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It starts like it always does; with a fist to the face.
Jake doesn’t dodge the first punch, hard to dodge something you didn’t expect - well, he should always expect it nowadays. He does dodge the second. Swings himself under the arm and comes rising up with a punch of his own to his assailants jaw. Grunt number one goes down, but grunt number two comes up right after. Jake takes a hit to the ribs which creak in protest - already cracked, Marc was fighting for a while then.
Grunt number two backs off with a jab to the throat, coughing and spluttering as he goes. The third and final guy hangs back - he’s been paying attention it would seem. Jake takes the free time to look at where he’s been dropped. The air is dry and hot, sand and dust along the street whirl in the wind which does nothing to cool him. Market stalls are set up all over the place, where a ring of onlookers watch silently - someone’s recording on their phone. Dark faces stare at him.
Cairo.
Grunt number three finally attacks, going for a low swinging kick rather than a punch. He’s innovative, cocky though, and gets his leg fractured for it when Jake stomps. Grunt Two is back in action, and number One is groaning into consciousness on the ground. There are too many civilians around to get hurt. No one’s pulled a knife on him despite having them; Two and Three have them sheathed on their legs. So for some reason they don’t want Marc dead.
Abduction maybe? It would work in Jake’s favor to get away from casualties. After a moment to deliberate, Jake lets Two get a lucky shot and goes down limp as though knocked out. He stays like that as One gets up and reorients himself, and Two cautiously pokes him with his foot. Jake resists the urge to grab his leg and pull.
Three stutter-walks as he adjusts to his injured leg; One and Two grab Jake’s arms to drag him away. Time to wait.
Jake is a master at pretending.
He had to learn quick; Steven’s stuttering way of speaking, Marc’s chicago drawl, how to curl in to protect his stomach from kicks. He wasn’t allowed time for confusion, or questions, had to adapt fast to survive. Of course what seemed fast to him actually took time. Months and years passing by without a clue.
Each flicker of existence only happening every other week, every other month. Sometimes occurring day after day, while in others six months would pass in the second it took to breathe. He didn’t even have a name, then, just the seconds of being. It took forever to think, to do more then just breathe, to finally have a name.
Jake Lockley, an identity of his own choosing.
The grunts stuff him into the trunk of a car, small and cramped. It reminds Jake uncomfortably of things he’d rather not think about, but there’s no way out of it until they let him out. So Jake sits curled up like so many times before, lying alone in a dark and familiar place, with only his thoughts for company.
Marc and Steven remain blissfully unaware of the hallway closet. In fact, Marc may choose to hide there many times, which only really ends with Jake locked inside once again. It is within that small room that Jake really comes into being, nothing but himself and his thoughts. Nothing to do but wait, and think.
In this place Jake fantasizes about what he wants to do, later, when the body is finally older and away from their mother. Maybe he’ll drive, forever and forever away from this apartment; meeting new people and seeing new places. Maybe Jake can introduce himself to Marc and Steven, care for them and be cared for in return.
But that’s a pipe dream, because his Mom will probably kill them before they could even learn to drive.
Grunt number Three’s ugly mug is what meets Jake when the car trunk is finally opened. Three’s ugly mug also gets a fist to the face when the car trunk opens. One and Two give surprised shouts as Three staggers back, and Jake quickly climbs out of the trunk. He lands crouched right before Three, and makes quick work of stealing his knife from the sheath and standing up, slashing as he goes, effectively gutting Three open.
The grunt falls, dead, as Grunt One and Two create distance between them and Jake. The land around is flat and empty, just as dry and hot as before. Ahead of Jake lays the end of a cliff, Cairo sprawling in the distance, and a glance behind shows a run down building made of stone.
The grunts exchange looks, nervously watching Jake as they circle him. One clenches his jaw and rushes from the right - Two following his lead from the left of Jake. One is bulkier then Two, more muscle and has a height advantage on Jake. Two is smaller, swifter, but also not as used to fighting. He’s got a knife but is inexperienced with it. Jake goes for Two first.
Disarming him is easy. Jake clashes their knives together, sliding his blade until its just beneath the jut of the others' and flicking out. Two’s clumsy grip on it gives and the knife goes flying. One goes at Jake’s back, which Jake sidesteps to slash his side. The cut glances and One ignores it, quickly turning on his feet to face Jake. Two backs up, arms raised defensively now that his weapon’s gone.
One leads again, a right hook aimed for Jake’s cheek. Instinctively he flinches back, a mistake. The punch turns into a slap at arm, the knife in his hand loosening from his grip. One quickly uppercuts his jaw with his left hand, leaving Jake dazed and finally dropping the knife. He staggers back and Two comes in from the right, sliding between Jake and One with a elbow to Jake’s gut.
Jake wheezes, breath gone and vision bursting with stars.
Faking Steven happens later, more recently. Jake’s not as good at it, but he passes by fine. It’s the little things that get him but it’s not like anyone cares enough to notice the little things Steven does, besides him and Marc. Dylan doesn’t even question the steak thing, despite Steven being a vegan and loud about it.
He has more practice being Marc. Marc is who everyone wants Jake to be; Mom, Dad, the therapists and doctors. Pretty funny actually, because everyone but Marc wants them to be Marc. Of course, Marc doesn’t know about Jake, and he’s pretty sure Marc doesn't want to know by now.
Just like Marc doesn’t want to remember the closet. Otherwise Jake wouldn’t exist, would he?
Jake’s vision clears as grunt One brandishes a knife. He has no idea where he got it, maybe filched it off the ground while Jake was out, but One obviously knows what he’s doing with it. Two’s got Jake pinned to the ground, hands wrapped around his arms and head hanging just above Jake’s face. His legs are free, and so Jake crunches them forward to kick Two’s head. Instantly his arms are free and he scrambles up.
One’s too far away from grabbing the knife to help Two as Jake gets him in a sleeper hold. Jake’s just about to snap Two’s neck when he realizes he’s just a kid. He scrambles at Jake’s arms desperately as he looses his breath, One slowly closing in but pointedly not helping.
Jake’s willing to do a lot to protect the body, to protect Steven and Marc, but he’s not about to kill a kid.
The closet is home to Jake the way the apartment is home to Marc. The way the bedroom is home to Steven.
Steven never leaves the bedroom, reading his books and drawing his adventures on the safety of his bed. It’s more his domain then either Jake’s or Marc’s now. But Steven is actually safe there, where Marc isn’t; belongs there in a way where Jake has never set foot there.
Marc calls the apartment home but never relaxes here. Constantly on edge for the sound of footsteps and closing doors. A ghost in his own home.
Jake only breathes in the closet. He wants to leave and never come back, to see the open sky above him and grass below him. Smell the air as the wind blows across his face. Jake dreams of the purr of a car beneath him, the wheel turning like liquid in his hands. The closet is a cage; like the bedroom is; just like the apartment.
The only home they’ve ever known.
Jake stomps on the kid’s foot, breaking the ankle, and throws him to the side. Two lands on his hands, a strangled yelp escaping his lips as One finally swings with the blade. Jake sneers at him, ducking the knife and jabbing One’s guts with his elbow. One wheezes backwards, and Jake slaps his hand to release the knife. Grabbing it from the air, Jake steps back to get away and adjust his grip. Two tries to get up but Jake steps on his ankle again and growls.
“Stay down.”
The kid stays down.
Steven starts learning about space. It’s his first special interest, really, so Jake finds his head stuffed with facts and thoughts about astronomy and astrology. Bleed over from when Jake watches Steven exist in the body - something he’s only just learned to do.
Seventy-three miles to space. Only seventy-three. It’s just over seventy-five to Milwaukee and Rockford; one hundred to Polo and Allegan. Something seems wrong about that measurement but textbooks don’t lie.
Marc finds it frustrating - space is so close and yet they’re constantly stuck here, with the memory of Randall hanging around their necks and the threat of their Mom around every corner. Jake takes his time to figure it out, learns the distance of other things in the meantime.
Ninety-three million miles to the sun. One hundred and seventy-five to Springfield. Only a quarter of a million miles to the moon.
Two miles to the closest military recruitment center.
If humans can travel to space with only seventy-three miles between the ground and the void then whats two miles?
One doesn’t learn. He comes running, again, desperate this time. His nose is crooked and bleeding - broken - and he hunches over his bruised stomach. Jake clenches the knife between his fingers and doesn’t hesitate when he stabs One in the gut. He jerks and stops, shock flashing on One’s face. Jake snarls and opens One’s stomach with a strong swipe.
Two stays down.
Marc wrenches control from Jake, and Jake closes his eyes and lets him.
Dying was new for Jake, and wouldn’t have happened if he weren’t a fucking coward.
But Marc and Steven are suspicious, now, that he exists. It’s everyone he’s ever wanted really but, Jake couldn’t do it with the memory of the looks on their faces. Marc doesn’t want to kill anymore, and Steven has never wanted to hurt anyone.
For Jake’s weakness they die, body jerking with the force of bullets.
Jake pretends to see stars in the dark. It’s dusty and smells in the closet, an ever constant presence when he’s there.
It’s not so common anymore. Marc spends less and less time in the apartment, and therefore Jake isn’t around for Mom to push into tight spaces. Steven, however, hasn’t gotten the memo yet so Jake still wakes up in the closet.
Jake always pretends to be where he isn’t. Jake is always waiting for when they aren’t here anymore. Time used to flash by too fast for him, begging for it to slow - to let him think for a moment. Now it’s stillness is killing Jake.
All he ever seems to do anymore is dream and wait.
The sarcophagus is a hell specifically designed for Jake. Dark, cramped, and alone. He bangs against the lid, scrapping his hands raw along with his voice as he screams. Claws, kicks, breaks his own bones against the unrelenting stone. He wants out from the closet, into the sun. Let him out of the cage.
Two hundred fifty-two thousand miles to the moon. A quarter of a million miles to Cincinnati; to Waterloo; to Canada. It doesn’t seem so far when you know the numbers. When you’ve fought for your life in a New York alley, saved someone in a London backstreet. Killed a man in Cairo while looking him in the eye.
The entirety of London fits under a ten mile radius. Finding Arthur Harrow and ending his life is nothing compared to the distance to the moon.
Marc and Steven, blissfully ignorant as they are, will never know. Maybe Jake won’t get to meet them, maybe they’ll never care about him the way he does for them, but Jake’s always been better at pretending anyways.
So he can pretend they’ll thank him one day while he puts two bullets between Harrow's eyes.