Work Text:
Marc unlocked the door to Steven's apartment (or "flat", as he called it) wearily. The mission had become something of a wreck.
Ever since his mother's funeral, months ago, Steven had started to bleed into his life more and more. It became difficult to control who was fronting, and it was only a matter of time before Steven realized that he had an alter-ego who was also the avatar of the moon god.
After Steven's... unfortunate intrusion on his work, Marc was considering methods of eliminating the future possibility of an overlap in such a dire situation. Then again, Steven was meant to be his protector. "When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear", after all. Perhaps it was only natural that he should try to take over when they were in distress. Steven was supposed to keep them safe, but not like this. Now it was Marc's job.
He wondered when the roles had begun to reverse.
Perhaps when Steven chose the apartment, or when Steven got a job that didn't involve murder.
However it had happened, Marc was now faced with the problem at hand. Steven was being dragged into his work as Khonshu's Fist of Vengeance. The moon god didn't understand Marc's protectiveness towards his alter - how could he? - but Marc refused to hear his threats and taunts against Steven. Steven was the reason Marc was alive. Steven had pulled them through their wreck of a childhood, and now it was Marc's turn to repay that protection that he didn't deserve.
Marc mulled over his options as he replaced the tape over the door seal, sliding the three bolts closed. He stripped off his clothes, taking a two-minute shower to scrub the blood and grime off his body before redressing in Steven's pajamas that he had left out Thursday night. He was yawning, packing his clothes away to be washed later, shoving a protein bar into his mouth, when something caught his eye.
The large fish tank that Marc usually ignored, shrouded in tacked-up post cards that he had written to Steven because he was too much of a coward to admit that their mother was dead, was empty. Typically, a bright orange goldfish with a fin defect was swimming circles about the tank, but today there was no movement.
Marc approached the tank tentatively, peering in through the glass.
The tank was empty, as he had seen before, but- no, it wasn't. The goldfish (Gus?) lay on his side, floating at the surface of the water.
"Damnit," he swore quietly. Steven loved this fish.
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the tank as he realized what he had to do.
°°°°
What are we doing, again?
Marc ignored the annoying voice of the god. He was pounding down the avenue in Steven's pajamas and sneakers, not having bothered with anything but shoes and a coat. A wad of cash taken from his emergency currency stash was clenched in his hand, and occasionally his breaths would send shooting pains through his injured ribs.
Why do you waste your time with this fruitless effort? All mortals perish.
This was fine. It was giving him more time to have the suit heal him.
He entered the first pet shop he came upon, startling the late-night employee. He was surprised the shop was open, actually.
He scanned the store quickly, taking in the wall lined with tanks, the cages in the back, the stacks of feed slumped against the wall like so many drained bodies. The dazed employee was leaning on their hand behind the counter, eyes dropping nearly closed as they yawned. And on the wall behind the counter hung an analog clock reading 5:47, most likely a.m.
Well, that explained why the shop was open.
The tired employee did not look thrilled when Marc marched straight up to the desk, ringing the little bell obnoxiously a few times to wake him up.
"Hey, kid, I need a fish," he said.
The teenager focused on his face slowly, blinking in confusion.
"Aight," they said slowly, with another one of those ridiculous British accents that everyone had in, well, Britain. "Fish's over there," he gestured, pointing at the far wall.
Marc glanced at the tanks before turning on the kid once again.
"No, you don't understand, I need a goldfish, with one fin." The employee stared. "Or, well, one fin significantly smaller."
The employee sat up from leaning on his hand, stretching and fixing him with a skeptical look.
"Look, mate," he began. "This isn't Finding Nemo, right? We've got plentya goldfish but none's missing a fin."
I told you this was a bad idea. Why do we care about the worm's fish?
Marc scowled.
"It has to have one fin!" he demanded. "It has to be exactly the same! Here, look," he fished Steven's phone out of his coat pocket, opening his entire folder of Gus photos, pulling one up for the employee. "See? Like this one." He flashed the screen in front of their eyes.
The worker's eyes widened, and he looked back at Marc.
"Mate, we got plenty more goldfish, but I can't-"
Marc ignored him, turning away with an overly aggressive sigh. His perpetual exhaustion due to Steven's nonexistent sleeping habits - which may have been his own fault as well; or, no, blame Khonshu - was not becoming any more bearable as the morning sun crept in through the glass doors of the shop. He felt vaguely as if there were something he should be remembering. Maybe Steven had work?
He went to the row of tanks, peering in on a desperate hope for any twins Gus may have had. He contemplated finding another goldfish and just chopping off a fin, but he wasn't sure if such a tiny creature could survive an operation like that. Or...
Struck with inspiration, he turned to look outside, where the tall, mummy-wrapped god stood vigil on the London sidewalk, linen strips drifting off his body and floating about like tentacles.
"Can you make one?" he asked, out loud, giving up on the hope of appearing sane.
A god does not waste his power in the whims of idiots, Khonshu declared. I am the Moon. I deliver righteous justice for the travelers of the night. I set the heavens aglow and bend the sky to my will. I do not "make fish".
Marc rolled his eyes, turning back to the tanks. Fish. Why.
He inspected the fish, occasionally checking one against his reference picture. Finally, he came upon a tank filled with Gus-clones, except they all insisted upon having two perfectly ordinary fins.
Marc sighed again, defeated.
"Can I get one of these?" he called to the employee, who he now noticed was watching him warily from the other side of the store.
"Er, right, sure." He brought a clear plastic bag over and edged around Marc carefully as he scooped up a random fish, pouring him into the bag along with a bit of tank water. Marc followed him to the counter, feeling his eyes burn and droop in exhaustion. "That'll be seven pounds."
Marc opened the hand containing the wad of cash he had brought, hoping he had grabbed the correct form of currency from his stash. He handed it over.
The employee's eyes widened again, and he took the cash, dazedly counting out what was apparently £7.
He put it in the register, then handed the fish bag to Marc over the counter. Marc took the bag and looked down at the little fish floating happily within.
It was very small. Bright orange, just like Gus. Just like Gus in so many ways, besides the fin. He's just like the drawings Randall used to do - and he shut that thought down very quickly.
It suddenly punched him in the gut. That thought, and the realization that this is his fish. (Their fish?). It's up to him to keep this tiny, sparkly creature safe, like he couldn't do for his brother.
The fish's enormous eyes blinked. He had no care in the world.
Marc didn't feel the tears gathering in his eyes until the employee cleared his throat. He was holding Marc's change out.
Marc wiped his eyes quickly, taking the money and shoving it in his coat pocket. It is also then that he remembered he was in pajamas.
"I... haven't slept in a few days," he said, glancing around before leaving the pet store. Before the employee could call the cops.
That went well, Khonshu quipped from his new position on a nearby rooftop.
Marc ignored him.
He looked at the fish again, an odd warmth growing inside him. He felt like he was falling in love.
The fish was wonderful, and Steven was distracted anyway. There was no way he would notice the difference.
Marc set off for the apartment.
Steven wouldn't notice.
°°°°
Steven stared into the fish tank in absolute horror.
That was not Gus.
"What the f-"