faltering for a split second as he registered the sheer, possessive lethality vibrating through the other's tone. Then, a sharp, mocking whistle cut right through the heavy air as he threw his hands up in faux surrender.
“Whoa, whoa, okay! Touchy, touchy, playboy,” Mohawk jeered, throwing up his hands in mock surrender before leaning in closer, a nasty, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Have your sweet little fantasy moment, bro. Enjoy it.” He placed a mocking hand over his heart, fluttering his eyelashes in a cruel, theatrical imitation of a lovesick teenager. “But the moment the twink finds out, your precious little playdate is gonna be absolutely terrified of you."
Mark didn't bother listening any longer. Pivoting on his heel, he drove straight through the space Mohawk was occupying, his shoulder smashing into the variant's chest. The collision sent a blunt, echoing thud across the lawn. Mohawk reeled back, his heels catching on the porch edge, but he just let out a loud, breathless cackle. Mark didn't look back. He swept into the house, sliding the door shut behind him to block out the sudden string of curses spat into the yard. He focused only on the steady rise and fall of William's chest, consumed by the desperate, selfish need to shield him from the monsters outside.
It didn’t take long for him to reach this world’s version of his bedroom. He moved through the familiar, dimly lit hallway like a ghost, deliberately averting his eyes as he passed the room belonging to this dimension’s Debbie. The sheer guilt of even being near her space threatened to crush him, but he pushed through it, eventually laying William down onto the mattress with all the tenderness he could possibly muster. As he tried to pull away to give him some space, William shifted uncomfortably, his body instinctively seeking the intense, comforting body warmth that was suddenly leaving him. William let out a soft, needy sigh, one hand reaching out blindly across the rumpled sheets until his trembling fingers found Mark’s.
Mark didn't let go. He took the smaller hand and held it tightly in his own, feeling the delicate, rhythmic pulse beating normally against William’s wrist. The room was warm enough, but with the mask still on, the air felt thick, heavy, and entirely suffocating. He reached up with his free hand, peeling the fabric of the cowl back from his head and finally letting it drop carelessly onto the floorboards. It revealed his rugged, worn face to the world. He hadn't taken care of himself well at all after his mother died, and it showed heavily in the dark, bruised circles under his eyes and the messy, unkempt stubble that covered his sharp jawline.
Without the white lenses coloring his vision, the bedroom felt sharper, realer, and painfully familiar. His long, messy hair fell forward into his eyes, and he rubbed his face with his free hand, feeling the rough, scratchy grit of his overgrown stubble against his palm. He swept the dark hair back from his forehead, taking a deep, shaky breath of the room's air. He breathed in deeply, taking in the clean, nostalgic scent of the room as the comforting mix of old laundry, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable presence of William that instantly settled his frayed nerves.
Suddenly, the movement on the bed shifted from restless to fully conscious. William’s breathing hitched, his fingers twitching weakly against Mark's large palm. He was waking up, and this time, the heavy fog of exhaustion was actually lifting from his mind, pulling him back to reality.
“Mark? How did I even get here?” William’s voice was incredibly raspy, his throat dry as he clumsily pushed himself up into a sitting position against the pillows. He was so thoroughly disoriented from the sudden shift in scenery that he didn't even notice their hands were still tightly connected. He blinked hard, squinting through the dim evening light to get a proper look at the face hovering right in front of him. Suddenly his eyebrows shot up, his expression instantly shifting from dazed confusion to that familiar, blunt honesty.
“Dude, no offense, but you look like absolute shit.”
A breathy snort escaped Mark, followed by a small, tired smile that felt like it was breaking through a thick layer of ice.
“Yeah, well, you have no idea,” he chuckled, the sound low and heavy in his chest as he kept his eyes locked on the brunette. Mark thoroughly couldn't stop staring. It had been so long since he’d seen this face without it being a faded memory or a screaming nightmare in his own ruined world.
He watched as William’s blunt smile slowly faded, the heavy reality of the situation starting to settle into the boy's brain. William looked around the room, his eyes tracking the familiar comic posters on the walls and the messy desk in the corner, realizing with a sudden start that he was back in Mark’s bedroom. Then Mark felt William's gaze drop, finally following the line of his own arm down to where his fingers were still laced tightly with Mark's large palm. A slow, heat-filled blush began to creep down William's neck, and he looked back up at Mark with a thousand desperate questions he didn't even know how to phrase.
Mark refused to let go of his hand. He stared right into those wide eyes, realizing with a sharp, localized ache in his chest that he had actually forgotten the exact shade of them until this very second.
"William," Mark breathed out, the name tearing from his throat. He moved in closer, the mattress creaking loudly under his sudden shift in position as he leaned forward and pulled the brunette into a tight, desperate hug. "God, I missed you so much."
Mark poured all the bitterness, regret, and sorrow he could muster into those words, delivering a confession that was truly meant for the person he had already lost back in his own dimension.
He felt William flinch in his arms, a momentary hitch in his breathing that spoke of the months of distance and coldness they had put between each other in this world, but the teen didn't push him away. Mark buried his face directly into the crook of William’s neck, taking in the familiar scent of him, floral soap and that specific, comforting smell that was just uniquely William, memorizing every single bit of it as if he could store it away for the next time the world ended.
When Mark finally pulled back to look at him, he was wearing a smile that felt shaky, raw, and completely exposed. His hand hovered near William's shoulder for a lingering second, reluctant to break the physical contact completely, before he finally settled back onto his heels in the dirt-stained boots he hadn’t bothered to clean for a long time.
William stared up at him, looking completely lost. Even with Mark kneeling on the floor by the bedside to lower his profile, his massive, dense Viltrumite frame made him look so much taller, looming over William and casting a heavy shadow across the rumpled blankets.
"Mark, seriously, why are you looking like..." William trailed off, his eyes scanning Mark’s entirely unkempt appearance. He lingered on the long, tangled strands of dark hair that fell past his ears, and the deep, sleepless circles that seemed permanently etched into Mark's skin.
Mark felt a sudden flicker of shame hit him. He knew he hadn't groomed himself properly since the day his mother was murdered on his home earth, let alone since he’d started tagging along and meeting other Mark variants through bloody dimensions for Angstrom’s sick plan. He knew he looked like a weary soldier who had been living in a brutal war zone, but honestly, Mark could care less about his looks when he had one of the precious people he’d lost sitting right in front of him.
"Look like a total bum?" Mark supplied cheekily, shifting his weight forward slightly as he tried his absolute best to match the old, sarcastic rhythm of their high school days, desperately testing the waters.
William let out a small, breathless giggle that made Mark's chest swell with a rare, tightening wave of genuine happiness.
"No, I think the technical word here is 'feral castaway,' actually. Did you finally decide to go live in the woods?" William’s voice softened, and his index finger extended, slowly tracing a light, deliberate line along the scratchy contour of Mark's jaw. "God, you haven’t even trimmed this beard."
The touch was feather-light, carrying a subtle, lingering warmth that felt almost flirty, though it was buried so deeply under years of comfortable closeness that neither of them would dare name it. Mark leaned his head into the gesture just a fraction of an inch, his heart hammering against his ribs as he drank in the sensation of being cared for again.
A wave of pure, clean relief washed over him as he realized how perfectly his joke had landed. It seemed that no matter where they were, or how badly things fell apart around them, William would always possess that signature, grounding sass that made him exactly like his own William… a beautiful, unchanging constant in a horrible universe.
Mark smiled, a rare spark of light breaking through the shadows in his eyes. But the moment was fleeting. William’s gaze lingered on his unkempt face for a beat longer, his hand slipping from Mark's jaw to the mattress as he looked around the familiar, quiet room. The soft warmth between them vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp confusion.
"Why am I here, Mark? Last I remember, I was falling asleep on those tetanus-trap swings at the playground," William mumbled. His voice grew firmer, shedding its sleepiness as he pulled himself up to sit straighter, locking his eyes onto Mark's. “Why did you bring me all the way to your room?”
William looked at him with a sudden flash of raw hurt in his eyes, his shoulders tensing under his shirt. “We’ve… stopped talking since last month,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into a painful whisper.
Mark felt a pang in his chest as he realized how deeply this world's Mark had neglected his best friend. William was sitting there, actively bleeding from the emotional abandonment of a hero who was too busy, entirely unaware that the guy kneeling before him wasn't his Mark at all.
"It’s complicated," Mark said, the words feeling incredibly heavy on his tongue. He shifted his gaze down toward the floorboards, unable to look at the accusation in William's eyes. He couldn't bring himself to explain the truth… the horrible massacre that was definitely starting outside those walls, or the grim fact that he wasn't the Mark who belonged in this house.
"Clearly," William replied, rolling his eyes with that familiar, sharp wit, though his lower lip trembled slightly as he pulled his knees tight against his chest. He looked small huddled on the mattress like that. "I thought you were far too busy with Eve to notice if I froze to death out there."
There was a distinct, bleeding bitterness in his tone, and Mark felt it like a sting to his chest. From everything he’d been forced to observe of this dimension's version of himself back in Angstrom's domain, the local hero had been so completely wrapped up in his new life and the girl that he’d left everyone else behind in the dust. The thought made a sour, venomous taste rise in Mark's throat. He absolutely hated the guy who lived in this house.
His face must have betrayed his displeasure, because William’s expression suddenly shifted, the annoyance melting into genuine, quiet worry. He leaned forward a fraction. "Did something happen between you two? Is that why you look like you haven't seen a shower or a comb in a month?"
Mark let out a noncommittal, low hum of assent, letting his head drop slightly. He didn't mind the misunderstanding. It was infinitely easier for William to believe he was just a heartbroken, domestic mess than to ever know the truth... that he was just a lonely guy drifting through a hostile world that loathed him.
"Heh, figures," William sighed, shaking his head as his shoulders slumped. He looked like he was mentally cataloging all the ways he’d expected that superhero relationship to go south, but there was no triumph in his eyes, just exhaustion. "So..."
He looked at Mark with a complicated, searching expression, his gaze lingering heavily on their still-connected hands before he looked up through his messy hair. "Were you actually looking for me? You wouldn't have gone to that old junkyard of a playground if you weren't thinking about the past."
A sad, painfully small smile touched William's lips, and Mark nodded slowly, the absolute silence of the bedroom amplifying the gravity of the moment. He really did miss those times, the golden days when their biggest problem was a chemistry test or a missed text message. It was a life before the blood, before the mask, and before growing up had turned into a series of tragedies he couldn't stop.
"I was," Mark admitted, his voice dropping into a raw whisper that vibrated in the quiet room. "I realized I'd been neglecting you for so long… I decided to search for you."
It wasn’t an outright lie, it just carried a completely different, tragic context. He reached up with his free hand, scratching the back of his tangled hair bashfully as he looked to the side, trying to mimic the guy he used to be. "I’m sorry for taking so long to talk to you."
William looked at him for a long, agonizing beat, his expression visibly crumbling as the emotional wall he’d built up over months of neglect finally gave way. He suddenly let go of Mark's hand, but only to lunge forward across the blankets, throwing his arms fiercely around Mark's neck and pulling him into a tight, trembling embrace.
“You big idiot!” William choked out, the words muffled and broken against the fabric of Mark's collarbone. A sharp, ragged sniffle followed, the devastating sound of someone who had been holding their breath for a lifetime. “Why now? Why did you only come to find me now?”
Mark felt the sudden, stifling dampness of tears soaking straight through his shirt. Every single sob that racked William’s fragile frame felt like a jagged blade twisting in Mark’s heart, anchoring him to this world with a terrifying, protective ferocity.
“God, Mark,” William’s voice cracked completely, turning raw and angry through the sheer force of his pain as his fingers gripped the back of Mark's suit. “Do you know how much it hurts? Do you have any real idea how painful it was for you to just ignore me for so long? And now you finally come looking for me because Eve broke your heart? Damn you, Mark. Damn you for only needing me when you’re lonely.”
Mark could only sit there and take the blows, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached. He was absorbing the venom meant for a version of himself that was too busy shoving their head up their ass to see what he had. He absolutely hated that other Mark. He hated that the local variant had allowed this vibrant, loyal person to feel like a worthless backup plan.
He didn't defend himself. After all, these words were meant for this dimension’s Mark, yet the barbs still hit him dead center because, in a way, William was entirely right. Mark couldn’t take the devastating look in those tear-filled eyes anymore. Breaking under the pressure of it, he grabbed William, his large fingers digging slightly into their waist, creasing the soft fabric of William's shirt as he hauled him closer, desperate to anchor him. He wanted to pull William completely into his very chest, to physically hide him from the entire world, from the other Mark, and from all their collective failures as a friend.
“I’m sorry,” Mark rasped, his own eyes stinging. “I’m really sorry, Will,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around him in a crushing embrace.
William pulled back just an inch, his face a beautiful mess of red-rimmed eyes and silver tracks of tears. He looked up at Mark with such a devastating mixture of deep love and raw resentment that it entirely stole the air from Mark's lungs. Before another angry word could be spat out, William surged forward, and their lips met.
Mark's eyes widened in absolute shock, but he didn’t pull away... He couldn’t pull away as that tender, breathless connection instantly shifted into something heavy with unspoken desire and a quiet, breaking sorrow. It was a slow, agonizingly prolonged collision, a gentle bruising of lips that felt like a mourning ritual for everything they had lost. Mark let out a low, shaky breath against William’s mouth, finally melting into the touch as the sheer intimacy of it threatened to pull him under completely.
The kiss was utterly desperate, tasting of salt and years of unspoken longing. It wasn't some perfect movie moment, it was a messy, heavy collision of two people who were just so incredibly tired of being broken and tired of being alone. William’s hands clutched frantically at the back of Mark's head, his fingers tangling deep into the long, unkempt strands of dark hair as he poured every ounce of his built-up frustration, heartbreak, and raw need into the contact.
Mark leaned heavily into it, his eyes snapping shut as his hands slid up from William's waist to cradle the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with a quiet, fierce possessiveness. In that lingering, breathless moment, he completely forgot about the destructive mission he was supposed to execute. He forgot about the city he was supposed to level, the version of his mother he was supposed to find, and the cold, demanding voice of Angstrom echoing in his head. None of it mattered anymore. The only certainty that existed was the warmth of his friend within his arms.
The person who desperately needed him was right here, right in front of him. In his own dimension, he’d been too late. He’d been too distracted by the heroics to notice his best friend was quietly going under. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn't ignore the trembling in William's hands, or the way he clung to Mark as if he were the only thing keeping him from drifting away entirely.
Mark wrapped his arms around William’s waist, pulling him off the mattress and flushed against his chest, grounding them both. He felt the frantic beat of William’s heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, a sharp reminder of how fragile this was. He didn't care about the consequences or the fact that he was effectively stealing a relationship that wasn’t his. For the first time since his mother’s death, the constant, ringing noise in his head went silent, leaving only the anchoring presence of the brunette in his arms
William pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Mark’s. He was still shaking, his breath coming in jagged hitches.
“Don’t leave me,” William whispered, his voice broken and barely audible. “I can’t... I don’t know what I'd do if you suddenly cut me off after this.”
Fresh tears were streaming down his face, catching the dim light of the bedroom. Mark just watched him, completely transfixed. He had never seen William look so completely broken down before, and it sent a strange, dizzying rush straight through him. He traced the damp paths on William's cheeks, his thoughts snarling together as a sudden, quiet certainty took hold.
It wasn't just a sense of duty making his chest ache like this. It wasn't just guilt over the past, or the isolation of living as an outcast in his own world. Looking at the way William clung to him, feeling the desperate press of their bodies together, the truth finally clicked into place with terrifying clarity. He loved his best friend. He had always loved him. It had just taken losing his own William, and seeing this abandoned version right in front of him, to finally force him to admit it. The realization hit him fast and hard, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to his heart and cutting off his breath.
He reached up, his large thumb gently brushing away a fresh tear that had escaped William’s eye. He looked at William, really looked at him, and made a silent vow that no matter what Angstrom planned, or what the other vicious variants intended to do to this planet, this room was entirely off-limits.
“I’m not going anywhere, Will,” Mark promised, his voice thick with a dark, unyielding intensity. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
He cradled his friend closer, his hands sliding down to grip William's hips with a sudden, heavy hunger. William let out a soft, staggered gasp at the shifting tension, but before he could even process the words, Mark leaned in and claimed his lips once more.
This time, the grief melted away into something entirely electric and consuming. Mark's mouth parted against William's with a deep, bruising hunger, turning the kiss intensely possessive and heavy with a long-denied desire. He caressed William, his strong fingers tangling into the fabric of William's shirt as he drank in his breathless sighs. The heat in the room spiked, thick and intoxicating, as they completely lost themselves in the slow, seductive rhythm of each other's touch, shutting out the rest of the world entirely.
[Mohawk]
Mark watched from the shadows of the hallway, his jaw practically hitting the floor. He had been lurking there, itching for the moment Fullmask would finally leave the bedroom so he could snap that self-righteous neck and get back to destroying stuff. His plan was simple. Kill the prick, find where this dimension’s Debbie was hiding and kill her, then find this world’s Mark and beat him to a bloody pulp for the beating he received. He had been bracing himself for some boring, melodramatic heart to heart talk, but this?
This was a goddamn circus, and he had a front-row seat.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, a dark silhouette invisible to the two inside who were far too occupied with each other to notice the unknown threat in the hall. He watched as the clothes began to hit the floor, the desperation in the room thick enough to choke on. It was pathetic, really. This was William, the same mouthy, persistent brat who had been a constant thorn in his side back home. Back in his world, William was always sticking his nose into Mark’s business, acting like he held the moral high ground just because they’d played in the same sandbox as kids.
But as he stared at the duo, watching the way this William clung to Fullmask like he was a drowning man and Fullmask was his only oxygen, a slow, jagged grin spread across Mark’s face. A cruel, brilliant thought began to take root in the dark corners of his mind, blooming like a poisonous weed.
The guy wasn't just sentimental, he was obsessed. He was treating that fragile human like some kind of sacred relic. And William? William was so blinded by his own misery and the heat of the moment that he hadn't even realized he was inviting an entirely different Mark into the original’s bed.
Mark’s eyes glittered with a deranged, predatory light. He didn't need to kill the masked freak just yet. There were much funnier ways to break a man than just stopping his heart. If he could twist this, if he could wait for the perfect moment to reveal the truth to the little twink or, better yet, use that very attachment to tear Fullmask’s world apart from the inside out, the payoff would be legendary.
He let out a silent, sharp breath of a cackle, his fingers twitching at his sides with restless, violent energy.
"Oh, this is going to be so much better than a quick kill," he mouthed to the empty hallway, his voice a ghost of a whisper.
He decided to give them their little moment of bliss. After all, the fall is always more entertaining when you let the victim climb a little higher first. He melted back into the deeper darkness of the house, his mind already spinning a web of ways to turn this little romantic confession into a complete tragedy. Fullmask thought he was keeping William safe? Mark was going to thoroughly enjoy proving just how wrong he was.