#they’ll go on and on abt how they hate each other then start wailing if they’re separated <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[curi0uscreature]

* Mfs will say anything except “I care about you” 🙄

[izzy-b-hands]

Heaven Shall Not Shut Thee In Pt. 2

And here’s the second one! Took some details from the original version of the NATM scripts, which talk more abt what happened to Ahk to land him in a sarcophagus, and just sort of went from there in terms of working canon in here lol. This isn’t my happiest fic by far, but I’m glad to have written it. 

A big ass warning for violence though. It is in this, and explicitly described. I’ll add a tw tag of violence, but if y’all need additional tags on it pls let me know!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The halls of the museum are quiet when he wakes. The lights are on, exhibit spaces empty of their inhabitants, but it is silent as death.

When he finally finds them, they are all in the main hall, huddled near the front desk around Larry. 

“Not yet. I promise, I will show him this. But not now. Let’s give him a heads up first, let him know there’s something he needs to read, and he can look at it on his own-” Larry is saying as he approaches.

“He will need comfort,” Teddy interrupts. “And company. It will be devastating to him, Lawrence. We cannot even begin to imagine the pain it will bring Ahkmenrah-” 

“What will?” he asks, and they turn almost in unison. 

“My boy,” Teddy says, and rushes through the crowd to hug him. It’s a bear hug, but a comforting one, even if he doesn’t know why he is deserving of it in the moment. 

“Tell me,” he says gently, and Teddy lets him go with a sigh. 

“Well,” Larry starts. “They’ll have to update the plaque. The informational one about you, in your exhibit. There’s been a discovery, apparently. Some of the other staff were talking about it and I found the journal article and...look, you don’t have to read it right away. Only when you’re ready.” 

He moves quick as he can, and grabs the article from Larry’s hand before he can pull it away.

A article from a scientific/historical journal. ‘The Death of Ahkmenrah: A Mystery Solved.’

He skims it, then goes back to reread it, and lets Larry and Teddy help him to a chair at the desk as his legs weaken.

“The discovery of a new tablet, found amongst otherwise unremarkable sands, has solved an ages-old mystery. How did the young, and presumed healthy, Ahkmenrah die? Little information has ever been found to hint at it, even after excavation of his tomb. 

Until now.

A confession, recently translated by several top translators in the field, from Ahkmenrah’s own brother, Kahmunrah, reveals the truth. It reads: 

I have finally rid us of him, cleared my path to the throne, and still it is lost to me. 73 stab wounds to him, and still they will not give me the throne. He lays in ribbons, his blood stains the floor of his room, I have lain his weakness out for them, to see he was not fit to live nor to rule. And it was all for naught. Better I should have killed us both, and left them with no one to inherit it.” 

He can read no further, can only hear the beating of his own heart thudding heavy in his ears. He can feel Teddy’s hand on his shoulder, but it barely registers. There is just the beating and the words in front of him. 

“73 stab wounds”

“He lays in ribbons”

“Kahmunrah” 

“He wouldn’t,” he says it so quietly he can barely hear himself. He shakes his head. “Why would he...” 

“I’m so sorry,” Larry murmurs as he kneels down in front of him. He’d forgotten Larry was a father, or perhaps just not had that as the first thing he saw him as, until now. The concern in his eyes is paternal, caring. “He shouldn’t...no one should ever do that, to anyone. Hurt them like that. No throne could ever be worth the act of killing family.” 

He hates how he knows he must look right now, bent in half sitting in the chair, with his head in his hands, the article dropped to the floor. He feels Teddy carefully remove the crown from his head so it won’t fall, and wants to thank him.

But all that comes are tears, wailing and weeping as everything his mind kept from him comes flooding back. 

He’s in his room. Kahmunrah stands in front of him, wearing a malicious smile. He needs to leave, needs to get past his brother now, he knows that. 

“If you simply say you wish the throne go to me first, they will allow it,” Kahmunrah says. “They would do anything for you, anything at all. If you aren’t ready to rule, I can hold the throne until you are. Don’t let them push you to it.” 

He shakes his head. “They aren’t. And even if they were, I would not question them. They are our parents, best is to do as they instruct, and they have asked me to take the throne next. So I shall.” 

As the last word leaves his mouth, the knife Kahmunrah holds, with its gilded hilt, goes into his chest. 

At first, it doesn’t hurt. He can see the knife, but it isn’t until a moment later that the throbbing pain sets in, and he tries to run. 

Kahmunrah yanks the knife from his body, and grabs him, pushes him back towards the wall as he attacks again, and again, and again. Silent except for the sounds of his exertion, even as he begs mentally for him to say something.

Say something to me, anything, but do not leave me to die in silence.

But he says nothing, and ceases his stabbing only when Ahkmenrah falls to the floor, his torso so ripped apart that there is nothing solid enough left to stab again. 

As Kahmunrah leaves, Ahkmenrah finds himself staring at his hands, the remnants of his torso. The combined wounds are open enough he can see organs, in pieces, spilling out even as he tries to hold them in.  He had no idea there was so much blood in the body, or that it could dry so quickly on his hands as the rest trickles out onto the floor. 

He waits there, for someone, anyone. A guard, servant, his mother or his father. 

But when he finally can fight it no longer, lets his eyes finally close and the breath leave him, there is no one. 

He comes back to himself in Larry’s arms, clinging to him like a child. The wracking sobs have brought on nausea, and he’s grateful for the bucket (probably stolen from a janitorial cart) that Teddy holds near his mouth as he retches.

There are voices around him, Larry and Teddy and Sacagawea, then Attila and Octavious and Jed, all blending together, none of them loud enough to drown out the screaming in his head. 

He sees it all from outside himself, as they walk him to the employee lounge, sit him on the couch, try to gently take off his sweat-soaked garb. He pushes them away; it’s too much like a funerary undressing and he can’t handle it.

He curls up on his side on the couch, and the voices fade until it’s just Sacagawea. She sings something he can’t understand, but it’s soothing. 

“You’re okay,” she murmurs as he whimpers. “The past is gone, and you are safe in the present. Come back to the present with me. Tell me what you see around you now.” 

The room comes back into focus, and he realizes he is laying on her, his head in her lap. She’s sitting upright, apparently comfortable as anything, humming and running her hand gently through his curls. His mother used to do the same, when he’d run to her after a nightmare, and he wishes he had the words to thank Sacagawea for doing it now. 

“What do you see?” she prods, softly.

“The TV,” he croaks.

“Good, what else?” 

He lifts his head just a bit to peer around. “The lockers. The table...my other clothes.” 

Someone must have grabbed them from Larry’s locker, and he realizes it means they must have been trying to get him into them, to make him feel safer, more comfortable. The sweat from his panic and fear has dried now, leaving him cold. 

“Do you want to change into them?” 

He nods, and sits up so she can stand. 

“Let me fetch Teddy. We’ll help you, okay? Don’t stand up until I have him here.” 

They’re back a moment later, and he’s grateful for the help. His legs are still weak, his whole body hurting from how tense he was, still is. He doesn’t know when he’ll feel relaxed again, but their hands helping him into the warm sweatshirt and sweatpants helps. He needs to thank Larry again for bringing the clothes for him. 

“You don’t have to go back out again,” Teddy says. “Unless you feel ready to do it.” 

He thinks. Part of him wants to go back to this exhibit, to hide there and wallow in the feelings. 

But one night of wallowing will not send all the mass of confused emotions away. It will take time, and work, and he knows it. He has an eternity, so long as the tablet works, to do that work. To try and heal. 

The part of him that wants to go back out wins; the fourth king of the fourth king may have fallen, yes, but he rises again.

They all treat him carefully, Sacagawea and Teddy and Larry staying close to him as he settles at the same chair behind the desk. He’s content just to be out with everyone, to watch them run about and mingle and have fun. He isn’t feeling anywhere back to normal or better, but simply being out there is a victory, as he thinks on it.

Kahmunrah is dead. Ahkmenrah rises again each night.

Kahmunrah will face punishment for his actions in the afterlife. Ahkmenrah is surrounded by new family, friends, who care enough for him to pick up the pieces and help him through the aftermath of a night like this. 

Kahmunrah only survived, was willing to kill to do so, and still was deeply unhappy.

Ahkmenrah thrives in love and happiness. And that, he thinks is the greatest victory he can achieve over his brother’s actions. To live each night, and do what his brother tried so hard to prevent him doing.

Thrive.