Chapter Text
Steven’s life had been rather calm for the past year, since he had first found out about his alters being Fists of Khonshu and then the Cairo thing to them owning their own bodies as a reward of their good deeds.
Steven’s 28 year old now, studying egyptology in Empire State University— living in one of those townhouses in New York that Marc had insisted on getting Steven after all the trouble he had put the Brit through. Steven had tried to decline and reason with Marc that the whole shebang wasn’t his fault, but those words fell on deaf ears. So now he just own a lavish townhouse that he mostly lives alone in because duh. Of course, Marc and Jake are still working under Khonshu and doing absolutely anything and everything rather than living with Steven.
Layla visits sometimes, but would usually go with Marc and Jake most of the time. Ouch, but fair. It’s not like Steven’s an interesting person or anything. The Brit knows there wasn’t much to him— what a miracle that Dylan even said yes to going out with Steven, considering the fact that outside of that one time someone took over to flirt with her— she’d seen how Steven acts on normal days and still said yes.
She must’ve been insane. Or maybe Steven is.
The Brit is currently preparing his tea for his reading time, and with the amount of milk in it, Marc would’ve probably called him a fake Englishman.
He has a sweet tooth, sue him.
Just as he was about to finally soothe his mind with the tea and focus fully on his new book.. a certain controller of the big rock of the night sky shows up.
“Steven Grant.”
Steven almost jumped out of his skin when the loud booming voice echoes through the empty house. The Brit was sure he heard a small amuse noise coming from Khonshu, but decided to ignore it since he wanted to keep his peace and arguing with this giant bird is just going to give him hypertension.
“What now, Khonshu? I thought we had an agreement, innit?”
The deity tilted his head.
“We did. You and I, but so did I and Marc Spector and he’s still working without complaints. Unlike a certain vermin I know.”
Steven made a face. When they made that deal, they were still sharing a body and Steven could feel it. He knew Marc would go back to Khonshu and didn’t talk him out of it. He accepted it as it is because if Marc can’t live without it then who is Steven to stop it? That’s how Marc had decided to live his life, Steven has little to no say in it after all the things the American did for him. The man did too much in Steven’s opinion.
Giving said Brit a flat, a job and a fake routine was doing too much for an alternate identity in Steven’s opinion, but Marc had argued that it is not. That it’s Steven. What does that even mean?
“I’m not him. You know I’m not. That was why you were so angry whenever he would to switch out to me.”
That’s true. Khonshu had called him names on their first meeting and he still does. The count had went down but it’s still going. It annoys Steven, but he doesn’t have to interact with the bird as much as the other two so he didn’t care then.. but now that the bird is in his damn face.
Steven wasn’t as talented as the other two or even on par with Layla in combat. The Brit was anything but a fighter, more of a talker. A reasoner. That’s not a word, but let’s roll with it.
“I have a mission for you.”
“What part of ‘I don’t want anything to do with you anymore after Cairo’ did you not get?”
“Majority of the uttered sentence.”
Steven let out one long suffering sigh. This old vulture, bruv.
“What is it?”
“You’ll do it?”
“I’m hearing you out.”
That’s the least he could do for the old pigeon considering the fact that most of the time Khonshu does do favourable things for humanity.
“Damage Control is the name.”
“Damage Control? Is that not the organization that picks up the mess after every invasions or something?”
Steven doesn’t know much about Damage Control apart from their occasional involvement in certain crimes involving advanced or unique techs. They will always have their hands on those first before anyone else. Okay, that’s a red flag, sure, but Steven still doesn’t see why Khonshu might be after them.
“Yes. And I’ve made it easier for you by a mile.”
The Brit knows what the deity is talking about. Just last week, Marc had come over to stay with the Brit for a bit, and deep down Steven knew it was just for another mission, but he was happy regardless.
And then, there was a duffle bag left in the house, but Khonshu forbid anyone touches it. Marc didn’t know why Khonshu didn’t let him finish the mission on his own, but listened to the bird anyway. It was the deity’s will after all, not Marc’s.
Steven opened the bag. Work ID/pass belonging to the workers at the facility and a uniform.
“You will go in as a worker.”
Not as his Moon Knight, not as his avatar, but as Steven.
“What’s up with you these days, old bird?”
“I’m compromising, Grant.”
“Does that mean if I get in trouble you will abandon me?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be there.”
Sometimes, Steven would like to think that Khonshu has grown a soft spot for him, but that’s probably not the case. It’s just another mission, another person he needed to manipulate by showing care.
“What.. what is in there? What did you want me to kill or y’know— get out?”
Khonshu didn’t answer immediately, but did eventually, titling Steven’s head up using his bandaged hand. Khonshu’s hollow eyes bores into Steven’s lively ones. The worm had always been an energetic one unlike Marc. This one is always asking questions, always curious and smart. The Brit’s intellect is quite admirable considering the fact that he had never touched a single form of formal education due to Marc living his life in the style of a mess.
He is getting formal education now, but to Khonshu's knowledge that just happened recently. Up until then, Steven relies on self-taught stuff.
“Troubled youths. There are children.”
Children? In Damage Control? What the heck are they doing to the kids in there? Steven’s face contorted into a frown, the deity’s hand still firmly grasping his face.
“Was that an agreement?”
“Are you referring to my awful facial expression?”
“Precisely.”
And that’s how Steven Grant ended up in one of many Department of Damage Control’s buildings? HQs? Whatever they call it.
The Brit did ended up having to beat up some guards, but nothing more than that as Khonshu had promised, and now he’s heading straight towards.. well, a pretty secured holding cell.
Steven pushes the heavy metal door open and was greeted by the sight of a control room. At least, that’s what it looks like. It took Steven a while to figure out the control but he eventually got the lights on the other side of the control room to turn on. And then he sees it— a huge box like thing in the middle of the room.
“Lift the covers up.”
“How?”
“Are you stupid? Marc did it with no help.”
“You do it then!”
No answer.
“You don’t even know how to do it and you’re berating me?”
“Just go to the door.”
Steven did as he was told, stepping into the space beyond the safety of thick walls and bulletproof glass. There was also a disturbing amount of cameras in the vicinity, Steven had taken notice. It was hard not to when it was all he could see around him. The amount of cameras he had to disengage just to get into this room was unreasonable.
What were they trying to monitor?
There he stood, just before a door that looks like it belongs to a home. A house, but the difference is that they’re in the middle of a ‘controlled’ facility and this room was oddly placed in the middle of what looks like a testing place.
Something akin to a psych ward that Steven is too familiar with.
He punches in the code and the door opens.
“Hello?”
His voice echoes in the dark room. The Brit started feeling up the walls for a switch and there it is.
He flicked it up and there was them.
Two kids huddled up in bed like scared cats. Scared but also alert of their surrounding.
They were in white clothing— labeled.
The boy who seems to be around seven is labeled ‘Peter-Arachnid’ and the girl who was considerably smaller was labeled as ‘Jean-Mutant’. Steven’s face scrunched up in disgust at the thought of adults just labelling these kids like they meant nothing but their powers or DNA.
The room itself made him sick. It was decorated like kids were meant to live in it. Posters, figurines, toys— there was also colour pencils and crayons. Little drawings put up on the wall while outside it was just a huge empty space with people watching over these two 24/7. Steven almost threw up right there and then at the realization, but before he could, a small but stern voice interrupted him. Well, as stern as a kid his age could be.
“Who are you?”
The older, Peter, snarled. Protective. Fair, Steven is a stranger. For all he knows, Steven could be another crazy maniac that’s going to put his blood in a test tube.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m, uh— I’m here to get you two out. You’re Peter, right? We have to get out of here. It’s dangerous.”
The kid’s face soften but he didn’t let up.
“There was.. there was another man here last week. You look like him, are you him? You don’t smell like him.”
Marc. Marc, yes. Why didn’t he gets these kids out himself? Also smell?
“No, but I know him. He’s my friend. He told me to get you two out. Did he tell you his name?”
Jean, who was hiding behind Peter this whole time, finally decided to speak.
“He didn’t, but I know who he is.”
Creepy. What does she mean by that?
Peter immediately shushed the girl and pushed her back to her original place behind him.
“Say his name.”
“Marc. Marc Spector. And I’m Steven Grant.”
Peter glanced behind him to seek approval from Jean and the girl nodded her head, satisfied with the answer that the adult had given them, she spoke again.
“You were on his mind a lot.”
Huh?
“Marc thinks about you a lot.”
Whatever is Steven going to do with that information?
“We’ll talk about how you know that later. C’mon, we need to go.”
The Brit took out some clothes that he had packed in his bag, Khonshu’s order— and gave it to the kids.
Laying low, right?
Laying low his arse. They were immediately chased after someone had spotted some random Englishman trying to run off with two kids in his arms. Peter said he could run, but from these adults who gets paid way too much to risk their lives doing evil bullshit? Steven don’t think so! Neither does Khonshu because that old vulture had been screaming about the suit in his ears since they had left the premises.
“Shut up you— what am I gonna do with the suit, mate? I don’t have a—”
Cape. Steven was going to say cape and the fact that he couldn’t fly without it, but he had summoned the suit unconsciously and well, guess what’s there? A cape. Khonshu had given him a cape. Fancy.
“Whoa!”
The two kids had exclaimed excitedly while staring at Steven with the stars in their eyes. Sparkles? Sparkles in their—
Gunshots rang out a few blocks away and Steven knew this is not the time to ponder on grammar or appropriate wordings.
“Hold tight, okay?”
The two immediately clung to him and it almost felt like they had claws. Ow, that hurts. Maybe not too tight?
There wasn’t anything left to say before Steven leaped off the building rather ungracefully since he wasn’t used to flying and also having passengers on his person.
They ended up crashing on top of his townhouse’s rooftop. The Brit was clutching them to his body as tightly as possible so they wouldn’t get hurt.
“Sorry. That was my first flight too.”
The girl giggled like that was the best thing that has ever happened to her and the older wasn’t any better, gushing to the younger about flying in the night sky like some kind of superhero.
Cute.
Steven brought the two inside and let them wash themselves while the Brit prepares their new bedroom, since he thinks the two doesn’t want to be separated— and food. Right, food.
“Are you two hungry?”
A resounding yes came from the bathroom.
“Anything you two would like in particular?”
Two mischievous ‘ooooooh’ came from the bathroom. Sigh.
“Curry rice!”
Okay. Well, that’s not too bad now, is it?
It is bad. Steven ended up ordering out. He’s not making curry from scratch at 3 in the morning. Nuh-uh. Who does he looks like? Gordon Ramsay? Yeah, right. Also, what kind of kids craves curry rice at this time of the day? Damn.
The food arrives while Steven was working on drying Jean’s hair. The little terror had refused hairdryer because it’s too loud and might bother Peter’s senses (no clue what that means but Steven’s sure Jean knows better about the kid than he does) and so now they’ve settled on towelling her head.
“Do you know how the women in TV wrap the towel around their head???”
“Well, no. But YouTube probably have got some tutorials on it. Give me a few days to practice and we’ll try drying your hair like that next time.”
“Okay!”
Next time? How long are these kids going to be here?
Peter had the decency to take off the delivery from the delivery man’s hand and—
Hm, Steven’s eyes must’ve been deceiving him because why did he just see Peter walk up the wall and dropping the food on the counter like nothing?
…
Oh, he is walking up the wall. Up? On the wall? Steven’s probably too tired, yeah. Yeah. That’s it.
Focus. Let’s focus on drying Jean’s hair. Let’s not look there for the sake of his sanity.
The Brit eventually finish drying and brushing Jean’s hair and let her go eat with her brother. They are siblings, right? Probably.
Steven wonders if the people there even feed them. They probably do but not what these kids wants.
“Is it any good? I’ve never ordered from here before.”
To be honest, he had to dig deep to find a restaurant that is still open that serves curry rice at 3 am, but he did found it. Granted, he had never heard or seen it in his time living in New York, but it serves what the kids had wanted and so there goes his social awkwardness and here comes the call.
“It’s shooooooo good.”
Steven is starting to learn the fact that Jean lacks social awareness and manners quick. Peter didn’t answer, instead completely focusing on the meal in front of him. Steven had ordered them in large since he didn’t know just how hungry these two would be, but now he knows to order maybe two to three for Peter next time.
Steven ruffles their hair and left them be as he goes back to the living room to make a call.
“Steven? You’re still awake?”
It’s Layla.
“Yeah, yeah, um.. is Marc there?”
Layla hums.
“No, not really. He went out a few hours ago to deal with something. Is there something you wanted to tell him?”
That I just kidnapped two kids from their kidnappers? Yeah, maybe.
“No. Just wanted to talk to someone for a bit before calling it a day.”
Steven misses them terribly, but he doubts any of them misses him just as much.
“Aw, Steven. Call us anytime you wanna talk, okay? Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Layla.”
The call ended just like that. Nothing else asked, nothing else said.
Hm. Maybe because it’s late at night. Maybe Layla was just too tired to continue the conversation. The missions are probably tiring them out days and nights, right? Yeah.
There was a tug on his shirt.
“Are you crying?”
Jean had asked curiously, concern written all over her little face.
Was he? Oh, he hadn’t noticed.
“No, no. Something got into my eyes, that’s all.”
The Brit said, picking up Jean and holding her close.
“Are you guys done? Let’s get you two in bed, okay?”
Steven picked up Peter along the way and kicked open the door to their bedroom.
He stayed with them until they fell asleep, talking about some mythology fun facts and random cartoons before exhaustion finally caught up to them.
Steven closed the lights and left the door room ajar— going back to the kitchen to clean up any messes left behind and finally tucking himself in.
This was the first time Steven didn’t feel lonely in this house. The first time he knows that the people who are sleeping across the hall aren’t leaving any time soon.
Maybe.. they’ll be fine with him?
Maybe.