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It didn't happen all at once like he might’ve expected once upon a time. Cross had certainly never thought that it would gradually dawn on him in the middle of a peaceful Tuesday afternoon of reading in the sunbeams and cuddling with his and Epic’s cats. The civilian identity of a particular mage-hero, that is.
Thyst wasn’t the most powerful hero, per say, but they were the one that Cross had always paid the most attention to. And, he supposed as he stared at the gorgeous face of said hero, the one who had paid the most attention to him, as well.
Epic looked up at his entirely-law-following-husband with a fond grin and an unmistakable twinkle in his eyelights, likely having sensed the gaze on his face.
“You good there, Crossy?” He chuckled beautifully. Cross blinked, and managed to only stammer slightly.
“Y-yeah, I’m good Dude,” he stood from his arm chair to sit in front of Epic, who was lying across their couch. They picked up his legs to sit and placed them in their lap. He softened his smile, “I’m good.”
Epic smiled back, returned to his book. That was close. Cross breathed in relief. He leaned against the couch and closed his eyes to look like he was sighing in relaxation. His soul pounded as he thought again about the fact that his husband, his best friend, his beloved Epic, was the mage-hero Thyst.
That was a good thing. Or it would be, if Cross wasn’t a dangerous mercenary with, to say the least, fewer morals than the average citizen.
Epic couldn’t know. At least, not until he could figure out how to tell him. And how he would live once Epic kicked him out.
Sure, Thyst wasn’t like the more well known heroes, and didn’t handle criminals nearly as severely. They had even been known to personally help criminals off the streets, and donated almost all of their earnings to charities of many kinds (according to their agency). It was one of the reasons Cross had always respected them and never accepted anything that targeted them.
That didn’t mean he was all fine and dandy with murderers, though. Especially not with marrying one. Epic had paid for their entire flat, since Cross had moved in with him, which suddenly made a lot more sense than it did when he thought he worked as an electrician. ‘Work benefits.’
He would surely be kicked out once Epic knew.
Cross’ face must have shifted in his distress, a result of finally trusting someone enough to let his guard down automatically, because Epic interrupted his train of thought in a gentle voice.
“Hey, Crossy, what’s wrong?” He looked so concerned. Cross felt like he was right back where he started, a fresh runaway, too distrusting and uncertain about living in the real world. Away from home. He smoothed his scrunched face.
“Sorry, just… wondering about my brother, again,” he jumped on the easy way out: the one thing that had persisted in causing him stress in his new life.
Epic smiled sympathetically, “We can check in with the police again if you want? Or we could try googling him again, even. Whaddya say?”
Cross’ soul warmed immediately. He was always letting his anxiety get the better of him. Thyst may not have ever thought of marrying a murderer, but he did know enough about the X-Event to know that he only took on hits that he truly felt deserved their fate (which he only knew because Tbyst had told him before). To deserve such fates took a lot. And Epic had even defended him before, to his face. He hadn’t known just who he was defending a mercenary to, either.
(That also made a lot more sense. The X-Event was only well-known in the Underground.)
“Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks, Epic,” he leaned over and kissed below his partner’s eye socket. “Love you.”
“I love you too, Bruh.”
____________________________________
There still hadn’t been any updates about the little brother Cross always wished he had brought with him since the last time he had checked. It didn’t help his mood. They were back to anxious spiraling again, too, now that they were once again back in their flat. Epic had gone out for hero work, (not that Cross was supposed to know that,) and Cross was… Restless.
He had nothing to do. He worked officially from home, but always completed what he could ahead of time. Unfortunately, that meant he often ended up leaving himself without anything to do. Except think.
Thinking was not good for Cross’ health.
He hadn’t taken up work-work in a while, and he was glad for it. He had never enjoyed being “The X-Event,” going around, doing the dirty work, all for too-little pay.
Too little in the sense of what it took to buy the service to commit awful deeds, not in the sense that he had ever been too lacking in money once he made a name for himself.
He scoffed at himself miserably.
Meeting Epic had saved his life, in more ways than one. The first time they met, he had been fighting against another merc, hired to kill who he had been hired to protect. They had thrown him through the window of a bakery. Epic had been there, for whatever reason, and had immediately rushed over to check that he was alive. When he had finally shook off the impact, Epic had immediately switched to making sure he wouldn’t lash out.
It still filled Cross with awe when he thought about it, but it made more sense to him now. That Epic had known what to do with the situation. A lot of things made more sense.
He needed something to do.
Something that wasn’t lying pitifully on the floor, staring at the ceiling and overthinking himself into oblivion.
He pulled himself up off the floor.
____________________________________
Epic landed as he always did. Lightly, and on his feet. Seeing the figure he had originally come up to out of concern up close made him instead stop in his tracks.
Well. He hadn’t seen them in a while.
The X-Event was sitting on the edge of a concrete rooftop, staring down at the faraway traffic and busybodies of the city. Epic watched as the wind brushed through their hood’s faux fluff. He had always liked their outfit.
“So,” they started, causing the lonely figure to whip around and stare, “I’ve always wondered, why ‘The X-Event?’ Why not just X? Or, hear me out on this one, Steve?”
They could only see the X-Event’s eyes thanks to their face coverings. They stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly unsure.
“You can relax, I’m not gonna tattle on ya for sight-seeing.” Their sockets returned to a normal size, before scrunching slightly. They turned and started to stand. “Woah, hey, I’m serious. Also, I’m bored. Not much happens during patrol now thanks to all the new programs and heroes.”
The X-Event didn’t move.
“How about, you grant me one conversation, and I… will get you some Micky D’s? Deal?” He stuck out his hand.
The X-Event finally turned around to face them again, eyeing them and then their outstretched hand.
“C’mon, you know you want to. The chicken nuggets call to you…” Epic whispered as much as he could over the wind.
They sighed, their eyelights downcast. They shook his hand.
Gentler grip than I thought they’d have, he mused to himself.
“Before we go, I do have one question. Okay, two,” The X-Event tensed, and met his eyelights with a distrustful expression.
“What are your pronouns, and, can I please have something to call you other than ‘The X-Event’? Like, I was serious before, that’s a pretty weird name Bruh,” They relaxed again, and actually snorted. Epic internally sighed with relief.
“He/they. I guess, uh, call me X? I- I don’t really care,” they had some pretty shy body language for a merc. He supposed, though, there were many people and many walks of life.
He grinned, “Thanks, Bruh! I’m Thyst, I also go by he/they! Nice to meetcha. Now, off to McDonnie’s!” He cheered as he turned around and leaped off the rooftop in the direction of the nearest building.
____________________________________
X had, actually, ended up getting the chicken nuggets. They also somehow managed to pay for both of their meals without him noticing, which, frankly, surprised Epic.
They sat on top of a third irrelevant and tall building without a rooftop camera, the concrete a familiar seat to both of them.
“So, you’re not like, actually obliged to talk to me or anything, but I’m gonna ask anyway because I’m curious. What’s on your mind? You looked all depressed sitting on that rooftop, and you’re so much quieter than the last few times I’ve seen you,” Epic took a bite out of his burger. He ignored that X hadn't made any appearances in years.
“...You remembered me?” their quiet voice was almost lost to the wind.
“Yeah, Bruh. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kinda hard to catch. And I am very good at catching people. That’s not a threat by the way.”
“Sure.” There was a pause. “I uhm… have you ever been married, Thyst?”
The question made him pause. He lifted a brow over his visor.
X spluttered slightly, “You- you don’t have to answer that. I just- you asked what was on my mind, and-”
“Yeah, I’m married. Plenty of heroes get married,” X looked up at him again. Their bandana still covered the bottom half of their face. He hadn’t eaten anything.
Why do I always forget about masks when I do these things? Epic thought to himself in slight annoyance.
“I… I guess I’m just conflicted right now,” X looked pointedly away from Epic, into the distance, but failed to hide the shimmer in his eye sockets.
Realization dawned on him.
“Do they know?” X met his eyelights, a pathetic look in their eyelights. His own sockets softened in sympathy. “Yeah, mine neither. It does nothing for the mental state to think about it, huh?”
Sometimes, Epic forgot that Cross didn’t already know.
“No.”
“Do you ever think about telling them?” Epic was surprised when the words came out of his own mouth instead of X’s, but truthfully, Epic didn’t talk to the other heroes much. He hadn’t gotten the chance to have ‘the spouse conversation’ with any of them yet.
“I used to a lot more, I guess. Before we were married, even. Recently, though… just, some stuff came up, you know how it is, probably, it just made me think about it again,” Epic nodded in agreement, thinking about Cross. He knew all-too-well such feelings.
He frowned as he pictured Cross, sitting alone in their empty flat.
“How do you even start a conversation like that?” X asked him.
“I don’t know.” He answered all too honestly.
____________________________________
If he was completely honest with himself, then Epic had to admit, he didn’t stop thinking about X for the rest of the day (the exception, of course, being when he thought about his precious Crossy). He hadn’t seen the merc for over two years, nearly three. Even then, X had been seen less and less often for years before that.
Home again, Cross had prepared dinner for once. And by prepared, he meant Cross had cooked a frozen pizza after failing to cook spaghetti (he had gotten better, though).
Cross had been awfully quiet that evening. It reminded him somewhat of X’s behavior, only, somewhat more thoughtful than miserable. The thought of a miserable Cross made him frown.
“What would you do if you found out I was a superhero or a supervillain or a… mad scientist or something?” Cross froze in his seat.
“Uhm. What brought this on?” His voice was slightly unsteady.
“A coworker asked me at work. I thought it was an interesting question,” he leaned back.
“Uhh… I don’t know, I guess. I might be a bit surprised, I’d like to think I know you well enough to notice something like that…” he trailed off.
“Yeah. I think I would not get you chicken nuggets.”
“...Why?” Cross sounded a bit more like himself at their words, even if he was still clearly anxious.
“Cause you didn’t eat them earlier.”
Cross’ tentative smile immediately dropped.
“I saw the Joyful Meal in the fridge,” he shrugged. “And, even if you turned out to be a villain or some,” he shuddered, “mad scientist in secret, I wouldn’t care. I love you however you are.” He smiled lovingly at his… concerningly pale-looking partner.
“Uhhh… Bruh? Crossy? Are you about to pass out on me or something? I know we have it too often but the pizza wasn’t bad, was it?” He stared into the dazed eyelights of the skeleton across from him.
Finally, they blinked, and Epic sighed in relief.
“Uh- yeah, I’m okay,” Cross fidgeted slightly. “Do you wanna play some board games?”
“Hell yeah, I’ll get the Twister box!”
____________________________________
Epic loved two-person Twister because playing with one other person usually meant they didn’t care when he changed the rules. That also meant that Cross was, by now, a Twister god.
Ahem.
“Alright, skull on red,” Cross called. Shaking only slightly, Epic leaned back as far as he dared and let his head hit the ground with a dull thunk. He was a superhero, not a contortionist. He was holding himself up in a bridge. The position wasn’t too unfamiliar, but he normally would have stood himself upright after a few seconds. Twister usually lasted longer than that.
A beat of sweat dripped up his skull and towards the floor.
“Crossy,” he wheezed slightly, “Crossy, I need you to tell me that my skull is in the right place. I can’t see the mat.”
Epic could feel that their eyelights were blinked out in concentration. Cross, the traitor, only snorted at his predicament.
“I told you it was a bad idea to try and do it upside down, Dude,” their voice was smug and gloriously hot. “Left elbow yellow.”
Their teasing lack of sympathy made Epic all the more determined to last until the timer dinged. Cross wasn’t the only one who’d spent too much time tangled up in Twister…
They let their elbow drop to the floor, only able to hope that their aim was true. Cross didn’t say anything about him missing the dot.
“So,” Cross started while Epic focused on keeping his balance, “You mentioned, earlier, that you wouldn’t care if I was a supervillain or something. Does- would that include if, per say, I had killed while being a villain..? Hypothetically.”
His face scrunched in concentration, not really focusing on what Cross was saying. (He loved his partner, truly, but they could be very obvious at times.)
“Uhhh… hold on- well, I think we would have to talk about killing in the present and-or future, but as long as you had good reason, I could forgive past murders. And, of course, circumstances are circumstances. I’d bet,” he paused to take a breath, “At least a few of those heroes have had their own “circumstances”, and the agencies cover it up or something because of the bad press.”
Cross stayed silent. Epic glanced at them. He was staring at Epic, eye sockets widened.
“Bruh? I need my next move,” he grinned. Cross blinked.
“Oh! Yeah, sorry Epic,” Cross yelped slightly. It was adorable, in Epic’s not-so-humble opinion. The sentence made Epic frown though.
Cross didn’t often call Epic by his actual name. Their default for each other was a variety of pet names, and Cross had begun to call Epic by name only when he felt particularly anxious.
“Right foot green,” Cross interrupted his train of thought. He swore.
____________________________________
Cross had spent his entire afternoon in an anxious frenzy. To be frank, though, that was how the past several weeks had felt. Cross had put off telling Epic to the point of self-deprecating misery and guilt, to which Epic had forced him to relax for a while and stop thinking (read: they had a very nice beach day; nice excluding the sand).
That night, he had laid awake for hours in their bed, staring at Epic’s scrunched up sleeping face (he only got distracted by it a few times). He, at the very least, owed his wonderful husband the truth. Decision finally solidified, he had held Epic’s hand for the rest of the night before finally managing to sleep.
Weeks later, Cross had spent hours analyzing Epic’s patrol routes, as well as when he most often encountered rogues. The unnecessary agony allowed him to procrastinate just a small moment longer.
From there, Cross had chosen a specific night. One that, statistically, would be a night Epic wouldn’t encounter anything bigger than small-time crime.
Suffice to say, analyzing the amount of rogues Epic encountered per week or day on average had not helped his anxiety. ‘Boring patrols’ his ass.
Cross flurried about the kitchen for several hours the afternoon of the day he chose to reveal himself. They had read together again that morning, but Cross’ mind had been too jumbled and loud to focus. He could tell that Epic was getting worried, but he had been distracted lately as well. Hopefully, Cross wouldn’t catch him too off-guard.
Naturally, he got carried away, and cooked not only Epic’s favorite meals, but prepared several days worth of salad. The last step, he dreaded the most. He couldn’t think of a better way to reveal himself, though he knew it was likely thanks to his adrenaline-overloaded mind that he couldn’t.
And so, he sat. On the floor, by their couch. Out of sight from the doorway, but within easy earshot.
He had gathered a small stack of books, and, despite his anxiety, was able to pay half-attention to reading. Something, something, some girl was terrible at spinning yarn. He wondered how much time he had left.
It felt like forever. The hours dragged like a body in the dirt.
By the time Epic did finally arrive home, he had given up on reading. They still sat on the floor, leaning against the couch uncomfortably. His head rested in his arms.
Their soul thundered in their chest at the sound of the door, and they moved for the first time in a while. He winced as his neck twinged.
“Bruh! I’m home- ooh, what’d you make?”
The food was cold.
“Bruh?” He could hear the frown of his face.
“In the living room,” his voice cracked slightly. He braced himself as he heard the rustling of grocery bags. Epic entered the kitchen before the living room, and Cross almost wished they didn’t just so he could get it over with. The anticipation was killing him.
“Cross, Bruh, how long ago did you make this? It’s room temperature,” Cross could hear his tone, he sounded worried. Of course, worried in the way he felt the need to hide his concern from Cross, lest he take it as distrust or pity.
Though, in all fairness, it was for good reason. Cross usually only made food too early when he felt useless, which was, apparently, not something most people felt at regular intervals.
Epic had always been good at controlling his tone and emotions, but Cross knew him well enough it hardly mattered.
“Couple hours ago. I was feeling anxious,” he answered honestly. They felt tears threaten to bead on their sockets.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Cross furrowed his brow. The response was completely normal, but something was off. Their soulbeat momentarily slowed.
Epic hadn’t come into the living room yet. They realized that they hadn’t heard the rustle of groceries being put away. Normally, upon arriving home, Epic would immediately search Cross out in their flat, in order to “greet him properly”.
He had taken too long to respond.
“Uh, yeah, sure. How about while we eat, though?” They called back.
Silence.
“Alright, sure. I uhh, I do have something I should show you first, though, before we eat. So uh, don’t freak out?” Before they could react, they registered quick footsteps and looked up to see…
Epic. In their full Thyst outfit, minus the visor.
They stared at him with a very surprised expression, in his full X-Event outfit, sans mask and with his hood down.
Neither of them moved.
“Wow, uhh… fancy seeing you here, huh? This… actually explains a lot, I think,” Epic, nonchalant as ever, broke the silence. They didn’t look mad. They didn’t even look as shocked as they should have.
Cross didn’t move. Epic scratched the back of his neck through his hood.
They crouched in front of Cross, an unbearably kind expression on their face. Cross stared up at him, his eye sockets slightly scrunched as he tried not to let tears well up. He failed, and dropped his gaze in shame.
He felt so unbearably guilty. He had lied to Epic about so much for so long. Though Epic had lied to him as well, he had good reason. He was an active hero who needed to be able to protect people, and Cross was a mercenary only hired for dirty work and The Jobs No One Else Wanted (for any multitude of reasons).
A hand reached in front of his vision where he glared detestfully at the floor like it was the reason he hadn’t seen his brother in years. He closed his eye sockets and tensed slightly.
A feather-light touch brushed through the fluff of his hoodie and under his jaw.
Ever-so-gently, his face was guided upwards.
He finally opened his eye sockets again, when he felt breaths on his face. Epic was staring into his eyes, seeing right through him.
They could feel their brow untense and their shoulders slump as they felt the utterly melting effect of Epic’s gaze.
Both of his eye sockets were open, like how they were when he walked around their home regularly. The crack over their eye wasn’t disguised as it would be for their alter, but what truly made Cross crumble from his tense seat on the floor was the look in Epic’s eyes.
Pure, unadulterated adoration.
How can he look at me like that? The thought was barely present.
“How is it that we managed to plan to tell each other about this stuff on the exact same evening in the exact same way?” the murmur escaped Epic’s mouth. Their hand brushed up and traced along the outline of Cross’ jaw, resting at his eye socket. He could feel the tears pooling.
Such a loving creature was more than Cross had ever deserved. More than he was surely allowed to have. And yet, Epic looked as though without Cross, he would die.
He broke.
They flung their arms around Epic, leaning heavily against him thanks to the awkward angle. Tears fell as he hiccuped into his husband’s shoulder, grasping against him like a lifeline. Epic fell back lightly onto his butt, clutching Cross equally as tightly.
Maybe tighter.
He registered Epic shaking slightly in his arms, and not a moment later heard him sniffle.
“Bruh, I am so happy you know. Stars, this is so much better than before. Wow, you gave me the scar on my right leg, I’m gonna treasure that forever,” they let out a cracked laugh. Cross couldn’t help the startled half-laugh half-sob that escaped his own mouth.
He was lighter than air. He wanted a nap.
“I- I’ll have to appreciate the one you gave me in the park that one time, then.”
“Wha- that scarred? Crossy, that was barely a nick!” Epic was laughing despite themself.
“I can’t help that I scar easily,” Cross buried their face into the surprisingly soft fabric of Epic’s jacket with a sniff. They couldn’t help but feel close to content.
They shuddered into Epic, drained and chilled. His eye sockets were suddenly heavier than most of the weights he owned, and he owned a lot of weights. Epic cooed at him, and he almost retaliated. He couldn’t move yet, though. Not when it felt too much like a dream, like he would wake up hugging his knees into losing feeling and Epic coming through the door unprepared for shock.
Epic pulled him impossibly closer, cradling his skull. They kissed his forehead and stroked the back of his head with soothing scratches.
“I think you need a nap,” they whispered.
Cross was so close to protesting, but he could only manage a murmur. Dinner was supposed to be soon. He felt as though all at once, the years of sleepless nights and anxiety were catching up, and taking the chance to strike.
“Wake me up for dinner,” he mumbled. Epic was laying him in their bed, when had they picked him up? He let out a barely-audible, shaky purr.
Epic chuckled and shushed him gently. He registered a dip in the mattress next to him as Epic sat beside him, fingers tracing patterns on his skull.
He drifted off after fighting off the sleep for one last moment, a chance to look up at Epic. He looked just like he always did when Cross fell asleep first. Adoring, and slightly worried. Perhaps because he only fell asleep first when he worked himself into exhaustion one way or another, or perhaps because he was so suddenly half asleep this time.
At least one of those was right, he thought.
____________________________________
“Dude! Hi, how was work?” Cross had jumped up from the table as soon as he heard the key fail to unlock the already-unlocked door. He embraced his beloved before he could even respond, not caring about Swap’s quiet laughter from the table.
“Hi Crossy,” Epic sounded subdued. He hugged back anyway, of course. “Let me put my stuff away, I’ll join you guys in a minute.”
“Sure. Long day?” Cross asked sympathetically.
“Something like that. I’ll tell you in a minute. Now, stop being rude to Swap, he’s been waiting for you to sit down again,” they gestured to the table as they spoke, and Cross sheepishly glanced at Swap.
He was grinning.
“Oh, don’t worry, I know I’m in second place,” he waved his hand.
Cross flushed slightly as Epic took off his jacket.
“Just join us when you’re done,” he stole a kiss before Epic could leave. “If you want to.”
Epic smiled softly, then left for their room without another word.
“You guys are so perfect, it’s almost horrendous,” Swap complained teasingly.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re better than everyone because you’re aro and married to your best friends for tax benefits, I know,” he shot back.
Swap gasped, “I’ll have you know, they are not my best friends!” He paused. “They are my bestest-best friends! Also, I’m better because I have a sense of style, not because of that.”
“Hey,” Cross protested.
“Sorry to interrupt, Crossy, but uh… I’ve got something important. For you.” Cross looked up at him. Swap looked too. He had a serious expression on his face. That alone made Cross sit up straighter (as much as that was possible).
“Do you guys want me to leave, or, sit in the living room with headphones or something?” Swap asked.
“Uh, well, Cross,” Epic turned to look at Cross, “This really pertains more to you than either of us, so. It's up to you,” Epic looked into Cross’ eyelights. Swap shifted in the corner of his vision.
“You can stay, Swap. Uh, Dude? Y’wanna sit and tell us what’s going on?” He felt anxious. He didn’t deal with vagueness well, and Epic knew that, but he clearly didn’t know how to say whatever he needed to say.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Epic moved around their table and sat himself across from Swap and Cross.
“So, while on the transit home today, I got a call from the police station,” he started immediately, eyeing the drawers to their right.
Confused, Cross didn’t say anything at first. There were hundreds of reasons the police would contact Epic, even if it was odd that they were calling him on his personal phone.
He had left it up to Cross whether Swap stayed or not, though. He wasn’t in the loop about their alters, either.
“And, it wasn’t really a good time to get details, being in a crowded area like that. They said we could call them back anytime, but- the point is, Cross,” he finally looked at Cross again.
“They think they found your brother.”