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I CAN FEEL THEM SLIPPING AWAY. MY AVATAR. MY MOON KNIGHT. AND I CAN DO NOTHING FROM MY PRISON. THE PRICE WAS TOO HIGH. I CANNOT…
TAWARET?
"Hi!"
***
Steven’s choking on sand, fighting for breath.
Which is bonkers, innit, because he's already dead. This isn't a body; he’s no longer khet but sah.
But he's getting weaker. His life-force- is waning, diminishing. And Marc just keeps getting further away. His heart is on that ship and he can feel it breaking even at a distance. After all that, after everything he's seen, the thing that hurts the most is the thought of Marc being left all alone. Of not being there to protect him.
He's not angry anymore. He can't justify the body count, but at least now he understands it. The knowledge of those memories, that his life has been a tenderly created lie to cover over all the pain and guilt and trauma- it's a revelation that's hard to bear but its nothing compared to what Marc's been protecting him from.
He reaches out, wanting to fly back into the arms that held him, that wrestled him away from everything that could hurt him.
He watches his fingers turn to sand.
***
Steven's used to waking up in strange places, with weird stuff going on, but this is different. It hurts like hell, like being invaded by ten thousand beetles creeping through his skin. But he can't move yet. He can only watch as awareness grows, as bandages wrap themselves around him, crawling over his arm, clothing him in white.
He rocks back to sit on his heels and stares at his gloved hands and pats the front of his suit jacket.
"Bloody hell, she actually did it! She freed Khonshu!" He feels more alive than he ever has, brimming with mystical power.
He can still see the Osiris gate in the distance. He could reach it, go back to the land of living, find Layla, stop Harrow, save the world. He's a superhero now, right?
He turns his head and sees the ship sailing across the sand in the other direction. There are still vague forms climbing up the hull and over the bulwarks.
There's no question in his mind. He starts running.
***
It's dark and cramped. He barely has room to wriggle, but with time and effort and patience, he manages to get first one arm and then the other folded over his belly, raising his hands near his shoulders. He bangs and shakes and shouts, but there's no response. He hears footsteps, but then they go away.
Idiots.
He's alone. Invisible. Usually that's okay, but it's a bloody pain in the ass right now. So he waits. He's learned to be patient.
Some undefined length of time later, he feels it- a sudden surge of energy that swells from his chest, and the suit wrapping him up, but best of all the light from his eyes revealing the obstacle in front of him. He draws strength from Khonshu and gives one great push and steps out into a white room.
***
Steven runs. Keeps running. If he were alive his legs would be jelly by now, his lungs burning. It's such a long way. But he's getting closer.
There are still monsters climbing up the ship, which means that they still haven't gotten to Marc yet.
Almost there. Stay on target.
He can see the white cape spinning.
He leaps without thinking, and the jump takes him right onto the deck of the ship. He even hits the three point landing. But before he can shout a greeting, one of the creatures comes for him. He blocks with one arm and punches with the other, his fist crashing through sand.
It's not like they're actual people. He throws another one overboard and dusts another with a sharp kick, and then turns to see Marc rip his opponent literally in half. It's hard to tell through the hood, but the look he gets back seems more like surprise than relief.
"Fuck! Steven?"
There's no time to chat though. No time for the crushing hug Steven wants to give him. But they're fighting side by side, back to back, dancing in a circle of destruction. It's actually kind of fun.
The deck is covered in sand and dust, but finally the dead stop coming. Marc rushes to the edge and looks over. "I think we're clear for a bit, but it might not last long. We need to get out of-"
The last word comes out in a burst of air as Steven literally squeezes the air out of him.
"Marc! Are you okay? I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry for yelling. I'm going to make it all right. I'm not going to leave you alone again."
"Steven…" the voice is hesitant. Not like the usual Marc, but then having to relive all his worst moments like that has been extra hard on him.
"Marc?" He eases back a little, gloved hands clutching at his mummified face. He wills his own mask away, overcome with an unexpected depth of feeling.
But when the bandages unwind beneath the hood, the face in front of him isn't right. The grief isn't there. The set of his jawline and the pinch of his eyebrows are all wrong.
But most frightening of all is the moustache.
Steven steps back. "What have you done with Marc? Why are you wearing his suit?"
"I'm wearing my suit, Steven. It's okay."
"It's not okay," he growls, "it's not bloody okay! Where's Marc?"
"I'm not sure. But wherever he is, he's got his power back, just like us."
That's when he sees the scales. One of the hearts is missing.
It's too much. It's all too much. Finding out his life was illusion, watching Marc suffer and fall apart, then dying all over again.
"Where's Marc?" he demands again, his voice wavering. "I need Marc! You don't understand, I'm nothing without him!"
"I understand. We're the same, Steven. Look at me." Not-Marc puts his hands on Steven's shoulders and it shouldn't be as reassuring as it is. "See? I'm not Marc. I'm not you, but I'm like you. A part of you. And if we work together, we stand a much better chance of getting back to him than if we fight each other. Come on, buddy, you're smart. You can figure this out."
Steven takes a breath. Thinks. He has to find Marc and right now this guy is his only lead. "You talk like you know me. You're wearing our face. Sort of. And you've got the suit. You're one of us, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Remember on the cliff when you- actually no, probably not the best example."
"Oh, fabulous, another serial killer sharing my body."
"Self-defence. Still. You know how sometimes you wake up in the wrong place, but then wake up back in your bed and think it was all a dream? I'm the one who gets you home."
"Does Marc know about you?"
"Not sure. If he does, he doesn't talk to me. Usually I just pick stuff up by watching. Which was fine until I ended up stuck in a box and a separate body. What's that about?"
"Um. We're dead. This is the afterlife. Or the journey there, anyway. Marc and I had our hearts ripped out by the goddess Taweret, then had to go for a little trip down memory lane to balance the scales, but then we got attacked by sand zombies, and I ended up overboard. Not my favourite day ever."
"No kidding. But hey, if we got our powers back, that means Khonshu's free again, and the first thing he's gonna do is revive Marc."
"Shit a brick, we've got to get back!" Steven rushes towards the helm.
"What are you doing?"
"There's a great big gate over there that will take us back to the land of the living. Marc needs us. We exist to help him cope with all the stuff he can't deal with on his own, and I don't want to think about what's gonna happen if he comes back to life and we're not there. Especially if good old bird brain is with him."
The other one comes over to help him push.
"Thanks, mate," Steven says.
"Jake. You can call me Jake."
***
Marc knows this pain all too well. Bullets being pushed out of his body and blood and water being forced out of his lungs. The searing heat as flesh knits too quickly back together. He rolls over and pushes up onto his hands, gagging and spitting before the mask fully covers his mouth. His whole body is being revived, and it burns.
But worse than all of that if the sense of loss, of grief, of the empty space where Steven should be. How can he move on, how can he fight, how can he even get up from his hands and knees when a piece of himself is missing?
ARISE, MY SON. THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE.
Marc slams his hand down, making water splash everywhere, screaming. Of all the ridiculous things Khonshu calls him, that taunt hurts the most.
AMMIT RISES EVEN NOW AND YOU FLAIL IN THE WATER LIKE A FISH. MY CHOSEN AVATAR IS BETTER THAN THIS.
"I'm not! I'm not better! I'm broken. So broken."
YOU ARE SCATTERED IN PIECES. BUT I WILL MAKE YOU WHOLE AGAIN. UNTIL THEN, WE MUST MAKE HASTE.
"Steven… he's gone."
HE IS NOT BEYOND THE REACH OF MY POWER. NOW RISE UP!
"You- you can bring him back?"
IT IS ALREADY DONE, MY SON.
"Stop calling me that! You're not my father!"
Khonshu steps closer. Marc can feel him vibrating with wrath. NO, I AM NOT. Long, mummified fingers trail down under his cheek and lift his chin. I WILL PROTECT YOU.
And finally Marc understands the need inside him that binds them to each other.
He struggles to his feet.
***
It's disorienting stepping back into the land of the living when you've been transformed from a physical body to a spiritual one, even with a supernatural suit to keep you from vanishing back into the ether. Jake and Steven emerge shin deep in water.
"He's not here," Steven says anxiously, trying very hard not to think about how the water is tinged red with blood. Marc's blood. Their blood. "He's not here, Jake!"
Jake scans the room and points. "No, but he was. Look." There are fading wet footprints leading out of the tomb, and the two follow them quickly, back through the maze and into the moonlight. As they near the entrance, Steven hears the sounds of gunshots. He watches Jake climb up and out and follows in his footsteps.
A great wind is howling through the camp. Jake mentions for them to stay low and quiet, and they asses the situation from behind a stack of supply crates.
Harrow holds his staff high, purple tendrils of energy flowing through the air to the ushabti on the ground, swirling with the sand and coalescing into a shape that's vaguely human accept for the elongated head. There are corpses all around, dessicated husks with so much life force pulled out of them that they look about a thousand years old. What few soldiers remain alive are all shooting in the same direction, but the bright white figure moving towards them just ignores the bullets as if they were no more than rain. He snatches the guns and knocks them unconscious.
Marc. Alive. Fighting.
And behind him, Khonshu, yelling that the heathens deserve death while Marc blatantly ignores him. It doesn't make a difference. Steven watches in horror as a purple thread reaches out to one of the downed soldiers and drains it until it's wrinkled and parched.
There's no more shots fired. Marc is heading for Harrow through the sandstorm, dodging dark lightning.
"We've got to help him," Steven says, starting to rise, but Jake grabs his sleeve.
"How far are you willing to go?"
"You mean… oh. Right."
"If you hesitate at the wrong moment, we fail and end up back on that boat. If it comes to it, can you take a life?"
"Honestly? Probably not. Fighting sand monsters is one thing, but people… even someone like Harrow. I don't think so."
"Good to know. Well, looks like it's your lucky day. More monsters. We'll focus on them."
Two snarling jackals rise up out of the ground. "Oh goody. One each."
"Aim for the head and the heart, the suit will soak up most of the damage."
"Most?" he squeaks, but Jake's already moving.
Steven reaches up the back of his jacket and finds his fighting-stick thingies (he'll have to ask Marc what they're actually called later) and leaps out with a high pitched scream.
It goes somewhat better than his previous fight with one of these things. Muscle memory or not, he knows where he comes from now, believes in his own strength and the power he's been given. It's still far from easy. Most clearly means exactly that. The teeth or claws break through and sink into his skin, and there's an intense heat as he's magically healed. He can keep moving, but it hurts. Not as much as being brought back to life, though.
There's a great deal of growling and grunting, and no climactic music like there is in the movies. It's just effort. But then as he manages to get the jackal pinned beneath him, he hears a booming laugh.
LOOK AT THAT WORM GO! I NEVER KNEW HE HAD IT IN HIM. GO ON, WORM!
Unfortunately the almost praise distracts Steven for a moment, and the jackal manages to bite down hard on his shoulder. Steven feels his grip loosen and it springs free, lunging back at him, snapping and scratching. He's not sure if he can win, but maybe he doesn't have to. He just has to keep this beast distracted so Marc can deal with Harrow.
He holds on. He keeps fighting while the wind howls and the purple tendrils whip around them. He shouts and he hits and he takes whatever punishment is thrown at him. They wrestle in the dry sand and he loses one of his sticks, but then he has the other pressed against the jackal's throat. He ignores the kicks and the claws as it thrashes beneath him and just keeps pushing until something snaps. The monster goes limp.
Harrow is clearly not as weak as he might appear- but then again he was Khonshu's avatar before, so it stands to reason he knows how to fight. With the power of the artefact and the goddess he's almost succeeded in summoning he's managing to hold his own, even now that Jake's dispatched his jackal and has joined the fight. He's using the cane and it's crackling with light, but still connected to the tiny statue that's right in the eye of the storm by arcs of power.
WHY DO YOU SIT THERE YOU FOOL? AID THEM! LEND THEM YOUR STRENGTH!
Steven's only going to get in their way in that fight. But Harrow's not even their biggest problem- it's the thing he's trying to summon.
Steven's mind is rushing. Let's start with trying to solve a puzzle. "Um, Khonshu? How did Taweret free you?"
WITH POWERFUL MAGIC YOU CAN NEVER HOPE TO ATTAIN.
"Right, so nothing as straight forward as just smashing the ushabti, then? Because I know I've only read about this stuff in books, but as I understand it in Egyptian mythology spirit and physical form are connected. So I just wanted to make sure that that thing's not like some kind of bottle that she's going to come pouring out of if I pull out the cork."
YOU HAVE NEITHER THE STRENGTH NOR THE SPINE TO DESTROY A GOD.
"Oh, so it would work, then? It would stop the summoning?"
SHE WOULD BE BROKEN INTO PIECES.
"Well. Being broken isn't all that bad."
He scuttles along the ground and finds his progress slowed by a tangible resistance- part wind, part dark electricity, and a heaviness within his soul.
Doubt.
This is a foolish idea. You think you can end a goddess? Just by smashing a statue?
"Subtle," he says, trying to laugh it off. "Might even work on someone who's less used to arguing with the voice in his head."
Fear.
It won't destroy me. Not completely.
"Good to know. I don't actually like killing people. Even ancient gods with a twisted sense of morality." He forces his body another foot closer.
I can still come after you.
"I'm under protection. I always have been."
He's closer now, but it's getting hard to move. He's crawling on his belly.
He's so tired. The wind tugs at him. You could just lie down and rest.
"You really have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" he smiles. "I'm the champion of staying awake. Besides, I've already died twice today, which is more rest than I've had in months."
The figure is within reach.
He starts digging out a small hole in the sand, somewhere to hold the ushabti.
What good will it do you? Think of how much better the world will be under my rule. No violence. No cruelty. Everyone living in peace.
"Everyone except the people who are dead." He pushes himself up into his knees.
You are nothing, mortal. Your life is pitiful and meaningless.
He seizes the statue. "That's where you're wrong. I know exactly what my purpose is. I'm hope. I'm Marc's hope."
He lies it flat in the small hollow, raises his stick, and prays. "Khonshu, lend me your strength."
He brings his arm down and the world goes white.
***
He comes to with hands touching him, lifting him, holding him. He knows the strength in that touch, recognises the desperation with which it clings to him. "Marc?"
"I'm here. I'm here, you're okay," he whispers. "Steven, my Steven, I thought I'd lost you."
"Don't be daft. I'm part of you."
"You're more than that. So much more."
He looks up to see Marc's face. He's still in the suit, but the hood is gone. His hair is a wild mess of curls, and his eyes are rimmed with red. But he's here, and he's cradling Steven in his lap, and it feels so real and so good.
"Wait, how are you holding me? Are we still dead?"
"No. No, still very much alive. Khonshu said he can put us back together, but I wanted to talk to you first. Check if that's what you really wanted."
"Of course it is, what else would I want?" He tries to move his arm, to cling back, but he feels so very heavy.
"Don't try to move. The suit's all that's keeping you in one piece right now."
"Where's Jake?"
"Here," another voice says. It's quiet. "Marc has a stupid plan."
"He wants to disappear, doesn't he?"
"I've put enough blood on your hands," Marc says.
"You're a total numpty," Steven tells him. "You can't just run away and leave us with a piece missing. We're part of you. We all belong together. You need to stay and do the work and make things right. Learn to work together." It's getting harder to talk. It's like when he first let Marc take control, when he could see and hear and feel, but not act. It's less frightening now, though.
"We're better together," Jake says.
"Take us back, Marc," Steven breathes. "Please. You've protected me from so much pain, but if you leave it's gonna hurt more than anything. If you stay, I promise I'll make you laugh and smile and I'll even find a job as a tour guide, and I will live the best life I can, but I can't do that without you with me."
Marc holds him tighter. "Okay. Okay, buddy, I'll stay. Khonshu? How does this work?"
ALL THEY NEED TO DO IS TAKE OFF THE ARMOUR.
Jake pulls at his mask, and smiles at both of them, a hand on each of their shoulders. He bends and presses a light kiss on Steven's cheek, and another on Marc's forehead, and sits back. "I'll see you on the inside," he says.
The bandages start to unravel, floating into the air and vanishing into mist. There's nothing underneath.
Marc looks right and left quickly, and then pulls a gleaming crescent from his chest and stares into it. Steven can't hear anything, but the relief of Marc's face is obvious.
"My turn," Steven says, pulling off his hood.
"Wait," Marc's voice is so desperate; he cups Steven's face and looks into his eyes like he wants to memorise this moment, this unique opportunity to touch and to hold and to feel their closeness physically.
His face is so close that their noses brush together, and impossible to tell who moves in first or if they do it as one, but their lips meet.
A thousand questions pour through Steven's mind, most of them starting with how or why, but he pushes them all aside so that he can focus on what is.
Marc holding him. Marc loving him. How perfect and natural their lips feel pressed together. He wishes he could make it last, but he can already feel himself starting to unravel.
It's okay though. He's finally going home.
He feels Marc's embrace tighten and then for a fleeting moment it's like he's holding himself, but then his arms are empty and he curls them around his chest, trying to hold onto the feeling.
"It's okay," he whispers, his voice loud in the night air. "I'm here."
He's in control, but Marc and Jake are so close to the surface he's not sure where one ends and the next begins. Marc picks up the crescent moon again- what do you even call that thing?
Moonerang, Jake's voice supplies with a chuckle, swiftly followed by Marc's amused but mildly offended What? and then all three of them are laughing together through their reflection.
"Are we okay?" he asks.
Marc nods. "It's good to have you back."
Steven can feel the unspoken but I'm not ready to talk about anything we saw back there so please don't ask so he just says "It's good to be back. Jake?"
"Oh, shit, you want me to join in conversations now? Weird. I'm good. But this shared fronting is hard work so I'm just gonna sit back and let you drive until I'm needed."
"Fronting?" Steven wriggles, trying to get used to the feeling of khet again. He hadn't noticed how much mass he was missing as a ghost.
"We're a system now. Google it."
"Later," Marc says. "We need to find Layla."
"She's okay, isn't she? She got somewhere safe?"
"I think so. She's tough, and she's smart enough to keep away from this shit show once it started. She'll be holed up somewhere nearby."
Khonshu holds out a finger. THAT WAY. BEYOND THE EDGE OF THE CAMP.
"You can see her?" Steven asks.
I SEE ALL WHO TRAVEL UNDER THE MOON.
"She's heading for the cover of the crevice we came in through. Can we catch up?"
YOU MUST MOVE QUICKLY.
It's Marc who gets up and starts running, and Steven hands over control without a second thought.
The hood goes up. They are Moon Knight. They protect people hiding in the darkness.
They protect each other, just as they always have.