⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

With that being said, (Y/N), Steven and Marc all walked back inside to the white, door filled hallways of the hospital, carefully stalling through the hallways in case another unpleasant memory came right around the corner.

"Back at the house there was that bedroom that you didn't want me to go into," Steven pointed back at Marc. "That's it. That's where we'll go."

"Just a second. Just a second. Just wait a second. Just give me a second here. Okay?" Marc grasped Steven's shirt and tugged on it to stand right in front of him. "Um, look, we don't have to go back through it all again. We can just talk. Let's just talk. Right here, right now. I'll tell you. . .I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Marc's eyes were glassy and a red hue was coloring onto the round shape of his eyes, his urge to not cry in front of Steven and (Y/N) being more powerful than before.

"I'm just begging you, don't make us go there again," he finished. "It's not worth it."

Steven couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Not worth it? Not worth it? Marc, you're about to lose everything. Do you understand? If we don't get back, and Harrow succeeds, and all those people die. . .if Layla dies, that's on your head."

Marc lowered his gaze as Steven kept speaking and (Y/N) finally spotted how red Marc's eyes had gotten and his attempts in trying to hide the emotions behind his plain expression were failing.

"It'll be all your fault."

"No, no, no! You can't!" Marc finally snapped, and he began slapping his own head and hair with his hands in a desperate demeanor. "I won't do it! I won't do it! You can't make me! You can't make me!"

(Y/N) did her best in pulling him back to a calm state. "Marc, it's okay. It's okay. Snap out of it!"

Marc didn't seem to listen to her words and continued in hitting his head so abruptly that he backed away from (Y/N) just a few steps and was able to hit one of the white doors behind him open.

The door behind them revealed another memory, and just the sight of it made all of them snap their heads in the same direction at the same time. Marc had stopped his actions to check the sight for himself, Steven wanted an explanation and (Y/N) couldn't utter a single sentence out.

"Where are we?" Steven looked back at (Y/N), who had taken the lead in the room.

Steven wasn't sure if there was a hint of sadness or nostalgia in the back of her voice, but he heard her answer to him. "Layla's room."

A younger version of herself and Layla sat on a comfortable looking bed, thousands of scrolls and books all piled up in the floor and desk. Layla looked much more like she does now, her hair was shorter and just the years of experience that shined in her eyes were missing, supposedly because she still hadn't went on all of her 'adventures' yet.

She and (Y/N) were softly sharing words with each other, Layla holding a makeup brush in her hand and a makeup powder the same color as (Y/N)'s skin in the other.

"Does it hurt?" Layla asked carefully, applying bits of powder into several parts of her friend's face and body.

The (Y/N) facing her shook her head. "Not anymore," she had dropped the book she was reading and instead focused on the TV past Layla's form on the bed.

(Y/N) let out a dry laugh that startled Layla and proceeded to focus on anything else but Layla's eyes because she was sure she would've broken down at that moment. "Can't believe they've been gone for a year now and I still have those bruises."

Layla gave her a look. "These are old?."

"Nah," (Y/N) allowed Layla do apply one last brush of powder before speaking. "Aunt Melina's firm, but she doesn't abuse her position of power like my mother. She doesn't want me to be defenseless."

Layla nodded but there was a sense of suspiciousness behind her eyes. "Okay. But if it ever feels like too much, you know you have a home here."

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile, though it didn't reach her eyes completely. "I know."

(Y/N) began to feel lightheaded, her eyes closing and opening ever so slightly, and she felt a knot in the end of her throat. If she had enough strength right now, she would've rolled her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Layla sensed it instantly.

As soon as those symptoms came, they left without a warning. It was almost of common occurrence for that to happen ever since the death of her family, and she didn't know why.

She sighed. "Do you ever feel like there's a part of you that's missing?"

Layla shook her head. "Honestly, never. Why?"

"Because," she exhaled to begin her explanation. "I wanna know more about my. . .condition. There's not even a single inch of information, and I want to know before it's too late."

"(Y/N), we've talked about this before, it's going to take some time," Layla tried to reason. "It's not like you'll meet someone who has the complete solution to your problem."

Looking back at it, (Y/N) almost let out a laugh at how ironic that sounded now. She looked behind her shoulder and saw how Marc wouldn't dare to meet her eyes, and it's not like she could blame him. A part of her still felt weary of the whole situation.

The trio all stood in the room, no one making a single move but (Y/N) could see out of the corner of her eye how Marc closed his eyes in concentration for one small second before the room they were in changed completely.

It now looked like a normal boy's room, baseball team posters in the walls along with several toys in the bed, walls, and floor. (Y/N) couldn't help but frown in confusion but Steven looked like a train hit him with realization.

"I don't. . .This is my room," Steven declared, looking more confused than before. "I remember some things, but I don't remember this."

Marc's small form was curled up in the corner of his room, his back against his bureau, his knees up to his chest and his fingers slightly trembling from fear. All of the sudden there was a harsh knocking on the bedroom door, and young Marc couldn't help but let out an audible whimper.

"It's not Mom," Marc muttered. "It's not my mom. It's not my mom. It's not my mom."

"Marc, open this door," Wendy commanded from the other side. "Open this door right now."

"It's not my mom."

"Open this door."

"It's not my mom," he chanted. "It's not my mom."

Then something else happened. An action that (Y/N) was just so used to seeing Marc do these days, rolling his eyes to the back of his head before they snapped back in their original form. This young Marc did the same thing, his quiet whimpers dying out almost immediately, and his demeanor did a full 360 turn.

"Bloody hell," his small voice now had that familiar British accent. "Look at the state of this place. Better sort it out before Mum sees it."

He began to grab the fallen pencils and pens from the floor and placed them in their rightful place, and Steven finally felt like he was watching himself throughout this whole day.

Wendy kept banging on the door. "Marc, open this door right now!"

(Y/N) and Steven's attention drifted off to the poster in the wall, one that looked oddly familiar to (Y/N) just as she stared at the picture, but the recognition instantly went to her head the moment she read the title; 'Tomb Buster'.

"'When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear'," Steven read out, his eyes widening when he recognized his own name.

"Of course," (Y/N) mumbled under her breath, the gears inside her head clicking as if the final piece of a puzzle was placed.

"You made me up."

The banging got louder. "Open this door right now!"

The door finally gave up in restraining the angry mother, and Wendy stood by the entrance of the room with a cold look behind her eyes the moment her gaze fell on her son, who didn't seem to be paying any mind to her and kept ordering the mess in his room.

"You're gonna learn to listen," Wendy grabbed the belt from the rack and made her way towards Marc, who didn't meet her eyes. "Why do you have to make me do this?"

Marc began to drag Steven away by the shoulders, and (Y/N) knew better than to stay.

"I wanna see what she did," Steven said. "I wanna see what she did."

"You disgusting human," Wendy's voice was still heard until the door closed behind them.

"You do not need to see that. You're not meant to see that," Marc tried to convince Steven, pushing him against the wall. "That's the whole point of you."

Steven let out a heavy breath before aiming a punch right in Marc's jaw, even though it probably hurt him as equally since he rubbed his hand while glaring at him. "The point of me? The point of me? What? To be your stress ball?"

"All this time I thought I was the original, but I'm just something that you made up."

"You've got to live a happy, simple, normal life," Marc reasoned. "You understand?"

Steven's glare didn't disappear. "But it was all a lie, wasn't it?"

"So what? What does it matter?" Marc spat. "What? you wanna remember the truth? That you had a mother that beats you? That hated you? That made your life a living hell?"

By this moment, Marc was walking forward while Steven was backing away from him in fear. (Y/N) didn't know how to intervene, a part of her told her not to. This wasn't a problem she could fix, it had to be solved between the two of them, and she'll be there to aid both of them in the process.

"You're lying," Steven's voice cracked. "You're just trying to upset me."

"But you've gotten to live thinking that she loved you," Marc continued. "That she was kind. That she was still alive!"

That made Steven freeze entirely. "What? What are you talking about? She's alive. I speak to her every day. What are you talking about?"

Marc knew this had to come out sooner or later.

"Dad called me after all these years, about her shiva, and I couldn't do it."

"No, this is all wrong," Steven shook his head. "This is. . .No, this is all wrong."

"Steven, I'm sorry," (Y/N) placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, no, no, no," Steven began to rant, his curls moving abruptly by every move his head did. "No, no, no. No, thank you. No, let me out, let me out!

"Calm down. It's all right. It's okay."