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i.
The Avengers were pretty used to Marc, Steven, and Jake, talking amongst themselves at this point. After the initial shock wore off and the system became more comfortable with the team, they allowed themselves to communicate aloud to one another, so it wasn’t uncommon to hear one sided conversations between the three.
While they may also be prone to arguing, that wasn’t really what they would call this. The team had been lounging comfortably in the community living room, Clint and Tony trying to teach Steve how to play Mario Kart, Bruce puttering around in the kitchen, eager to try out a new recipe he read online, and Steven and Natasha curled up on separate seats with a book.
Steven had been silent thus far, content to read in his book of different religious burial rites before his head snapped up, eyes staring into the middle distance with a glare.
“Oi, would you shut up for once you bloody pigeon?!”
Steven snarled at the open air, brows furrowed together in a frown. The team tried their best to keep out of the system’s affairs, leaving a space where they could be free to be themselves, but they had never heard Steven be so openly aggressive at the drop of a hat before.
“You good Steven?” Clint asked from where he was perched on the back of the large couch, “Is Marc giving you shit for your nerd books again?”
Steven huffed out an irritated breath.
“Yeah, just flippin’ brilliant, except this bleedin’ chicken won’t leave me alone! I’m literally just reading!” He explained exasperatedly, hands waving in the air.
“Like, what more could you want, Khonshu, I’m not going to go get Marc for you, he’s still tired from the last time you dragged him out at night!”
Collectively, the Avengers' brows creased. They had heard Marc mention before that he was in service to the Egyptian god of the moon, Khonshu, but had left it at that. They had simply taken it as some old fashioned religious beliefs of his, not an actual communication between the two.
Steven grew sheepish at the silence, Clint having pressed the menu button on his controller and the side conversations fizzling out.
“Sorry sorry, really ruined the moment there, didn’t I? Just bloody hard to read when you’ve got this bird nattering on in your ear, eh?”
Steven’s face flushed and he ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with the rest of them.
“I-I’ll just go then, should probably get to work on all the er… work… I have right now. Yup. Lot’s of work.”
He rose in a jerky motion, awkward with all the attention on him.
“I’ll be out of your hair in just a mo’, sorry ‘bout that.” He began to ease his way towards the elevator, keeping his back towards the wall.
The rest of the team wanted to express their concern, but not wanting to overwhelm the poor man who looked on the verge of a panic attack anyways, kept quiet, not knowing quite what to say.
“Aw man, can it wait ‘til after this round?” Clint whined from his perch on the couch. Steven’s head jerked up towards the other man, gaze not quite reaching his eyes but confusion written on his face.
“We were just about done with this cup, and then you have to race whoever the loser was and get your name on the podium,” Clint explained simply.
“What?” Steven replied dumbly, mouth hanging open.
“Yeah, ‘what’?” Tony muttered from his seat on the couch as well, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs that reminded the mechanic that as goofy as he was, Clint was still a trained ex-assassin.
“Yeah man!” Clint pulled a one eighty from nearly breaking Tony’s ribs with his jab, “You guys are new here so you gotta get worked into the schedule! We have a tournament at the end of every month, and we keep a scoreboard running for bragging rights and who picks the Friday takeout.
Steven awkwardly fiddled with the hem of his jacket.
“I er, I’ve never played before…”
“That’s fine!” Clint chirped, “Cap over here is still new to video games anyways, but if we can teach him to play then we can totally teach you too.”
Slowly, everything in the room returned to normal. Natasha and Bruce directed their conversation towards the ensuing race happening on the large TV screen while Tony, Clint, and Steve searched the couch cushions for their dropped remotes. Steven settled in slowly next to the three of them.
“Thank you…” Steven whispered to Clint quietly as he prepared to unpause his game.
“Hey man, it’s no problem, seriously,” Steven met Clint’s eyes, seeing the genuine concern and care within them.
“Now watch this, I’m about to kick Tony’s ass at Mario Kart for the third week in a row.”
ii.
Marc had been trained in countless high risk and high stress operations. He had been one of the top men of his troop while he was in the military, and even after being dishonorably discharged he remained one of the best of the group of mercenaries for hire in the area. He had been tortured, shot at, even killed within his life time and not much was able to shake him. This however, was quickly making him reach the end of his rope.
“No, no, explain it to me again, Moony, we’re really trying here!” Stark choked out through barely concealed laughter.
“Yeah, what was that about the whole ‘fist of justice’ thing you were talking about? I’d love to hear that part again.” Clint almost had tears coming out of his eyes with how much effort it was taking him to not laugh alongside Marc. He may have known Clint the longest, but that just meant he was much more intimately aware of just how much of an asshole Clint Barton was.
With a sigh, Marc began again.
“Khonshu is the egyptian god of the moon,” he pointedly ignored Stark’s mumbled “was” from under his breath. “He was thought to watch over and protect the travelers of the night. Khonshu chose me to become his Avatar, and uphold his moral agenda and protect the travelers of the night. Without an Avatar, he cannot physically manifest himself, meaning it’s my job to do his dirty work.”
The team stared at him as he finished his short lecturer.
“Did you, uh, ask to be his Avatar? How did you two start this whole thing?” Bruce spoke up awkwardly.
Marc cringed. “Not that I don’t trust you guys or anything, I just don’t really want to talk about it. Konshu found me in a… In a dark place, and he made me an offer. I accepted.”
As much danger that he faces in his regular Moon Knight activities and injuries he finds upon himself, it still terrified Marc to think about that day. The helplessness he felt as he dragged himself across the desert sands and into the Egyptian temple, prepared to end everything once and for all.
“Does it only work at night?” Cling interjected, finally getting a hold of himself. “The suit I mean, can you only summon it at night?”
Marc shook his head.
“I only take upon the duties of the Moon Knight at night, but I can summon it whenever. The suit works better at night too, and doesn’t heal as well during the day.”
The team considered this new information for a moment. Marc took a minute to gather himself. It wasn’t his idea to spill his whole origin story thing to the team, but Steven thought it would be a good bonding exercise for them. Yeah, such a good experience that he couldn’t even be present for. Marc mentally shook off his anger, it wasn’t Steven’s fault that he wasn’t co-piloting the body with him when the words began to all but tumble out of his mouth, and once he started he wasn’t about to stop going. Steven better be proud of him for this.
Clint and Tony had a dangerous glint in their eyes when they broke eye contact with one another.
“Marc,” Tony began.
“You’re impossibly fast, and strong,” Clint continued. Marc tilted his head in confusion, what were they on about now?
“Your skin is pale white and ice cold. Your eyes change color, and sometimes you speak like-” Tony continued, cutting himself off with such a suppressed laugh that it sounded like a sob.
“-Like you're from a different time,” Clint finished. Ok. They had to be messing with him. He gave the two of them a flat look and they burst into howls of laughter, tumbling off of the couches they were seated on and wheezing into the carpet.
Marc let out what felt like the 100th sigh of the hour, looking up to the sky for guidance. Typical, stupid bird wasn’t here when he actually needed him for once to prove his existence.
Poor Steve looked just as confused as he did, but spoke up anyways as Clint and Tony finally broke off from their peals of laughter into breathless, childish, giggling.
“So,” Steve started, looking as if he was trying to solve the world’s hardest puzzle, “are you like a werewolf then?”
The two Avengers on the floor, somehow, burst into even louder roars of laughter. Even Bruce let out a small chuckle and Natasha’s lip quivered in a way that meant she was fighting off a smile of her own.
It was taking all of Marc’s willpower not to simply suit up and jump out of the window, 70 story drop be damned. With the blandest look he could give, Marc turned back to Steve to reply.
“No, Steve,” He began through gritted teeth, voice nearly drowned out by Clint and Tony’s howls.
“I’m not a werewolf.
iii.
Sleepless nights weren’t a new thing to Bruce, he was used to being awake during odd hours of the night, unable to sleep or stay focussed on a task long enough to tire himself out. On these nights, he resolved himself to creeping down to the community floor where he has kept to hiding his favorite tea blends in plain sight, somewhere no Avenger (except for maybe Natasha) would think to look.
He padded quietly into the dimly lit kitchen on socked feet, making a beeline to the cabinet where he hides his tea. He got as far as picking out a blend and was beginning to pull out his favorite mug when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Slowly, he turned around, and sitting in the darkness at the table was Marc. Bruce nearly dropped his mug in surprise, but quickly snagged it by its handle before it could smash against the floor.
“Shit! You scared me Marc!” He exclaimed quietly, unwilling to break the comforting silence of the room.
Marc was quiet for a moment before responding.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook ya there, greenie,” he replied simply before turning his gaze back towards the windows on the opposite side of the room.
Bruce’s face scrunched up in worry.
“You ok? What are you doing up so late?”
Marc rubbed his hands together anxiously before taking a shuddering breath.
“It’s uh, it’s Jake.”
Oops. Bruce blames it on his tired mind that he wasn’t able to pick up on the subtle signs of Jake fronting; the mussed hair, quiet demeanor, and calculating gaze.
“Right, sorry,” Bruce began filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove, “What are you doing up so late then, Jake? Couldn’t sleep?”
Jake let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”
The two of them fell into an amiable silence, Bruce silently grabbing a second mug from the cabinet and rifling through the different teas to pull out the one he’s remembered seeing Jake drink once.
As he was placing the bags into the mugs and pouring the now boiling water from the kettle over them, Jake let out a frustrated groan, scrubbing his hands over his face roughly.
“Can you just- just shut up for a second?” He hissed tiredly, eyes locking onto something in the middle distance to the side of the room.
“What?” Bruce sputtered for a moment as he sat the two cups of tea on the table between them.
“Not you,” Jake waved off, “stupid fucking bird won’t leave me alone.” He grumbled.
“Oh.” Bruce replied dumbly.
Bruce had heard the system talk about Khonshu before, and had seen them talk to the god aloud before, but it was still disconcerting to watch the man speak to seemingly thin air. Bruce wasn’t religious by any means, but had to come to terms with Thor’s existence pretty quickly and likes to think he did a pretty good job with compartmentalizing the existence of aliens that also happened to be norse gods. It’s not that he necessarily doesn’t believe Khonshu exists, but without a lack of proof in front of him, it was hard for him to visualize the god’s existence. He trusts Marc and the system with his life, on and off of the field, but he doesn’t offer the most sound state of mind when it comes to figments of one's mind.
The silence started to creep in again, this time awkward and unsettling as Jake continued his dead eyed stare at the wall.
Bruce cleared his throat, “What is, er, Khonshu talking about?” He asked politely, sipping on his tea.
Jake had pulled his mug closer, content to hold onto it and let the warmth seep into his hands.
“Old dust-bucket wants me to go kill someone so he can eat his heart.” He stated simply, taking a loud sip of his still warm tea.
Bruce was glad his mug was resting on the table at the moment, for if he was taking a drink as well he was certain he would have spat it out in surprise.
Jake was always the more blunt of the trio, preferring to get shit done than to dance around the subject at hand or fumble with his words, but he had never outright mentioned such a desire to murder people before. Bruce felt an unbidden chill creep across his bones as he regarded JAke, who was now enjoying his gently cooled tea.
“Are you…” Bruce licked his lips anxiously, “are you going to listen to him?”
Jake looked at Bruce with a bewildered expression. “What the fuck? No! I’m not just gonna kill some guy for Khonshu because he wants a midnight snack!”
Bruce felt goosebumps rise on his skin from an imaginary breeze at the man’s statement.
“Seriously, this happens more than you think. He’s like a baby, you just gotta let him cry himself out and get tired.” Jake finished with a shrug, waving off Bruce’s concern. His acceptance to having an entity whispering in his ear in the middle of the night, urging him to kill someone for him to eat his heart, was frightening. Bruce didn’t want to ask if the heart eating was literal or figurative.
He fought down another chill and took a careful sip from his own mug, the silence brittle around them.
“Right then,” he began carefully after the two of them had drained their mugs in silence, “I guess I should try and get to bed now. Uh, goodnight, Jake.”
Bruce tried not to make himself look like he was retreating from the room with his tail tucked between his legs and come off as more put together.
“Hey Bruce?”
Bruce really shouldn’t be scared of him. It wasn’t fair to the other man, it wasn’t his fault he was affected in such a way by his mental illness.
“Thanks for the tea.” Jake stated simply before turning back and staring out the window, indicating the end of the conversation.
Bruce fiddled with the cuffs of his sweater for a moment before making the decision to go back to his room and leave the man be.
+1
Peter was excited. Well, he was generally excited for all his superhero-ing missions, but this one had him racing for his suit from the laundry hamper as soon as Mr. Stark pitched the idea for him to tag along.
While Doombots were no rare sight to the Avengers, it always seemed that Dr. Doom slipped out of their fingers at the last second, taking vital information on his bots and motives with him. This time however, a well placed GPS tracker on his over the top cape had led the team to where they were now, standing in the shadows of storage containers of the shipping yard they found themselves in.
They weren’t expecting a fight, Dr. Doom had been gone for too long at this point, but it was good to be prepared, it was always when you least expect it that the villains got the upper hand in Peter’s experience. Due to this, Natasha and Clint were scouting a few containers away, scanning for possible traps or loiterers.
Tony and Steve were off together as well, Tony scanning each shipping container for material that would be worth searching and Steve helping with his super strength to pry the stubborn locks off and provide extra muscle while Tony directed his suit’s main power to the scans.
This left Peter in his exciting predicament.
He and Marc, dressed in his ceremonial moon knight garb, were walking the perimeter of the yard. Peter was relying on his spidey-sense to let him know if there was anything fishy going on, and Marc said that Khonshu would let him know if there was anything dangerous around.
Peter cared about Marc, and Steven and Jake too for that matter, but call him a little bit of a skeptic when it came to the supposed gods and goddesses from ancient Egyptian history actually, you know, existing, he found himself more than a little bit skeptical. They were wonderful people of course, and he loved to spend time with them and trusted them with his life in the field… it was just that they didn’t have the cleanest track record for hallucinations, if their talking towards their reflections was any proof.
While he didn’t know how to exactly explain the Moon Knight suit’s powers and their connection with the night, he was sure there was some sort of magic out there that caused it. He’s seen Marc use his powers in action, his unexplained knowledge of where bad guys were hiding during the night, the odd breeze that seemed to direct his movements under the full moon, and his healing factor while wearing the suit.
The two of them walked in silence, Marc thinking about who knows what while Peter pondered what radioactive animal would give someone moon powers.
“You enjoying the superhero work, kid?” Marc asked suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts.
“Oh yeah, absolutely!” Peter began with enthusiasm, “I really like being able to help out the Avengers with missions and stuff, but really my favorite part is being able to help the little guy. Friendly neighborhood spiderman, you know?”
Marc nodded along as he rambled about his recent spiderman adventures. Marc wasn’t much of a talker usually, but was simply content to listen, giving a nod or comment in all the right places to show his interest in the conversation.
The duo carefully surveyed the surrounding area, beginning their trek back to the rest of the team as they finished checking the perimeter.
Peter continued his ramblings, eager to be given the chance to fill the silence. He dismissed the small buzz at the back of his neck, the spider sense wasn’t always spot on, plus, he had Marc there too and he hadn’t sensed anything strange about the area.
They were coming close to where the rest of the team had last reported their location, when Marc’s view snapped harshly to the tops of the stacked storage containers. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle.
“Marc? What-”
Peter didn’t have the time to finish his question before his spider sense was screaming at him. There was such an onslaught of panic and adrenaline that he froze in place, gaze automatically snapping to the barest of sliverly glints coming from between two storage crates stacked high in the air.
“Down!”
Marc’s body crashed into his own, sending the two sprawling ungracefully to the ground as a sharp puff of dust appeared right where they were standing.
He scrambled for the comm in his ear, tapping it to connect him to the rest of the Avengers.
“Guys there’s a-” He managed to gasp out on the ground before his body rolled instinctively, another puff of dust coming from where his body was near milliseconds before.
His ears roared with a rush of blood, drowning out the worried replies from the rest of the team.
“Sniper.” Marc snapped out succinctly, body landing in a crouch as he too rolled to the side. The buzzing at the back of Peter’s neck was nigh unbearable, body screaming for action and that danger was near. Where though? He hadn’t seen anything and his senses weren’t exactly giving him a direction to work with, just a screaming dangerdangerdanger pulsing in time with his heart rate.
He’s been in plenty of high risk situations. He’s faced down supervillains without backup and been stuck under fallen buildings. There’s no explanation for it, but Peter hesitated. The onslaught of information being pumped into his brain from his adrenaline and instincts leaving him overwhelmed.
He was jerked into motion by Marc grabbing his shoulder and pushing him behind a storage container. That was right, Marc had seen something, he must know which direction the sniper was shooting from. Peter slammed himself against the side of the container, making himself flush against the metal, crouching low to the ground and scanning the tops of the stack shipping containers. Marc landed with a thud to his side.
“Marc, hey, did you see what direction they’re shooting from? Fucking hell, he really got the drop on us there, but the rest of the team are on their way and we should be able to… to…”
His voice tapered off as he looked at the scene before him.
Marc was laying on the ground, unmoving. He forced his eyes to look further up at the fallen man and was nearly sick at the sight. Half of his white mask had been blasted off, leaving bits of bandages stuck within the gaping hole that was once the left side of Marc’s head. Bits of skull and viscera laid splattered behind where he had landed, blood quickly pooling in a dark red puddle beneath him. Like jam, Peter thought dazedly, not the sweet, almost pink strawberry kind his Uncle Ben would sneak on his toast in the morning, but the dark red of the raspberry kind his Aunt May preferred, seeds and all.
He scrambled for the bottom of his mask, lifting it up over his mouth just in time for him to lurch to the side and throw up bile. Sweat dripped off his chin and his body convulsed with shivers as he panted to catch his breath between heaves and retches.
“Pete! Hey, Pete! You ok underoos? We found the sniper, Cap got him with his shield and is tying him up right now, Nat and Clint are looking for others but haven’t found anything yet… oh…” Tony’s suit came to a halt a few feet away from the scene before lurching into motion again, body shielding the view from Peter’s eyes. He hadn’t realized he was staring at Marc again.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter croaked out in a hoarse voice, “Mr. Stark, oh my god Mr. Stark please, please, you have to help him, he-” His throat closed up with a sob, gulping in deep breaths of air.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he wailed, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain his cries. His breath came in quick pants now, feeling unable to suck in enough air.
“Kid, hey, look at me kid,” Tony commanded, turning Peter away from the scene and wrapping warm arms around him, having stepped out of the suit to comfort the young hero.
“Guys, Moon Knight is down and Pete’s having a panic attack, get over here as soon as you finish checking the area, we need you.”
Between one blink and the next, the rest of the Avengers came hurrying out from between the towering stacks of shipping crates, freezing as they took in the scene in front of them. Peter had since pulled his mask off the rest of the way, choking and gasping through sobs as tears streamed down his face. Tony had led him further away from the body- Marc. Led him further away from Marc to try and prevent him from viewing his mangled face.
Natasha crouched beside the man to check for a pulse. She knew it was wishful thinking, having seen Marc heal his body with a suit just as fast as he was receiving injuries, but never from such a direct shot to the head. Steve kneeled down next to Tony and Peter, urging the two of them to stand and leave the area. Clint stood motionless beside Marc’s body, face uncharacteristically blank and emotionless, watching Natasha give a small shake of her head and removing her hand from his neck, fingers red with fresh blood.
The heavy silence was only broken by the blubbering sobs from Peter and Tony whispering soft reassurances in his ear, holding the boy as he grieved.
Being a superhero was a dangerous occupation, this was not unknown to them, but this was a seemingly simple and routine mission. They hadn’t even really needed to bring Moon Knight with them, but they knew the man had as big of a soft spot for Peter as the rest of them, and they wanted to give the two of them time to work together in a low risk situation and enjoy themselves.
Some low risk situation this was.
The team was frozen in time. There was no telling if it was minutes or hours that passed, time fluid around their grief stricken bodies. Clint shivered in the cold.
Cold?
It was the middle of summer in New York, the humid heat was leaving them humid and sticky in their hero garb, Clint had just been complaining about that to Natasha before the sniper was reported.
A shiver ran down Natasha’s spine as well, lifting her head to turn and look into the impossible breeze. The open air was blocked by shipping containers, there was no way such a strong breeze could come through the area as it was.
Dust began to swirl at their feet, causing small dust tornadoes to go spinning outwards from the center of the breeze. Right at Marc’s dead body.
The team, minus Tony and Peter, took nervous steps backwards at the unfolding scene. The dust swirling in a large circle around Marc’s body, the moon beginning to peek out from behind the previously cloudy sky, casting a large beam of silvery light across his body. The red blood took on a silvery sheen in the light, looking almost beautiful in a horrific sort of way.
A dark shadow crept across the ground, too organic to have possibly been made by a wayward cloud. The dark tendril stretched further and further, taking upon the shape of a large crescent upon a stick. A staff? The top of the crescent oozed its way across the silvery splash of moonlight, gently coming to a stop and giving the barest of kisses to Marc’s broken head.
A light began to grow from the gaping wound from the fallen hero’s head, and as the team had to turn their eyes away from the blinding light, they saw the skeletal, shadowy hand holding out the staff, leading to an impossibly long torso and what appeared to be the large skull of a bird. The light brightened to an almost blinding quality, leaving the team to cover their eyes at the sight. With a flash bright enough to be seen even behind their hands, the light retreated, clouds returning to cover the moon in all its pearlescent glory.
Peter still hiccupped with tears, shaking at his spot in Stark’s arms, and the rest of the team looked at each other warily before being interrupted by a hoarse gasp.
Marc’s body heaved with frantic breaths as he rolled over onto his side, coughing and hacking bits of blood from his mouth.
What?
They knew Marc had an accelerated healing factor due to whatever magic the Moon Knight suit gave him, and even if he always claimed it was given to him by Khonshu, the team just suspected it as some sort of latent mutation or simply enchanted armor. But coming back from the dead? There was only one other man that they knew could do that and he was doing his best to stay out of their good graces.
Marc’s body gave a violent shiver as he brought himself to his knees, sweat dripping off his forehead and joining the still present pool of blood on the ground. His eyes were clenched shut, face twisted in anguish.
Before anyone could stop him, Peter surged forwards, helping the man gain his balance on his hands and knees and using his still gloved hands to wipe away the worst of the gore from his face. This spurred the rest of the Avengers into motion. Natasha and Clint took off into the dark to find transport back to the tower, there was no way Marc was walking back after all this. Tony already had Bruce dialed on his suit and was updating him on the situation and telling him to prepare medical. Steve sat crouched next to Peter and Marc, helping the previously deceased man into a sitting position, and then carefully getting him onto his feet. The longer they stayed here, the more danger they were in, it was obvious that this had been some sort of set up or that someone had been paying too close attention to them.
With his body being supported by both Steve and Peter, Marc was able to stay upright, though on furiously shaking legs and wobbly knees. Peter let out a choking gasp of air as he fought valiantly to bring air into his lungs, still shaken up by the situation and tears flowing freely from his eyes. At his attempts to get his breathing under control, Marc became more aware. He carefully opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to get the world into focus.
Peter looked up at him with concern. He had just been shot in the head, and now he was, more or less, fine. Was there any lasting damage? Did he have brain damage now? Hell, was it even Marc he was talking to? He had been so caught up in the moment he had forgotten to take into account that not only Marc, but Steven and Jake as well had just been killed in the fight. His heart dropped at the realization and it must have shown on his face as Marc turned towards him.
“Hey,” the white clad man whispered, voice rough and scratchy still as he took a second to spit a glob of blood on the ground and clear his throat.
“You ok, Pete?”
Peter surged forward and hugged the older man. He was careful enough with his strength as to not cause any more damage, but to keep him from toppling over.
Marc felt the younger boy's tears soak through his ceremonial armor. With what strength he had left, he wrapped his arms around his pseudo-brother, carefully rubbing his back as his body was wracked with sobs.
“It’s ok, Pete,” he whispered reassuringly, “We’re all ok, we’re fine.”
The two of them stood for a moment before Marc’s knees buckled, nearly taking both of them down. Swooping in, Steve scooped Marc up in his arms, careful of his head, and began to take lead the two of them towards the entrance of the shipping yard where Natasha and Clint were presumably waiting for them.
As the team piled into the car the two spies had managed to procure, a silent understanding fell upon them. They weren’t sure how to explain what they saw tonight, which was nothing sort of a miracle. They had come too close to losing their newest member and friend, and that weighed heavily on their conscience. One thing was for sure, however. They were all sure that what they witnessed was an act of a god.