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brainsforbabyjesus · 13 days ago

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from the ashes

Marco knew he had hit rock bottom when Jake, of all people, was lecturing him about mental health.

Jake, who had once spent an entire month without so much as stepping foot outside his apartment, not even to get groceries. Jake, who they’d literally had to throw off a cliff to snap him out of his depression. The same guy who wouldn’t recognize mental stability if it rammed him like- well, like a ship ramming through a blade ship.

“I’m just saying,” Jake continued. “The physical labor has really done wonders. I haven’t felt this well since- well, you know. Maybe something similar could help you, too?”

Three months ago when they arrived back on earth, they found out that apparently the U.S. Government had been none too pleased that they’d stolen a spaceship and hijacked two of their morph-capable soldiers. Jake, ever their noble, self-sacrificing fearless leader took the fall. Technically, he was a felon. He was also the world’s biggest hero, so he’d gotten a slap on the wrist.

He was on probation and had to complete hundreds of hours of community service. Currently, he was helping the rebuilding process of a neighborhood that had been destroyed by a forest fire a couple of hours out from the city. Naturally, his absolute lunatic of a best friend had taken it as a wellness retreat.

“Mhm, yeah. Totally,” Marco said. He slurped the rest of his double espresso (quadruple espresso? Did it count as four if he’d had two of the drinks?) without even looking up from his notes. “So is this before or after we build libraries in underprivileged countries?”

“Marco-”

“No, it’s very noble and all,” Marco said, standing up. “But alas, I am but a very busy man so I’ll see when I can fit it into my schedule. Call my assistant to check in. Linda, you’ve met her right? Just hired her.”

Jake sighed. “C’mon man, you know I’m only trying to help. Quite honestly, you look like shit.”

Marco finally deigned to meet his eyes, a mock indignant look on his face. “Excuse you, I’ve been ranked in the Top 10 sexiest men two years in a row now. One which I wasn’t even on earth, thank you very much.”

He knew he was being an ass. An obnoxious one at that. Jake looked genuinely concerned. But this wasn’t how their roles worked. Jake was the tortured war hero. Marco was… well, he was one of the sexiest men in the country. If only according to Teen Magazine USA. Whatever.

“Not to kick you out or anything, but I do need my beauty sleep. Gotta be well-rested for the new gig tomorrow.” An obvious lie, indicated by the two empty mugs of coffee and the dark circles under his eyes. Nothing a little make-up in the morning couldn’t fix.

Jake stood up as well, gathering himself to leave. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can just take a break.”

“And I would! If I needed one. Goodnight, Jake.”

But Marco quickly found that he was wrong. The next night, flipping through channel after channel showing his very public, very humiliating mental breakdown during the live premier of the game show he was hosting that morning, he knew that this was his rock bottom.

……

Tobias was hungry. Which unfortunately wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Not for the last three months at least.

He’d left his territory unguarded for almost a year and a half, and a younger, opportunistic hawk had taken it over in his absence. He’d considered fighting her off, but he had spent over a year in a cramped spaceship, feeding on frozen mice and rats with no ability to hunt or fly. He’d gotten rusty, grown soft.

And, if he was being completely honest, he was getting old. His once vivid red feathers were fading, and he was slower than he once was. He grew tired faster than usual, and had to endure the occasional body ache. He couldn’t prove it, but could swear his eyesight was weaker.

So, Tobias had been forced to find a territory on the outskirts of the hork-bajir valley. It was smaller and closer to a major highway. The wildlife, and therefore his food supply, was more limited. Not that a plentiful food supply would make much of a difference if he couldn’t catch anything.

The only benefit to being this close to a highway, though he’d never admit it to anyone, was that there was an ample supply of roadkill.

With a mental sigh he flew towards the highway, past his territory, past a couple of scurrying mice he knew he was too slow to catch. Past the property Marco had bought years ago, a place to stay in when he or the others had business in the valley.

It was usually empty, but today, a moving truck was parked in the driveway. At the sight, Tobias veered back, curious. The back of the truck was open, and a second later, a gorilla jumped off, carrying five badly-taped moving boxes in its burly arms.

Tobias flew closer, within thought-speak range, and called out, ((You know you could make a killing as a mover.))

It was a testament to how often they heard other people’s voices in their heads that Marco barely flinched at his words. He looked up at him as Tobias swooped down and landed on the truck.

((I’ll keep that in mind,)) Marco said, and continued up the driveway. He set the boxes inside the open doorway.

((So, what are you doing here unloading a moving truck? You’re not moving in, are you?)) Tobias asked, cocking his head at Marco.

((Needed a sabbatical,)) Marco said with a shrug. Tobias paused for a second.

((In the middle of nowhere, Wyoming?))

((Oh, you know, nature does wonders for the soul and all.)) Marco waved his hand in the air dismissively before jumping back into the truck and unloading two more boxes.

Tobias looked at him quizzically, waiting for Marco to elaborate, but he didn’t. Something was definitely up with him, but Tobias knew better than to pry.

Marco dropped off the boxes at the doorway and turned to him. ((So, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come and help?))

Tobias considered leaving and resuming his attempt at finding lunch for that day. He glanced at the boxes strewn around the patio and mentally sighed. He fluttered down to the floor and began to morph.

……

Marco sat in his bathtub, a bottle of wine in hand. He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, staring blankly ahead, but it had been long enough that his fingers were starting to prune.

He hadn’t done much more than lounging around for the past couple of weeks. Hadn’t even set a foot outside of his house.

Whatever. He needed a break. And he didn’t really want to see or talk to anyone anyway.

His friends and family didn’t seem to get the memo, however, as both his house phone and his cell phone rang a couple of times a day. The caller ID always showed Jake or Cassie or his mom. He texted them all an “I’m fine. Stop calling” a couple of times, but he knew that wouldn’t hold up for much longer. He was almost offended that the most he had gotten from his so-called celebrity friends had been two separate “thinking of you” text messages until he remembered he didn’t particularly care.

His dad never called.

With every day that passed, Marco became more bitterly resigned that he would likely not hear from his father for a very long time. Maybe not ever. Not without Marco being the first to reach out at least, and like hell that would happen. He didn’t feel like being kicked out of his former house once again, thank you very much.

It was a sick sort of funny, that this was how he lost one of his parents. Not to death. Not to the yeerks. Not to resentment of Marco letting his mom remain a controller for so long. Not to the lies and secrets he’d held onto for years.

No, it was for one stupid comment. One selfish declaration Marco had made so many years ago, hoping that it would bring his parents closer together.

Load of good that did. It was barely a year after the war that the cracks in their newly reunited family started showing. And a year after that that his parents had gotten divorced. And then it was all, “Oh Marco, we both love you so much” and “Oh, Marco, nothing has to change.”

Bullshit. It was all a load of bullshit. Funny, wasn’t it? He had tried so hard. Had gone to hell and back hundreds of times. Had been dismembered and shot at and psychologically tortured for so fucking long, all to get them together again. To be the family they once were.

And they couldn’t keep it together for even two fucking years. Marco took a long swig of the bottle of wine.

He didn’t care that he was being immature or ridiculous, being an adult and still caring this much about his parents’ divorce. Being this affected about his dad going back to Nora, fucking Nora. Especially when compared to the turmoil of his mom’s death and enslavement. But dammit, with the way he’d had to grow up since the war, no, since his mom’s supposed death, he’d earned a lifetime of immaturity, hadn’t he?

The media didn’t think so.

Okay, so maybe he’d snapped a little bit. Whatever. It had been one day. Just one bad day and now his entire reputation, and his reputation-dependent career, had gone down the drain. He should have known better.

The day of The Incident he had been sleep deprived and running on caffeine, adrenaline, and not an insignificant amount of anxiety. He had been irritable. Snappish. Just minutes before going on air, one of the crew had approached him from behind. Marco had flinched, turned around with a snarl, already morphing gorilla before he realized what he was doing.

It had been the look of fear that the guy had given him, the sideways glances from the others. Marco had created the perfect suave and funny and hopelessly charming persona. But right then, in that studio, he was not Marco the hero to the studio crew. He was Marco the killer. Marco the tactician. It was enough to send him spiraling.

He should have seen the signs. Should have walked away.

Instead, the whole world had seen him lose it. He was no longer Batman. No longer Iron Man. He was pitiful, wounded, deranged, Marco the broken Animorph. He was angry and humiliated at losing his reputation. Shallow? Definitely.

Losing his career, though? He was… well he was upset. He might have just lost what he always wanted. He was rich and famous and successful. He had been on top of the world. He should be devastated to lose that, right? But he was mostly relieved he wouldn’t have to host that stupid game show.

After the war, there had been something missing, a hole in his life. Something… Something. And the hole grew bigger and bigger until he was so bored, so dissatisfied, a part of him was relieved when Jake dragged him along for a final mission. Which was just insane, right?

The relief had been short lived though. Soon they found themselves in space for months and months until they were sick of each others’ presence. Until they saw a mockery of their friend Ax on their screen.

And then Ax had died.

And Marco had been the one who killed him.

Marco took a long swig from his bottle of wine.

It had to be done. Ax was dying already, would die a longer, more painful death if Marco hadn’t intervened. And they had to make sure The One was truly defeated. They had to make sure there were no remnants of that creature left behind. And Ax had practically begged them to do it.

It had to be Marco who did it, too. It couldn’t be Tobias. The kid was already barely hanging on. Having Ax’s blood literally on his hands would likely end in him trying to smash himself into a window again. It couldn’t be Jake. He had been on the other side of the ship, too far to help, and anyway, killing Ax would surely send him spiraling back to the dark place he had been in after Rachel’s death, all his emotional progress down the drain.

Jeanne might have been able to handle it, but she wasn’t an Animorph. She wasn’t one of them. And only one of them could do it. Had to do it.

So that left Marco. He could handle it. He was handling it. Maybe not with the grace he wanted to, but...

He snorted. God, he was a mess. Had been for a while.

He sank lower into the bathtub. He really, really should have seen the signs.

Once upon a time, years ago, he’d tried therapy at his mom’s insistence. The therapist had told him that he had a habit of not actually feeling his emotions. At shoving them aside or rationalizing his way around them. Marco had thought it was bullshit. He woke up most nights screaming in terror, of course he was feeling his emotions.

But maybe she’d had a point, since he’d willingly gone on live TV amidst a mental breakdown without a second thought, not realizing what was happening, not seeing the signs.

Whatever. He had plenty of time to feel his emotions now, here in his bathtub and with his mind mush from the alcohol. Marco made to take another swig from the bottle, realized he had finished it, and reached instead for the can of beer he’d also brought into the bathroom.

…..

Ok, so admittedly he wasn't a great friend. He’d known something was wrong with Marco. The day Tobias had helped him move in, he’d been dismissive and quieter than usual. The bags under his eyes had been pronounced. And though Marco had tried to hide it with worse than usual snippy quips, he seemed rather sad.

Despite this, it had taken Tobias almost three weeks to fly by the house again. He told himself that he was busy. Hunting was a more time-consuming task than usual, after all. But if he was honest with himself, he knew that it was because he could not deal with anyone else’s emotional baggage. Not when his own threatened to pull him under on a daily basis.

It had been easier, before their trip to outer space, to let his hawk brain take over and not think. But now that he was in a new, unfamiliar territory, now that hunting and surviving were more taxing, his human brain had to step in to fill the gaps. And with it came the weariness and grief that he had to expend multitudes of mental energy to keep at bay.

As well as the constant nagging thought that he shouldn’t shut out the world again. But that was just his conscience, which had coincidentally taken the voice of Ax.

On the day Tobias mustered the mental energy to check in on him, Marco was fast asleep on the couch. Through the blinds, he could see various crushed up, empty beer cans strewn around the living room. What seemed like a half empty liquor bottle sat on the coffee table next to the couch. Tobias couldn’t see into the kitchen, but he was sure a similar site would have greeted him there. He peeled away, not willing to wake him up.

When he flew by the next day, he saw an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Jake was standing in the living room with Marco. Though he wasn’t close enough to hear them, by the way Marco was gesticulating and the expressions on their faces, he knew they were arguing.

Tobias circled around. He managed to catch a particularly slow rabbit while he waited. Finally, Jake walked out, and he managed to catch the tail-end of whatever fight they were having.

“Don’t make me call your mom, Marco!”

Marco responded with a middle finger shoved out the door and slammed the door shut. Jake sighed, muttered something under his breath and patted down his pants, looking for his keys. It was strange to think of him, of any of them, driving to get to places instead of flying.

Tobias swooped down and perched on the hood of Jake’s car. ((What’s up with him?))

Jake looked up, startled, and smiled when he saw him. He looked surprisingly well, all things considered. Well-rested, and he’d gained some weight. The haunted, tired, “the weight of the world is on my shoulders” look Tobias had grown accustomed to was still there, but not as prominent as it’d once been.

“Tobias! What are you doing here? How are you doing?”

((Oh you know. Peachy,)) Tobias said, failing to keep his voice from sounding sardonic.

“Mhm,” Jake hummed.

Tobias didn’t own a mirror, but he knew he didn’t look nearly as well as Jake did. Last time he’d seen Jake, Tobias had been flying away from the ship, weak and malnourished. Tobias knew he hadn’t gained much weight back. He hoped Jake didn’t mention it.

He didn’t and gracefully returned to the topic of Marco. “Don’t suppose you’ve turned on a TV or picked up any magazine in the past month?”

((No. I’ve tried set up a cable connection up on my tree, but they never have anyone available to set up the satellite dish.))

Jake grinned, then said, “He uh… had a media shitstorm.” He scratched at his nose, and glanced back at the door, clearly debating how much he should reveal. He settled on, “He had a bit of a breakdown on live TV. He… hasn’t been doing well since we got back.”

((I figured that much,)) Tobias said, and Jake nodded.

They fell into a familiar awkward silence. The contempt and vitriol Tobias had felt towards Jake in the aftermath of Rachel’s death had waned over the course of the three years before their mission to rescue Ax. And aboard the Rachel, they’d settled into a cordial relationship. But the easy camaraderie they’d once shared was gone, and Tobias wasn’t sure if they’d ever get it back. Or if he even wanted it back.

Jake cleared his throat, and said, “So I guess you’ve settled nearby, then?”

((A few miles out, yeah.))

He nodded, hesitated, then asked, “Do you think you can keep an eye on him? Check in every once in a while?”

Tobias almost said no. He knew Jake well enough to know that this wasn’t just about Marco. This was his way of trying to get Tobias to stay connected with the group. But due to recent, tragic events he owed Marco big time. Mercy killing one of your comrades in arms must leave an emotional toll, after all. Had it been Tobias (it had almost been Tobias) the strand of sanity he was holding onto would have snapped long ago.

So he said, ((I’ll see what I can do.))

And if he was honest with himself, he could admit that he had gotten used to human company aboard the Rachel, Marco’s especially. Jeanne, Santorelli, and Menderash were strangers to him, and Jake was a nonstarter. Though forced by circumstance, Marco’s had been the most consistent company he’d had since Rachel’s death, even counting the few times he’d interacted with Cassie and the hork-bajir over the years. On occasion, he even missed him, though he’d never admit it to him.

Jake seemed relieved, gave him a small, thankful smile, and said “Later, Tobias. Tell him to call his mom.” With that, he got into his car and drove off, leaving Tobias to wonder what he’d signed up for.

…..

It was not hard at all to find out what had happened. Tobias hadn’t even had to try. A hunting trip had taken him close to a more touristy, recreational area of the park. It wasn't a good hunting ground, since the people scared away most of the prey. But that meant that there was no competition in the area. Not during the day at least.

As he was flying over, he saw a flash of a familiar face. A quick morph later and he had taken the crumpled, stained magazine out of a trashcan. “Animorph Loses It On Live TV!” was printed in bold letters on the cover page.

Tobias flipped through the magazine, read a direct quote from the incident. “What, you don’t think I’m funny enough? I’ll show you funny.” There was a picture of Marco, sneer on his face and an almost crazed look in his eyes.

Later, he didn’t find Marco at his house. Instead, he found him walking by the side of the highway. Tobias did a double take.

Marco was someone who cared about how he presented himself to others, more so than most people. He had never been the best dressed when they were kids, but he was always put together. Moreso after the war. Anytime Tobias had gotten a glance at him, either on billboards or in magazines or on TV displays, his outfits were always coordinated, his hair was always well-maintained. He always had a smile on his face and well-prepared quips at his disposal. Even aboard the Rachel, it had taken a few weeks for Marco to break his Marco-the-celebrity act and go back to being his usual self with actually tolerable levels of obnoxiousness.

Now, though… he could see food stains on his old, torn T-shirt and jeans. His clothes were crumpled in a way that suggested he had slept in them, maybe for a few days. His hair was a tangled mess, sticking out every which way. There were patches of stubble on his face. And his eyes were dull and bloodshot.

“Your stakeout skills have gotten rusty, Birdboy,” Marco called out without looking up at him, pulling Tobias out of his thoughts. He dropped some altitude, flying closer.

((Well, I wasn’t trying to hide,)) he said defensively. ((Where are you going anyway? Out for a nice stroll?))

Marco shrugged. “7-eleven up the street. Out of beer.”

They travelled in silence for most of the walk. Which probably should have been more unnerving. Usually, Marco never shut up. But he’d grown accustomed to Marco’s eerie silence after… Well, he tried not to think about the aftermath of Ax’s death too much.

Still, the silence told him just as much about Marco’s mental state as his unruly appearance did.

As they approached the 7-eleven, Tobias said, ((Do you want me to go in instead? Nobody recognizes my human morph.))

Tobias could see that there were only a few people milling around the 7-eleven, but anyone who wasn’t living under a rock would recognize Marco. And he really didn’t need any more unwanted attention.

Marco rolled his eyes at him, knowing what he was getting at, and began to morph as he walked. Soon, he was in the body of a middle aged man. Before walking into the store, he said, “You don’t look so hot yourself, you know.”

Tobias waited for a few minutes for Marco to emerge, struggling to carry a few frozen pizzas, half a dozen cups of ramen, and, Tobias quickly noted, three cases of 24-can beers.

Marco must have sensed his trepidation because he said, “You can join me or you can leave.”

After half a second of hesitation, Tobias landed in some nearby bushes to morph to human, then helped Marco carry the bags. He pointedly ignored the way Marco’s breath already smelled like booze. No wonder he’d walked.

Maybe it wasn’t what Jake meant him to do, aiding and abetting Marco’s current bout of substance abuse (or joining him), but he was not here for Jake. Besides, Tobias was hardly in a position to judge anyone else’s bad coping mechanisms.

…..

It used to be fun, Marco thought, drinking with his friends. They hadn’t done it often, what with them being minors and all, and Jake insisting they needed to stay alert if something happened, and Tobias and Ax having to stay at least sober enough to demorph. But it’d been fun. Even aboard the Rachel, where they waited until they were bored out of their minds to break into the bottle of scotch Santorelli had snuck onboard, it hadn’t been this depressing.

He passed the bottle of whiskey.

Marco had been sitting outside in his backyard an hour after sunset when Tobias, flying overhead, presumably heading back to his territory, had seen him and turned around to join him. Even at night and from a distance, he could tell that Tobias looked miserable.

“Out for a late snack?” Marco said as Tobias began to morph, tone too flat for it to really be conversational. Tobias just nodded and grabbed for the bottle.

Marco didn’t point out that it was too dark for Tobias to really hunt anything, or that he was almost as thin as he’d been back on the escape pod when they’d all almost starved to death. Tobias didn’t point out the fact that the bottle had been halfway finished by the time he’d joined him.

It worked.

Maybe Jake or Cassie would have been better company. But then they’d be lecturing him about his drinking habits and getting professional help and blah blah blah. Misery loves company, and Tobias was just as miserable as he was and that was good enough. Besides, it was less sad if he was getting absolutely plastered with someone else instead of by himself, right?

Okay, so maybe he was just depressing. The worst part was that Marco couldn’t think of a single joke to balance it out. He took a swig of the bottle and passed it back.

Neither of them said a single word until Tobias, now glassy-eyed and struggling to his feet, demorphed.

((Thanks for the drink,)) Tobias said as he took off. Marco tipped the now empty bottle at him in farewell, but didn’t say anything else.

When Marco went back inside and looked at his empty house, he was struck with a feeling of loneliness so intense he almost picked up the phone to call Jake or Cassie or his mom. Almost flew out after Tobias.

Instead, he shook his head, stumbled to the couch, and turned on the TV. As he dozed off, head spinning, knowing that he’d wake up with a hangover, he was struck with how painfully familiar this scene was. Beer cans strewn around. Miserable man sleeping on the couch. No food in the fridge.

Marco almost smiled bitterly. There was the irony and humor he was looking for. He was asleep before he thought of a punchline that was actually worth saying.

……

Marco awoke to the sound of banging on his door. Even in his almost zombified state, he still bolted up at the sudden sound. Then, realizing what it was, he groaned and laid back down. Every knock on the door felt like it was shooting straight to his head. He’d once again forgotten to morph before bed to get rid of the morning hangover.

He would have gone downstairs and yelled at whoever it was. Sales people or Jehovah’s Witnesses or whoever. But he might have thrown up if he tried to stand. He pulled the sheets over his head instead. Eventually, the persistent knocking subsided and Marco relaxed, about to doze off again before more intense knocking, this time coming from his back door, made him jump out of bed.

Who the hell had the gall to break into his backyard? He stomped over to his window and yanked it open, leaned his disheveled head out to window and opened his mouth to yell and-

“Mom!?”

Eva looked up at him, hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, glaring. “Did you forget how to use a phone, or what?”

Shit. It’d been about a month since Marco had called her. He’d meant to. Even if just to get her off his back. He knew his biweekly text messages wouldn’t hold her off for long.

“Come open the door!”

“Right. Going!”

He quickly gargled some mouthwash and threw on a t-shirt. Not a clean one. He hadn’t done his laundry since he’d moved in. He had no time to brush his hair. Not before she’d start attempting to pick the lock. His mother was persistent.

Marco winced as he reached downstairs, considered at least kicking some of the cans under the couch. But he had glass sliding doors at the back of the house. His mom had already seen everything.

“Hi, Mom!” he said brightly and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek in usual greeting. He tried not to wince at the brightness of the sun.

“Apestas a alcohol,” she said in greeting before walking past him. Marco sniffed at his shirt. “It’s coming out of your pores, sonso.” Damn.

“Sorry, I had a party last night.”

It was an obvious lie. It wasn’t like he had many friends at the moment. Still, she didn’t say anything. Just took a look around and wrinkled her nose.

Marco tried to think of something clever to say, but his brain was still too mushy to come up with anything.

After Eva looked around the house for a few seconds, she turned back to him and said, “Go take a shower. I’ll get started cleaning here.”

Marco opened his mouth to protest, but a quick glance and a stern “go” had him sighing and stomping up the stairs. Had it been anyone else, literally anyone else, he would have told them to fuck off.

He took a long shower. It took a while for him to sober up. And he was dreading talking to his mother. He knew it would leave him feeling guilty and a little ashamed and he was tired of feeling bad.

Marco walked down the stairs, feeling better and more alert, but still grumbling like a kid being put on timeout. He found her piling dishes into the dishwasher. She stomped over to him when she saw him, a scowl on her face. Well, that’s not good, he thought. She slammed something down on his coffee table.

“What is this?” Eva demanded, revealing a small ziploc bag containing a white, powdered substance. Marco swallowed nervously.

“It’s not mine. I’m just holding it for a friend?” he tried weakly.

Eva sighed, deflating, suddenly looking more tired than mad. That was worse.

“Marco, what are you doing?”

“Look,” Marco said, suddenly defensive. “I’m an actor, okay? This is normal. It’d be weirder if I wasn’t doing drugs. Besides, I can morph. I literally can’t get addicted to anything.” Not physically, at least.

“Oh, I don’t care about the drugs,” Eva exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Mijo, you’re wasting your life away.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He ignored the way his mom’s eyes narrowed at him. “It’s barely been two months. It’s not like I’m some sort of bum. I’m a war hero. I’m a millionaire.” He sounded like an ass, but it was true. “I just need a break okay? I need to relax.”

“This your idea of relaxing?” his mom asked, gesturing at the bags of trash she’d gathered. Marco rolled his eyes again. He muttered an affirmative under his breath but couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve given you time. I’ve given you space. But this isn’t healthy, mijo. You need help.”

“I’m fine,” Marco snapped. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m handling things.”

“Another one of your friends is dead,” Eva said flatly and Marco winced. “You are fighting with your dad and you’ve blown up your career. You’re on your way to becoming an alcoholic. You need professional help.”

Marco didn’t answer. He turned away from her angrily. And guilty and ashamed. He considered telling her to leave, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was about to stomp up the stairs like a petulant teen, but his mom said, “Finish cleaning up here, will you? I’m going to get some groceries.”

“I’m an adult. I don’t need my mom buying me groceries.” She gave her own eyeroll, but didn’t otherwise respond to his outburst before walking out the front door, keys in hand.

Marco did stomp his way up the stairs, got about halfway up, then sighed and turned back down to finish what his mom had started.

….

His mom left the next morning, threatening to come back and drag him outside by the ear if he didn’t at least call her once a week. After she left, he found that he’d cleared out all of the liquor in the house in the middle of the night, as well as his well-hidden illicit drugs. He sent her a message asking for monetary reimbursement which was of course ignored.

Marco’s mood did not improve over the next few days. Especially not when he’d been forced into sobriety. He could go out and get more alcohol, of course. And he would, later. But for now, he lay on his couch, letting himself wallow in bitterness and anger and self-pity. He’d earned the right, damnit.

Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he needed professional help. Instead, he flipped aimlessly through the channels on TV, not really looking at what was on. It was like that Tobias found him a few days later, swooping in through the open back window. Eva had left it open before leaving, talking about fresh air and sunlight. Marco hadn’t bothered to close it.

((Tidied up the place?))

It had been a while since Tobias had dropped by. Tobias was like a ghost. Appeared and disappeared at whim. Flashed into existence when he remembered he was a person and was gone when he forgot he was alive.

Marco shrugged and continued to stare at his TV dully. “My mom stopped by.”

((Ah. Guess you finally called her then.))

Marco stopped scrolling through the channels. Glanced back at Tobias. “What?”

((Jake,)) Tobias explained. ((I talked to him a few weeks ago when he stopped by your place. Told me to tell you to call your mom.))

An image appeared in Marco’s mind, then. Jake and Tobias and Cassie. All sitting around discussing him. Talking about how he’d lost it. How he’d finally snapped. They shook their heads pityingly in his mind. Poor Marco, he heard them say. Poor, poor Marco.

“What, you’re best friends with Jake now?” Marco snapped, suddenly angry.

Tobias stopped mid-preen and cocked his head at him. ((What?))

“You two sitting around, talking about my problems? As if you’re not both more fucked in the head than I am?” He could his heart beginning to pound wildly as his tone grew more accusatory.

Tobias sighed. ((Look, Marco-))

“No, no, tell me. Did you invite Cassie to your gossiping sessions, too? My mom?”

Marco could practically hear Tobias roll his eyes at him, which just made his blood boil. He was not being ridiculous. He was not overreacting. ((Oh, grow up, will you? They’re just worried about you.))

Marco snorted. “That’s rich coming from you. Tell me, when’s the last time you talked to your mom?”

Tobias fixed his sharp glare at him. ((Fuck you, dude. Are you contractually obligated to be an asshole to anyone trying to help you?))

Marco sneered. “Oh, you’re helping me? You? The guy who disappeared from the face of the earth for years? No, you’re here because you feel guilty I had to kill Ax when you didn’t have the guts to do what needed to be done.” Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Marco knew he would regret them. But right now, he couldn’t find it in him to care.

There was a loaded silence, then a seething ((This might be news to you Marco, but people with common empathy don’t rush to kill their family members at a moment’s drop.))

It was a low blow, meant to hurt. Marco turned from Tobias and began walking away. Without looking back, he said, “Why don’t you do what you do best? Piss off and go sulk on your tree.”

The only response he got was the sound of wings flapping and then nothing, as Tobias took to the sky.

This time, Marco had noticed the signs, but perhaps too late. A few minutes later, he sat at the foot of his bed, curled into himself as he tried to take deep breaths through waves of panic.

……

Tobias moped for a few days, angry and more than a little hurt.

He knew that Marco had been angry at him, after the war, for disappearing for years. But he’d thought they’d worked it out aboard the Rachel. One night, Marco had snapped at him, after a particularly frustrating day, accusing his disappearance as the reason Jake had been depressed for years. Tobias had informed him that he didn’t particularly care about Jake’s feelings. When Marco threw Loren and Ax and Cassie and himself at his face, though, he’d shut right up.

Marco had missed him. He’d been worried about him, as had the others. He didn’t say it outright, of course. Not the part about missing him, at least. But Tobias had gotten the point after Marco had accused him of abandoning his friends a couple of times.

Tobias had missed them, too, though he didn’t tell him that. He did try to explain, not in so many words, that it hadn’t been them that he was trying to run from, but the never-ending, soul crushing, nearly life-ending grief and pain that had taken over his mind and his heart, after Rachel’s death. How impossible it had been, for a while, to be in his own presence, let alone the presence of others. Marco had gotten the gist of his non-apology. They’d watched a couple of hours of crappy TV together, and just like that, they were friends again.

Sadder friends, now that Rachel was dead and with the looming worry for Ax, their missing friend, the third link of what had once, towards the end of the war, been a team within their team. Marco had joined him and Ax as a fellow outcast after his so-called death, and though Tobias had been a little annoyed at the disruption of his and Ax’s little home, he’d appreciated Marco’s company. So it had been nice, back in space, to have a friend back in the absence of everyone else.

And then Marco had killed Ax.

Tobias had been the one to find Ax, alone and too far gone to save, in a secluded corner aboard the blade ship. It would have been him who would have had to do it, slid his sharp, hork-bajir blades across his throat or through his brain. But Marco had found them, seen the grief and despair and horror that were so obviously visible even through Tobias’s hork-bajir face. He’d understood, immediately, what Ax was asking. And so he’d laid a hairy hand on his shoulder and told him to look away. And just like that, Ax was really, truly, dead.

He had wondered if Marco resented him for it. He’d never accused him of anything, after they escaped, their sad band of four surviving members. They had been crammed inside an escape pod, shooting to earth for four months on four hundred square feet of space, one bathroom and barely enough food to keep them from flat out starving.

Santorelli was dead. Menderash was dead. Ax was dead.

Ax was dead. As was the weird normalcy they'd all fallen into before running into the blade ship.

Tobias didn’t remember much of those four months on their way to earth, after the loss of his uncle and very best friend in the whole world. They had slept a lot. Both to conserve energy as they were low on food supplies and because the four of them had been reduced basically to zombies. He would hear Jeanne cry, occasionally, though he couldn’t remember if anyone had tried to comfort her. Jake would pace around sometimes, muttering to himself, though it was far more unnerving when he paced silently.

Marco would watch the same movie over and over again on the small movie player he’d manage to save. Tobias didn’t think he’d ever be able to watch The Princess Bride again without clawing his face off. Occasionally, Tobias would see tear tracks on his blank face, almost like if Marco himself didn’t realize they were there at all. Once or twice he had caught him taking a benadryl to knock himself unconscious faster. Maybe Tobias should have checked in, asked him how he was doing. Apologize. Thank him.

But Tobias himself had retreated once again. He didn’t morph. He barely talked. He sometimes ate. When, finally, they’d arrived on earth, without looking at him, Marco had asked, “Are we ever going to see you again?”

((Yes,)) he had said, after some hesitation. ((I can’t tell you when, but you’ll see me again.)) Marco had nodded and Tobias had left. He didn’t see him again until the day he pulled into his now home.

So maybe Tobias wasn’t an amazing friend. But he thought they still were. Even sadder friends now. Marco, once again an outcast like him. Both of them more broken and damaged than ever. But still friends.

Maybe not.

It was okay. Tobias was still terribly angry at him anyway. So he’d give himself a few more days to mope and then he’d get over it and reach out to Toby and Cassie. He’d hang out with them more. He had to. Before he died, he’d promised Ax that he wouldn’t completely isolate himself again.

He really wished he’d done no such thing.

……

Finding Tobias was harder than he’d anticipated. Which Marco should have known. No one could disappear as well as he could. It didn’t help that he didn’t actually know where his new territory was, besides knowing that it had to be close by. So, he’d had to find Toby first to get the precise location.

And of course, Tobias wasn’t there. He also wasn’t there the next couple of times Marco flew by. He was getting increasingly concerned that he’d pushed his friend into another years-long bout of isolation, that it’d be his fault, when he finally spotted him a mile out from his house. Tobias was flying lower than him, circling around, presumably hunting for something.

Marco angled towards him, and called out, ((Birdboy!))

Tobias didn’t answer, and Marco flew closer towards him. ((Hey, Tobias!))

Still, no answer. He did a double-take, but- no. It was him. Marco would have rolled his eyes if he could. Petty ass.

((That’s cool. You don’t have to talk. I think I’ll stick around for a while, though. I’m catching some killer thermals. I do sure hope I don’t accidentally scare away any prey, tho-))

((What do you want Marco?)) Tobias snapped, irritated.

((I just want to talk.))

Tobias sighed dramatically in his head, and proceeded to land on a tree. Marco landed on the foot of the tree and demorphed. When he was done, he said, “I, uh wanted to apologize,” he said, looking at the branch Tobias was perched on rather than directly at him.

((Go on,)) Tobias said, after a moment.

Marco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I was way out of line, okay? I’m sorry for bringing up Loren. And Ax. And… well, the rest of it.”

There was a pause, and Marco expected him to fly off or at least to feel the sogginess of bird shit land on him. But instead, Tobias said, ((Okay. Whatever.))

Marco finally looked up at him. “What, that’s it?” Despite the lack of facial expressions, Marco knew Tobias was still irritated.

((What do you want me to say?))

Marco shrugged. “I thought you’d be angrier.”

((Of course I’m still angry! You had no right throw Ax and Loren in my face like that.))

Marco wanted to say that Tobias had no right to throw the cliff incident at his face either, but that would just piss him off even more. And he was so tired of everyone being angry at him, deserved or not.

“I know. I was just being an asshole.”

((Yeah, well, what’s new?))

Marco snorted. Wasn’t that the story of his fucking life lately?

“You got me there,” he said, mock cheerfully. “Anything else?”

((For the record, I had no intention of leaving Ax like that. I was going to ki-)) A pause, then, with more bitter resignation than anger, ((I was going to do it. I know you resent me for that, but-))

“I don’t resent you for Ax,” Marco interrupted, surprised. “I do resent you for coming here trying to give me advice when we both know you are even more fucked in the head than I am.”

((Oh trust me I am under no illusions about my sanity. I am well aware,)) Tobias said sardonically.

“Good. So don’t try to lecture me again.”

((Fine. And you stop being an asshole to people who are just trying to help you.))

Marco glared at him. “You’re one to talk,” he said, and immediately regretted it. So much for not pissing him off.

But instead of flying away, like Marco thought he would, Tobias said, ((Oh, I’m not an asshole to people trying to help me. I just don’t let them find me.))

Marco laughed. He sat down and leaned against the tree. “You know, I think I finally understand you now. I want nothing more than to sit around and play video games and watch trash TV and partake in some light substance abuse and be left the fuck alone. Is that too much to ask?”

((I mean, I didn’t do any of those things, but sure.))

“That’s because I am way more fun than you, my feathery friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. And then Tobias said, ((Hey, Marco? About Ax? I… thanks… For… You know. Taking over.))

Marco shifted, uncomfortable now. “Yeah, well, gotta pay it forward. Jake and Cassie did the same thing for me. With my mom.”

((Yeah. But Ax was your friend, too. I know that had to have messed you up. So thanks.))

Marco shrugged, but didn’t deny it. “Yeah, well, I didn’t come here to be sad. I think I’m gonna go back to bad TV and video games. Want to come?”

((No,)) Tobias said, and Marco nodded, trying not to look disappointed. Then he grinned when Tobias added, ((I still have to go find my lunch. I’ll stop by tomorrow.))

……

And so, just like that, Marco and Tobias were once again a constant in each other’s lives. They saw each other once or twice a week, Tobias stopping by between meals. They would joke and bicker and watch an installment or two of whatever Marco was currently binging. Sometimes they went out for a fly. Sometimes, Marco would convince Tobias to morph human and play video games or have dinner with him.

Occasionally, when it had been too many days between his visits, Marco would fly around and find Tobias, usually flying aimlessly, lost in his own head. He would join him and talk to him, rambling about one subject or the next, not minding when Tobias gave one word responses or said nothing at all. Usually, on those days, he could pull at least one complete sentence out of Tobias before he had to demorph. Occasionally, he’d be able to convince him to join him back at the house.

Sometimes, when they watched a show or a movie, Tobias would notice that it’d been too long since Marco made a quip about whatever they were watching. So he would take over and chip in with his own wry commentary. Usually, he could get a lame joke out of Marco. Sometimes, he could pull out a genuine laugh out of him.

They were bruised and broken, both of them, reeling from their still open wounds. But the company helped.

#animorphs

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