Chapter Text
East I
Steven sits straight up in his bed. Drowsiness compels him to stretch and reactivity yawn when he wakes up from a restful night. The morning sunlight bleeding between his curtains is inviting, and when he gets up to pull them aside, they reveal a beautiful view of his garden.
The lack of clouds in the sky makes Steven smile as he scratches his stomach under his sleeping shirt. Another yawn escapes him. He feels more on the fatigued side today and wonders what the other boys had been up to all night. To what extend had they been using the body?
Steven was always informed beforehand when a mission could last a little too long into the night, resulting in body aches or bruises the morning after. Not that Steven enjoyed feeling tired when he woke up – left to patch up injuries from foreign battles. But he did not complain as long as the source to his tiredness, was revealed. Alot of things came with being the main Day walker amongst the three Moon Knights, and being topped off on information made him less anxious.
He had gotten better along with Marc and Jake over the years. They had found an equilibrium, and a flow state to their lives which balanced out all the superhero stuff with a healthy dose of mundane life. Steven was not the one saving people, nor the one punching bad guys in the face. But he kept the curtains moving, and the lights buzzing. The show must go on, and Steven helped in what way he could behind the scenes. Saving people was important to him too, and to Steven that meant by supporting his two Alters. They all did their parts to take care of each other, even though Steven believed the vigilantes were doing most of the heavy lifting. Directly helping always felt better than indirectly helping, no matter how many times he was being reassured his part was important.
Walking in nothing but his slippers, boxers and t-shirt, Steven feels giddy the closer he skips to the kitchen. His boys would always bring treats back for him whenever they travelled far. Sometimes the treats would be gifts or artefacts-- they knew he loved anything Egyptian, or authentically badass, and would always leave their haul in the open for Steven to find.
Sometimes Marc would buy him some limited-edition vegan snacks that caught the eye, and stock the fridge with his favourite juices, whilst passing by the stores. On the other hand, Jake was just an amazing chef, leagues better than anything Steven could ever conjure up. He spent an embarrassingly large amount of money on take-away, which was fine, seeing as he was the one making all their income anyway.
Although, after being scolded about their collective health, and weight gain, Jake had taken up the responsibility of meal prepping for the three of them. To grab and consume whenever they felt like it. Today was a fresh week, which meant that there was something new on the menu, packed and stored in their fridge. Steven was somewhat nervous, but mostly excited to see what awaited downstairs. The unexpectedness felt like Christmas. Was it a gift, a snack, or a fresh meal? Steven bounced around the corner and continues down the hall, hands clasped onto his back.
His home was a sprawling mansion. Something he got for cheap due to the haunted rumours plaguing the land. Two floors, an attic, plus a basement, a pool, and a helicopter pad was more than enough for the three of them to live in. Since they all shared a room, the mansion sometimes felt a little too big, even for Little Steven and all his stuff. This place was meant for guests; yearning for the potential life within, and the ballroom was meant for parties; not for his piano to collect dust in. Although not a lot of people were too eager to visit looney Moony, and his haunted weapon collection. The location was deep in the forest too, which did not leave many opportunities to flee to, if something were to happen within its walls.
Steven felt proud passing all his decorations. Artefacts he had collected through the years were openly displayed, and he took pride in all the renovations he had been doing. Everything to fit their collective needs. The little businessman knew the space between his four walls like the back of his hand, by now.
The first floor, open kitchen and living room area was his favourite place. The row of windowpanes taking up the outer wall were bullet proof and faced east to let in as much of the morning sun as possible. Steven loved to eat breakfast on the couch and soak in the morning beams, sometimes even fall asleep on the soft carpet on the floor too, when his back was doing him in. The living room was also where Marc and Jake would leave their gifts for Steven, being one of the closest rooms to the main entrance. It made it easier to drop off their loot, before crawling exhausted up to their bedroom on the second floor.
Steven hums a melody down the stairs, past the entrance, and B-line for the fridge in the kitchen. There was nothing at a glance notice on the kitchen island, so his next instinctive place to check was the fridge.
Inside was the usual suspects: bottled water, protein shakes, snack bars for on-the-go activities. Followed by fruits and veggies and a restock of Steven favourite juices. It seems Marc remembered they were running low and swung by the store at some point. At the bottom was the usual packed meals, from Jake. It seems that they were having fried noodles and chilli this week, Steven’s portions were of course clearly labelled and set aside. The sight of a full fridge and thinking about how well his friends took care of him made Steven’s heart flutter.
He even gasped aloud, happy to be spotting the last remaining cup of his favourite pudding, in the back of the fridge. Today was going to be a good day and he was going to eat like a king. He made a mental note of picking up some more pudding on his way back from work later. For now, Steven just wanted to enjoy his peaceful morning on the sofa.
The Investor grabs a bottle of juice and swigs from it, sighing loudly with satisfaction as the taste hits his palate. While smiling down at the bottle, Steven turns around and instinctively makes his way to his favourite spot on the couch but notices unfamiliar silhouettes in his peripheral.
Tilting his attention up, Steven immediately jolts and screams, reflexes spilling half of his juice into the air. It trickles down his hand and onto the floor.
On his couches sits not only Thor, the literal God of thunder, but also Captain-fricking-America, a shark of some sort, Star Lord and A green, antler, alien lady he thinks is named Mantis. Marc might have mentioned her before, somewhere, lost in all the field reports both the fighters share with him. Mantis waves politely.
Steven freezes for a moment to register the scene, his brain still lagging behind from freshly waking up. He slowly backs off the same way he had arrived, tucked away and turn to the side in the kitchen. As if none of his “Guests” could see him from where they sat on the furniture.
“Marc?” Steven scream-whispers to himself.
He waits patiently and glances back at the intruders in his living room.
Steven reattempts, a little louder and hoarser. “Marc?!”
“Marc is asleep, Mijo.” Jake’s voice protrudes through the haze, clear in Steven’s ears. His voice is husky like he had just woken up as well. ”I’m here for you, thought. Where is problema?”
Steven looks down at his juice bottle, the faint reflection in the plastic showed a blurry silhouette of Jake rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“There are Avengers in our house.” Steven nervously looks over his shoulder. “And I walked in on them without trousers on...”
“Ay, mierda (shit), I forgot.” Jake groans and rubs his temples to think. He smirks. “Did they like the show you put on?”
“Jake!”
“Okay, okay. I’m joking.” Jake yawns in the reflection and checks his wristwatch, not exactly sure how watches work in a mind scape. “Do you want to say hi to them?”
Steven scoffs, nearly offended. “No, I don’t want to say ‘hi’ to the Avengers! That’s a superhero thing! I thought we were keeping superhero things out of the house, or the very least, off my carpet!"
Steven turns to look at his house guests, clearly still watching and listening to the whole “talking to a plastic bottle” conversation he was having with himself. Most of them look strangely at him but are polite enough to say nothing.
“Sorry, no offence to any of you.” Steven awkwardly smiles.
Captain America is the first to reply. “None taken, thank you for having us here.”
“If it helps—” Star Lord interjects and points to himself and Mantis. “She and I are not Avengers. Guardian of the Galaxy, actually.”
It does not help at all; if anything, it makes it worse. Now I have a whole galaxy to worry about? Steven thinks to himself.
Jake curses a string of unintelligible Spanish before taking a deep breath. “Switch with me, Hermano (brother), I’ll fix this.”
Steven closes his eyes and opens them to darkness. He feels himself standing and detects a familiar wall capsulating him when he reaches out. With an easy push and a slide, the lid of his prison pops off. He peeks his head out through the opening and discovers his confinement to be a sarcophagus, one he is very familiar with. The rest of the room is blindingly white, with a bed and a few books filling up the space.
This was his room, his personal room that is. The one he rests and resides in when one of his Alters were fronting. Where he hid away to avoid all the things happening outside. He did not know how to feel about the interiors of their mind scape replicating a psych ward, but it was what was provided.
On the opposite side of the room was a door, the window on the door was covered with an iced-out, privacy film. Not that Steven needed it, it was only ever him and one other person in this place at the time when someone was fronting. He would often hear Marc and Jake yell at each other in the corridors when they were out fighting. But right now, it was quiet.
Steven felt safe in this small room, it was familiar and bright, and filled with all his things. And yet, he painted himself disappointed. Today was going to be a good day and he had plans on soaking in the sun. Who knows how long he would be waiting in here for.
The Investor lays down in the bed and pulls his blanket over himself, hoping he could wake up soon.
West I
Steven shakes his head awake. He is sitting in his home office chair. It is already evening and his Alters take a twenty-minute break-down meeting with him, just to get things straight and apologies for not announcing they would be having guest over. The two mirrors perched on either side of his laptop reflects Marc and Jake, one in each mirror respectively.
“I’m happy you guys are having friends over, I am. That's not what I'm opposing. I would just like a teenzy weensy little warning next time before I accidently walk into a room with my birthday suit on display.”
Marc raises an eyebrow. “You were naked when you walked into the Avengers? That’s news to me.”
Steven sighs. “No, I was not naked today, luckily.”
“Not today? Mijo, you walk around the house naked without us?” Jake mockingly smirks.
“Is that why Mantis and Peter kept laughing at me when I escorted everyone back to the Fantastic Four, tower? Why didn’t you say anything?” Marc’s reflection turns to face the other mirror, clearly scolding Jake.
The guilty party snorts. “Our house, our rules. And I say we should ban the use of pants entirely.”
Steven interrupts “Guys, please focus.”
Their meeting fell short since he was only given the briefest of summaries of what had happened. The moment Steven heard the words “Timestream Entanglement” and “Realities melting together” Steven was no longer interested. It was just too much for his average civilian mental capacity to handle. The very least, he was relieved that his Alters were simply just sore and nothing else had happened to them.
“Can we keep the promise of no blood in the house, at least.” Steven pleads with his fingertips together, under his nose.
Both vigilantes look at each other before looking back at Steven.
“Sure thing.” Marc says.
“La promesa (promise).” Jake smirks.
Steven sighs with relief. “Thank you.”
And as stated before he switched bodies, Steven just wanted to spend some of his time working on his laptop. He had managed to set up his company in a way where it could sustain independently without him for periods of time, however he still needed to reply to his fair share of emails before his bimonthly board meeting.
The day after, Steven is the last to leave the office, in the city and is running on overtime. He was scheduled to hand the body over to Marc about an hour ago, however the queue of video calls requesting overseeing went a little overboard. Marc was patient but still resolved to gently nagging for Steven to wrap it up.
By the time The Investor rose from his desk, it was already eight PM.
“Thank you, Marc! I’m done now.” Steven huffs, sprinting to his white, suit blazer hooked on the wall.
Marc stops him. “Wait... Something’s wrong. Put on your mask too.”
“My mask? Why?”
Marc insists. “Just put it on.”
The Mr.Knight balaclava was tucked away in a drawer by the office exit. It was chalk white and carried an embroidered scar down the middle of the mask. Steven complies and slides the mask on before exiting the building.
Outside he was quick to be attacked, dodging fast without clearly knowing how. Steven is pinned to the wall with daggers puncturing the sleeves of his jacket and the seams of his pants. He yelps with surprise and grunts in disappointment.
“Oh, far off! Are you kidding me? I love this suit...” Steven complains aloud.
Infront of him is another villain of the week, dark and cloaked, masked and sharply dangerous. Steven had given up on memorising their villains at this point... this guy could literary be anyone, and want literary anything. The only thing Steven could deduce was that: this man wanted him dead, and he was not about to deal with that.
”I told you to hurry.” Marc reminds smugly.
Steven dodges his head from an incoming attack. “What?! Do you have some kind of scheduled date fights with your evil counter parts or something? Ahh!”
Ripping away from the wall, tearing at all the locations his clothes were pinned at, Steven barrel rolls away from a kick which was aimed straight for his stomach. He shivers at the dent on the wall. Not only could that have killed him, but now Steven also had to arrange for maintenance to get that fixed. It was his office building after all.
“A little help, maybe???” Steven cries.
”Heads up." Marc calls out, warning about the incoming leg swinging for their face.
Steven closes his eyes right before the impact and finds himself returned to his room once the world came back to view. The blindingly white one, with the sarcophagus in the corner. He looks down at his body and discovers himself dressed in the grey sweats and oversized jumper he always wears while in this place. They were comfortable, sure, but Steven could only think about the tattered suit he now had to get patched up.
“Can you believe this?” Steven asks, leaning his forehead against the sarcophagus and stroking the surface with a finger. “He didn’t even bother saying sorry for endangering us. How did they even find our workplace? I thought Marc would have covered his tracks a little better.”
Steven sighs and lays back down in his bed, he was feeling tired anyways, he tells himself. If anything positive came out of this situation, it would be the early night Steven was allowed to have after a long day's work.
Closing his eyes to rest, Steven drifts but does not fully fall asleep. Unaware of how much time has passed, he wakes up to the sound of a door slamming shut, a few rooms over. Still located in his mind scape, Steven fully regains consciousness by the time the faint barrage of muffled arguing in the hallway is detected. He recognised the voices to be Marc and Jake, complaining to each other like they always do. Steven could never quite make out what they were saying, too far away to make sense of anything.
He had tried peeking his head into the hallway once before, scouting the area to see what was going on but the Alter’s chatting simply stopped when they realised they had company. Or they would change the topic of conversation just to accommodate Steven. He almost felt like the forgotten middle child when it came to vigilante stuff.
Another door slams and the arguing cease. A diffused silhouette is standing on the other side of Steven’s door and pauses for a moment, before knocking.
“Come in.” Steven answers, followed by a twist of the door handle.
Jake peeks into the room and smiles warmly once he spots Steven in bed. He enters the room and closes the door behind him, gaze remaining locked on the bed. He is wearing a black T-shirt, similar to the white one Marc usually wears over his long sleeve, while in the mind scape. All of their pants are shaped the same, however. Baggy sweats, louse around the ankles. Steven always wondered why Jake had black pants and matching shirt, but his shoes and socks were white. And how on earth he managed to smuggle his six-pence hat in here too.
It was like he never separated himself from that headwear, always using it when he drives his cab around the city.
The Driver seats himself on the edge of the bed and slips his shoes off, sliding underneath the covers to spoon Steven. He would usually do that if something was wrong, if something had happened to Marc and a distraction was required to prevent the two of them from feeling anything. But unlike Marc, Jake would always tell him the truth while they cuddled. His arms wrap around Steven’s waist, holding him flushed to himself.
“Hey, Jake.” Steven acknowledges, listening to Jake exhale his exhaustion behind him. “What’s wrong?”
“Why must there always be something wrong? Can’t I just relax with Mi favorito cariño (My favourite sweetheart)? Jake hums and kisses the back of Steven’s head.
Steven simply stares into the wall, feeling how Jake’s chest is rising against his back. “You being here kind of reinforces that something is amiss. And rather than brooding alone in your room, you came to keep me company... To, I don’t know. Prevent me from overthinking—or prevent yourself from overthinking while Marc is out there.”
Humming dissatisfied, like he had been figured our, Jake squeezes Steven harder and picks him up. He rolls with the The Investor over his own body to lay on his opposite side. Steven yelps and flails at the disorientation, fearing that he would get hurt or roll out of bed by the violent tossing, but he never does.
“Why are you so smaaartttt.” Jake shakes Steven and buries his face between the other's shoulder blades.
Steven feels a clog forming in his throat and grabs Jake’s naked forearm to loosen the hold. He turns around to face his counterpart and puts a reassuring hand on his cheek. The hat had already fallen off at some point, so it was like looking into the mirror. Except, Jake’s face always seemed more tired than what his own reflection displayed. Staring into The Drivers eyes, there was only hurt.
“Hey...” Steven says calm. “What's going on? What's bothering you?”
Jake stares blankly in their makeshift staring contest but is the first to break. He curls in on himself, tucking his head to hide in Steven’s chest. The older Alter instinctively wraps his arms protectively around Jake, petting his hair as they embrace.
“I’m just so tired...” Brinks from a breakdown, Jake’s voice crack the way Steven’s does when he is nervous. “I just want to help people, but it never seems to be enough. Nothing I do is enough.”
“I know, love.” Steven reassures. “Is Marc beating you up about it?”
Jake huffs. “He called me one-tracked and unreliable.”
“He didn’t mean that.”
“I know...” The Driver huffs and holds tighter around Steven’s waist. “I just wished he would grow the balls to make the right choices, sometimes.”
Despite Steven being unsure of the context of that connotation, he continued to pet Jake until he had calmed down. They would talk about everything and nothing for as long as they could, redecoration aspects for the house and the meal plan for next month. Making separate diets for them, one Vegan and one non-Vegan, was getting a bit annoying for Jake, leading them to discuss alternative solutions.
“We could always just do taco ingredients in different containers.” Jake suggests.
“Or something closer to home. Hummus?” Steven counter quips.
Jake coos. “Ooh, hummus sounds delicious right now. Mediterranean side dishes and falafel. High in protein.”
They make a plan of how they were going to get all the resources they needed in between their busy schedule. At the end of the conversation, Jake sighs and takes Steven’s hand to plant kisses on, one for each knuckle on his hand.
“Besitos para mi princesa (Small kisses for my princess). Gracias, Amor (Thank you, love). You always make me feel better.” Jake beams up at Steven.
The Older Alter giggles at the attention. People were always so scared of Jake, but they had clearly never met the romantic which built up his core. The violent, destroy the world and everyone in it for you, type of romantic.
They talked a little more before falling asleep under the covers together, cuddled up in each other’s arms.
North I
Steven finally had some time during the day to do some shopping. After his scheduled board meeting for the month, The Investor found himself uncomfortably free for the rest of the afternoon. He puts on his brand-new jacket and adjusts the cuffs in front of his receptionist.
“Reese, clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I am going shopping.” Steven informs as she looks up at him.
Reese was a tall and dark woman, incredibly soft spoken and incredibly reliable. She was his right hand in the company and did more than just being a receptionist. Despite all her hard and irreplaceable work, it was what she wanted to be called, loving the job of greeting people to their company above everything else. Reese did not even need to look at her computer to confirm the schedule.
“You already cleared it yourself, boss. Need I remind you that I don’t make your schedule? You do; I just inform others of it.” She lazily explains and twinkles.
Steven returns the gesture. “Oh, right... Take yourself an early day then, if there’s nothing left on your schedule.”
She affirms his suggestion but reassures that she has plenty of things to do and waves him off to do his shopping. The most reliable woman Steven knew.
Seating himself in Jake’s cab, with the lights off, Steven drove himself to the grocery store to pick up some of the essentials for their Mediterranean foods which was promised to be made next week. Just the thought of eating hummus made Steven feral, it was something about the fresh taste on lentils which made him so happy while consuming it.
He also picked up some fresh grapes, secured at the top of his paper bags and safely sitting in the passenger seat next to him, while backing into his driveway. Glancing around the garage, Steven is reminded that his white statement of a limousine needed a wash. He noted the chore down in the back of his mind.
In one trip, both arms full of groceries, Steven made the walk from the garage to the kitchen without dropping anything. Firstly, he pulls up his sleeves before organizing each item to their dedicated spot. Jake had a system, and everyone was following it. Secondly, he places the fresh grapes on a plate and grabs some sage on his way up to the attic. The entirety of the attic is a lovely library, decorated with his most precious Egyptian artefacts. The end of the library was well lit with this big, stained window piece on the back wall. It framed the centerpiece of the room perfectly as you walked in, and it was lit like a glowing art piece due to the second window in the slanted roof.
All eyes on the makeshift altar dedicated to Khonshu himself, decorated with dried flowers and sentimental rocks.
Steven sat down on the pillows in front of the altar and started dusting off the ceremonial items. He placed the fresh grapes he just bought in its dead center. The sage was burnt to smoke and fill the room with a white line of its smell.
With his hands together, Steven closed his eyes and began his prayers the awkward way he always does.
“Um... Hello, almighty Khonshu. I know you don’t like speaking to me, and mostly only to my other friends, but I hope you’re out there somewhere and listening. Well, uhh...” Steven places his hand over his shoulder, the one which had been bothering him all morning. “I noticed Marc got shot at the other day and you didn’t quite heal that up. I woke up with a DIY stitched hole in my skin. Marc has not talked to me about it yet, but I bet it was pretty painful and traumatic... He’s a human not a super soldier... So, if you could heal that up so he can keep working for you, that would be pretty great. Uhm, please?”
The room was silent, still of movement part the dust settling on every surface. It glistened like snow as each speck descended.
Steven continues. “I read that you like music and dance performed during festivals, so if you don’t heal us, I’ll put on a little show for you during the next full moon, it's going to be a one-man recreation of a favorite musical of mine. And we both know you don’t want to see that.”
An echoy voice in Steven’s head clicks its tongue annoyed and grunts. He can feel his body shift underneath his clothes, along with the shy toll of a bell.
Unsure of what just happened, he backs off from the altar and begins undressing, off to the side of the attic. Opposed to directly in front of the offerings because that would be rude. All the scars on his body, including the stitched bullet wound Steven discovered this morning had vanished. If he did not feel any pain before, probably due to one of the boys popping several painkillers, he definitely did not feel any pain now.
Steven smiles and looks up at the window in the ceiling.
“Thank you! For that.” He calls out, not expecting any response.
South I
Steven wakes up, collapsed on the floor by the entrance. He is wearing Jake’s Moon Knight uniform, so he assumes The youngest of the Alters must have tired himself out somehow, before ending up here.
Pushing himself off the floor he checks his body for the usual suspects.
Injuries, missing limbs, broken hearts, traces lefts from a previous fight. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, which cued Steven to simply undress and prepare to hop in the shower. He did not leave a trail of clothes in his path, like some people in this house did, resorting rather to folding the uniform up neatly for its owner to find another day.
It was hard to get good pluming this far out into the forest, a fact which made Steven stand naked with his hand under the running shower head, waiting for it to run warm. Luckily, the radiant heating under the tiles kept him from completely freezing.
“We should really get a boiler or something that heats the water up faster.” A voice comments from the bathroom mirror.
Steven walks over to the glass and spots Marc from his shoulders up, clothed in a t-shirt and a button-up as a jacket in the reflection. He does not look out of the ordinary.
“I was thinking about getting one of those really big, modern tanks installed. The only problem is the act of actually installing it; being something I can’t easily manage on my own.” Steven ponders with a finger over his chin.
Mark perks up. “Why not just hire someone to install it?”
“I tried hiring arms, but for some reason no one would take the job after doing a routine inspection of the basement.” Steven hums thoughtfully.
“Can it be, and hear me out--” Marc emphasises with his hands. “Maybe it's all that wacky coocoo loot you got down there which challenges every safety hazard protocol, ever, on US soil. Not to mention the house already looks like you robbed every Egyptian museum you could find.”
The lookalikes stares at each other for a long moment, before opening their mouths to speak in unison.
“Noo, it can't be!” Steven says genuinely, while Marc says it in a mimicked and mocking way.
Marc knew Steven too well to ever, willingly, separate with anything from his collection, unless they were destroyed in combat or lost due to undenounced reasons. Temporarily relocating them so civilians would feel safer in the basement was out of the question.
Steven enters the shower to wash off battlefield muck, careful to fully soak his curls. He was the only one properly maintaining the hair which earned him guilt-free, extra time soaking under the stream.
“I wanted to tell you something, by the way.” Marc talks over the running water, still sounding like he was standing in the mirror.
Steven’s eyes are closed, but he is listening. “Hm?”
“We are expecting guests later-- a single guest to be more specific... He might be in a rough shape so please be kind to him. I—Well, we... Jake, Him, and I have been meaning for you to meet for a long time now... but never got the time, or the opportunity.” Marc explains.
Steven turns away from the water to rub shampoo in his hair. “What’s this bloke like?”
“Well, he’s tall, dark, handsome, and means a lot to Jake and me. He’s an excellent team up on the field, and a good soldier.” Marc continues off stage.
“Is he perhaps nice, mysterious, gentle, funny, and a good kisser too?” Steven snorts and rinses the foam.
“How did—”
“I didn’t, but the way you talk about him sounds like you were in love. If we are thinking about the same guy, then Jake might have told me a little about him.”
Marc hums cautiously. “How much did he say...”
“Not much, to be honest with you.” Steven shrugs and begins massaging his scalp with some conditioner. “He wanted to run the plan through you first. However, he did tell me you two crash at his place every now and then, when you’re injured, so you don’t drag blood into the house — Which I appreciate, by the way, thank you. What else is there about him?”
“Like... like what?” Marc mutters.
Steven rolls his eyes, detecting that his Alter is withholding crucial information. “Like what’s his name, does he have a family, how did you meet, do you have a crush on him.”
Marc is silent for a moment, almost making Steven believe he was not listening.
“Blade, A daughter, vampire hunting... yes, a little...” Marc trails, answering like a good solider.
“Vampires?!” Steven turns around and almost slips on the tiles.
Steven did not care for much of the creatures and aliens terrorizing New York but was always intrigued when the storyline involved mythological creatures or pantheons. The fantastic aspect of their existence just seemed more exciting to him than sci-fi ever could. A backstory and a half later about this Stranger, Steven is fully clothed in white slacks and a white button up shirt— his hair is brushed back, damp from the recent wash. If there was a guest coming over, he wanted to look somewhat decent for the moment of first impression. Part the slippers keeping his feet warm, Steven presented ready for a causal business meeting.
“When does this guy arrive? Blade was it?” Steven refreshes himself while opening the fridge.
“Jake was told to go on ahead while he cleaned up the rest of the horde.” Marc informs as Steven grabs a jar of pickles from the top shelf. “We gave him the location so it shouldn't be long now.”
With chopsticks in hand, Steven cracks open the fresh pickle jar and retrieves a piece to place in his mouth. He chomps down on the processed cucumber straight from the jar and it snaps with a satisfying crunch. The sour tang hits his taste buds hard, cuing a full body shiver. Satisfied with the jar in hand, Steven approaches the window leading to his garden, staring longingly at the protective fence surrounding the property edge.
Once upon a time, that garden was flushed with beautiful flowers in its beds and flourishing willows lining the perimeter. However, now days it is barely maintained by a gardener Steven calls upon every so often, truly giving the exterior the haunted house vibes to match the interior. Overgrown and unkempt— had the lights not illuminated from the kitchen windows, anyone would mistake the house as abandoned.
Steven stares at the gate on the far end of the garden, the only other exit, nearly drowned out by the nightly shrouds. He remembers there are no locks on that gate, the fence was merely there for decorations, and to keep the wildlife out of eating his vegetations.
Taking another bite from his chopstick choked pickle, Steven leans closer to the windows. “Where did you say you guys were engaged in combat, by the way?”
“Just downtown.” Marc informs and crosses his arms in the reflection. “By the abandoned hospital, why?”
“Then he'd be arriving from the south, it’s the shortest route here. And since he’s never been here before, he wouldn’t know where the main entrance was. Right?” Steven pops the rest of the pickle in his mouth.
Marc seems surprised and confirms. “Right... Defiantly first time.”
Steven begins chomping on a new pickle on his way to the porch, the one facing the garden and without railings to obstruct his view. The wood is chilly on this dark autumn night, but he sits down on it either way. The animals (including insects) living in the overgrowth are quiet, present and left to their own devices, but otherwise quiet. Living carefully, like they were too afraid to disturb the spirits or the owner of the mansion.
Uninterrupted, the gate is monitored, expecting it to pop open any minute. The feeling of his heart crawling up his throat, and the wallow of anxiety numbs the nerves along his spine. It feels like vines spreading across his shoulder blades, turning off sections of synapse at the time. Blade was half a vampire without the blood lust, Steven was told. Yet a vampire, nonetheless— a Dhampir? He had never met one of those before, not officially to his knowledge that is and felt a mixture of morbid excitement and fear for his safety. His two closest loved once trusted him, it was only logical for Steven to come around to it too.
Jake had described him as “so cool” and incredibly attractive. While Marc had mentioned him to be handsome and kind. Even with an image already outlined for him, Steven could not help the spill of worry to stain the blank areas.
A brief shadow approaches in the distance beyond the safe confinements of the mansion. Steven watches, with anticipation like a ball in his chest, as the gate creaks open to let on through, and loudly shuts behind the stranger. Local critters scurry away from the stone path leading into the garden, and Steven makes out more and more of the details with each passing step.
A tall, dark and agreeably handsome, man stands hunched a few feet from the porch. He is wearing dark shades and a long leather coat to match, the spitting image of a vampire hunter. But Steven can't help but notice his pained posture, one hand keeping pressure on his abdomen. His hands are otherwise empty, and he does not seem like a threat part the swords perched in a loud “X” on his back.
“Steven Grant?” The man purrs softly, and Steven is instantly attracted to his voice.
“Yes...?” Steven sings with caution. “Blade?”
“Eric Brooks, but Blade works too.”
Steven smiles to be polite as he runs out of topics to talk about. He wanted to hear the man speak again. “Can I— uh, help you with anything?”
“You can, but first I’m going to lay down and rest for a bit.” Blade informs and grunts on his way down in the grass.
The Vampire Hunter sighs as his back hits the overgrowth, tracing his shape like packing peanuts. Seeing as Blade lays motionless for a few moments, Steven grows antsy of what to do next, feeling like he was being a really bad host for not offering anything. Sitting up on his knees, he peeks down at his guest.
“Why don't you come sit on the porch... or something...I guess the grass is a little softer but...” Steven wobbles.
“I’ve been told you don't like blood in the house, and I’m unfortunately coated. So, I'm just going to heal up a bit before entering, if you don’t mind.”
Steven waits with Blade, nervously sitting back down and tapping his chopsticks against the jar in his hand. In a sudden realisation of its existence, the jar is held out as an offering.
“Would– uhm... would you like a-- a pickle?” Steven attempts and mutters to himself. (“Does vampires even eat human food? He’s half, so obviously he needs something... Yeah, but is pickle the right choice?”)
Steven believes Blade is hesitating; however, the man is in fact simply laying still and comfortable. Like allergic to motion, Blade smirks and opens his mouth up to the sky. His pearly fangs are pronounced, distracting Steven. They looked painfully human part the canines breaking up the silhouette— mesmerizingly beautiful.
His approach is insecure, treading carefully on each stone tile under his slippers before using his chopstick to pick something out from the jar. In his heart, Steven wanted to search for the best tasting one, whichever was the softest and had been brimming in the juice for the longest.
In reality, Steven did not want to spend too long on this exchange and simply grabbed the topmost one. Hunched over, the pickle is cautiously placed in Blade’s mouth and accepted. He bites down on the middle section and leads the rest back to his molars to chew. He looks content and Steven is happy he could provide.
Once the healing was complete, Steven invites Blade into his mansion.
“Do you mind if I borrow your shower?” Blade asks, barely into the building.
Steven beams. “Not at all, just down the hall. It says washroom on it! You should let me wash your clothes too.”
“So they don't stain the house?” Blade adds.
“N...no? Everyone deserves their clothes to be cleaned.” Steven smiles, hiding the fact that he indeed did not want them to stain the house. “You should also let me go dry clean that coat for you in the morning.”
Blade has already taken the coat off, holding it over his forearm. “It’s okay. You can just throw it in with the rest of the wash.”
“You need to take care of your clothes, or they don't last for very long. It's a nice coat too— would be a shame for it to deteriorate.”
Steven reaches for the outerwear. There is a clear reluctance behind those shaded sunglasses, but Blade gives in and relinquishes the coat in the end.
“I’ll have it back to you in less than 24-hours, don’t you worry. I know the best cleaner in town, and it will be as silky smooth as the day you bought it.” Steven nods. “While you wash up, I can bring you some fresh clothes, mayhaps? What do you prefer to wear to sleep?” (“Does he even sleep? He has to, right? The whole coffin thing. Yes, he sleeps, Steven. Not in a coffin thought.”)
Snapping back to his surroundings, he nervously giggles at Blade and takes a step back. Talking to his subconscious Alters was not a good side to be showing his guest. Blade might have been their battle partner, or whatever, but going schizo-mode instead of showing hospitality was rude no matter what. Especially given the desire to make a good first impression. For all he knew, Blade could be unaware the three Moon Knights could communicate with each other directly and be freaked out.
Blade is unphased by this interaction, rather, he smirks, fully knowing the people on the other end of Steven’s call. “I’ll wear whatever you think looks good on me.
His glasses tilt down with his head, mistakenly a bow but in actuality a nod to peek over the rim of his eyewear. His eyes are beautifully gentle, worn and tired from years on his feet— yet a lustful youth lingers in his iris; a hot Bourbon glaze, ready to be drunk. (“They turn yellow when he's mad.”) Marc mentions, unable to look away. When Blade winks, he naturally makes Steven blush, like a built-in reaction, meant to happen.
“Right. I'll do that...”
Once parted, The little Knight realises he was quicker than usual up the stairs, scurrying like the wind across the carpet to his wardrobe. The crusty old coat in his arms, thoroughly dusted, and sopped with dried blood was placed in a white suit-cover for easier handling once business hours had struck. Steven studies it fondly where it hung on the door in his walk-in closet, reminding himself to bring it with him when he goes into work tomorrow.
With a finger upon his chin, Steven contemplates what to dress Blade in. He twirls in place and scans the wardrobe for comfortable night lounge worthy garment. The Hunter downstairs was obviously larger than Steven, not by much, but enough to redefine what was considered comfortable sleepwear. In a drawer, not far from his casual clothes, the biggest pair of organic yoga pants he had were pulled out. White and free fitting, the most comfortable pair he had, used when he were dedicating full days to meditate. His choice for a top was one of a tank variety, 100% cotton and easily breathable... also... white—hmm... maybe Steven needed to reconsider the colour scheme in his wardrobe a little. Just a smudge.
He dove back into his drawers to find anything else that was not white. A black, form fitting t-shirt finds him well and Steven choses that instead. Along with some white socks in on top of the folded pile of clothes in his arms, Steven makes his way downstairs again.
The bathroom door is knocked on twice. “Uhm... Mr. Blade? I got you some clothes, should I just leave them out here or...”
Not long after his knocking, the door swings open and releases the thick wall of steam like a sauna to hit Steven in the face. He blinks uncomfortably at the thin layer of condensation filming his skin just in time for a very naked Vampire hunter to emerge, with luckily (“Very unluckily if you ask me” Jake intrudes) a towel around his hips. They are covering the most indecent parts which could make a Victorian maiden faint on sight. The rack of abs was attractively maintained, an in-between stage of chiselled rocks and husky dad on the farm. His skin was the same colour as the rest of his body, unsure if Steven expected a tan line of some sort— or a clear divide of colour of where his uniform usually ended, but nope. Nothing. The happy trail leading from his navel was somewhat curly, maintained and properly groomed—Steven realises the longer he stared, the more he was fantasising, and the cruder his thoughts were getting...
The Knight looks back up, he can feel Marc and Jake smile from ear to ear as they struggle to share the view through Steven’s eyes. It was his fault for constantly calling upon them, requesting their attention. If he had not done that, both of The Alters would not be witnessing this open display of gooning.
With a smirk seemingly permanent on his lips, Blade is patiently letting Steven ogle for an undetermined amount of time. He leans so comfortable with his forearm perched on the doorframe at a high angle; it was like a jock was about to ask his high school crush out to prom. The hallway air had already cooled the bathroom down enough to start de-fogging the mirror in the background. His guest was probably getting cold.
“Hi...” Steven manages to blurt out, an octave higher than his usual speaking voice.
The Hunter chuckles. “Like what you see?”
Steven feels like a Victorian maiden.
He relays the clothes onto Blade’s chest before turning on his heel to abscond towards the kitchen. He manages to quickly inform about meeting him in the kitchen AndSomethingAboutShowingHimToHisRoomWhenHeWasDreassedAndReady,OkayBye—.
Removing his mind from the situation, the pantries and fridge are periodically opened and closed in search of a befitting evening meal. It was past way the hours of supper, and too filling so close to bedtime to grab a late dinner too. What to do?
“So, do you like him?” Marc asks as Steven passes by the mirror on the kitchen counter.
Steven envisioned the oldest Alter laying on his stomach with his head perched on his palms, legs kicking the air behind him.
”I think Stevie has the same taste in hunters as we do. Jake adds in the reflection of the fridge handle, chrome and polished.
Marc snorts. “I think Stevie might enjoy our help scoring some cookie points with said hunter.”
“—I think the both of you should shut the f up.” Steven shakes his head and avoids looking at either of them.
Steven dodges every tease and embarrassing nudge until they both return to their rooms and his head is quiet. He could finally think for his own, clear his mind... no more contacting those two when he felt nervous. He could handle one guest on his own.
Blade arrives just in time for Steven to pull his head out of the fridge for the third time. The borrowed clothes provided for him looks much better than they do on Steven, and he contemplates if Blade should just keep those on him indefinitely.
“I found your laundry room, just went ahead and started the wash myself.” Blade informs and seats himself on one of the barstools by the kitchen island.
“I could have done that for you.” Steven frown and closes the fridge behind himself.
“I’m a grown ass man, Steven. I can wash my own clothes.” The Hunter smirks. “You can help me with something else, however.”
“Oh, yes! Anything you need, I’m here.”
Steven stands ready on the corner by his guest and watches as a case, metal in nature, is placed onto the stone counter. Observing intensely, he finds himself entranced by long, strong, and practiced fingers unlocking, twisting and assembling the content of the case. The case contained several sterile needles in packets, a metal syringe with a glass window, alcoholic wipes, and a blue, almost neon, vial of... something. Medication is what Steven assumes it is, however the viscous, thick, and the— definitely supernatural, sparkly consistency of its nature argued against that notion.
Blade seems to professionally unwrap and assemble the needle, plus syringe combo, and draw the handle to its maximum reach. The plastic cap is protecting the sharp part, which makes Steven a little less nervous when Blade places the equipment flat between them. Thoughtlessly staring, Steven awaits for something to happen, and when nothing really did, he locks eyes with the attention spotlighting him.
“What?” Steven manages, unsure of what exactly to ask first.
What was it? Why do you have it? What’s it for? Why is it blue? Is it medicine? Or something else? Why is it so... peculiar? ...who is it for? He certainly did not expect a question in return.
Blade elaborates. “Do you know how to inject a needle?”
Steven shakes his head.
He did not want to admit his slight phobia of sharp objects going into body, especially needles. Though, if he had the choice, a tiny jab was preferred over the usual swords, knives and sometimes fists straight through his chest.
“Do you want to try?” Blade continues.
Steven glances back down at the protected needle and nods.
Flashing that one smirk Steven cannot get enough of, Blade moves the instrument aside and instructs how to properly administrate an injection into a vein. He presents his naked forearm and points to each of the veins of the inner arm. The Hunter is explaining in medical detail, and it all sounds very sophisticated, however Steven can only half listen while admiring how defined and attractive the arteries are bulging off his skin.
At first, Steven was terrified of the sight of blood and hated how it stained his suit. How it trailed down the drain and coagulated on his injuries after an Alter’s night out. But with the repeated exposure, even Steven had found the crimson threads to be beautiful. A carnage trail, spoils of life or battle. Signs of hunger or hurt.
He knew he should not glorify the pain that comes with bloodshed, but it was difficult so. Every time Marc would clean himself off in the bathroom sink, droplets thick and painting his skin, darkening his hair, diluted with water and saliva, persuaded by gravity to trace his chest and dotting his perfectly white clothes— Steven cannot help but stare a little too long, taking in every detail without breathing, too afraid it would stop if he made a noise.
Because if he did, his Alters would take it away. Too afraid to traumatise Steven, too afraid to show him the ugly parts of the world—Too afraid to expose him to the truths in case he has another mental break down and disassociates hard enough to not relinquish control of the body they equally had to take care of.
The boys were too careful around him, Steven appreciates it, he loves being taken care of. Loves being soft, and safe, and comfortable in familiar surroundings. But they often forget that Moon Knight was born in a psych ward, they were all forged in the same Crazy House and built from the same insanity.
Steven was mentally and physically one of them, and in this moment, he did not wonder about the state of his mental makeup— rather, he wonders if Blade bled the same colour as everyone else, fresh from the vein. Did being part Vampire affect him in any other way besides superpowers?
“Want to give it a go?” Blade asks with his forearm face up on the counter.
Steven snaps out of his thoughts, for a second he feared his own dark desire and whether or not his impulsiveness would strike in.
“I've never done it before, so I might mess up.” He informs.
Blade nods. “That’s fine, as long as it goes into my body, it will be absorbed.”
With Blade’s gentle encouragement, Steven picks up the needle and uses his nail to carefully pop the cap off. “Will it hurt? The liquid I mean? Vaccinations always mess me up a bit, afterwards.”
“I inject this a few times a week, sometimes more if I get really injured. This stuff has basically become my food source, and I’ve grown used to it. Trust me when I say it gets way worse if I don’t refresh it in time.”
Blade rips open an alcohol wipe and hands it over to Steven who looks for the largest (and prettiest) vein he could find before disinfecting.
“What happens if you don’t get your dosage?” Steven asks.
“I get really hungry.” Blade purrs in way which instinctively makes Steven look at him. The hair on his neck is raised. “Hungry in a way you can’t imagine, desperate enough to forget who I am and what I stand for, willing to give up anything and anyone just for a taste.”
Steven swallows and looks back down. The alcohol has dried out and he injects the needle perfectly, diagonally and close to the arm, so it does not pierce through the vein— Just the way he was instructed. Gentle pressure is applied to the handle to administrate.
“A taste of what?” The Knight swallows.
Blade smirks again, purposely flashing his fangs to stir something dark within Steven. The Hunter gently hooks a finger into one of the belt hoops on Steven’s slacks, leaving a respectful amount of room for him to finish his administration.
“A taste of you, hopefully. If you’d let me.” Blade growls.
The syringe is empty, and Steven pulls it out, only to be distracted by how fast the punctured hole grew back to a fully healed state. Blade cleans up and packs his kit back into a neat and enclosed case, with one hand, no less. The other limb is still parked in the belt hoop it considered home while its associating thump was stroking happy circles into Steven’s hip.
“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious.” Blade hums and looks up at Steven, both palms encapsulating either of his hips.
Steven did not realise when he had gravitated close enough to be standing in front of Blade’s stool, several inches from being confined between his legs and in his embrace. The way Blade looks at him from this angle, needy and fogged with wanton, was intoxicating.
“Is this the part of the narrative where you bite me?” Steven jokes, nervousness reminding him of its ever-looming presence.
Blade chuckles. “Only of you say pretty please.”
Steven feels a wave of heat sourcing from his lower stomach, and Blade must have noticed it too, because he reactively looks down, fluttering those pretty dark lashes over his eyes before chuckling like nothing had happened. He hopes that mind reading was not on the list of abilities he definitely listened to, told by someone he cannot remember... shoot.
Blade huffs. “I don’t drink human blood. The serum kills all cravings and makes it taste just like normal blood, avoids the hunger. It amplifies the feeling of sick from all that iron, you know that feeling? Thats how I can best describe it.”
What a shame Steven has not known that feeling for a long time. Thriving off the sharpness on his tongue like a kick of caffein, when he was fuelling off leftover adrenaline, abandoned by his Alters whenever they are forcibly switched. It is always his own viscousness he chokes on, the thought of drinking someone else's veins had never crossed him. Biting, however.
“Are you ready for our sleepover?” Blade asks and stands up so deliciously close to Steven, hands remaining on his hips.
Steven admirers again how good his clothes are framed on his guest but ultimately looks up to meet Blade’s eyes. “Sleepover?”
“You have never had a sleep over before, right?”
Steven twirls his fingers and fidgets with the loose skin around the nails. “I haven't had many friends to have sleepovers with... I don't really know what people do at one.”
“Well...” Blade trails, leaving no room for depressive thoughts to brew. A cheer like bell, free of judgement, soaks his speech and lingers in Steven’s chest. “Sleep, for starters, and talk until the sun goes up.”
Somehow Blade did not need to convince too much to be allowed to slip underneath Steven’s covers. He had been holding The Knight’s hand the whole walk up to his bedroom, talking about all the things that would happen at sleepovers. Somehow envying a childhood he did not have, Steven feels comforted that Blade too did not experience many of the same activities. A first for both of them, planning for future nights in the house, now that they had properly met.
Suspiciously, Steven did not need to guide them anywhere before The Hunter had swung open the master bedroom. Like he had been here before and knew exactly where to go. Blade has a nice voice, and Steven likes listening to it. He did not mind the distraction.
“Are you going to sleep in that?” Blade points the causal business attire out.
Looking down at his body, The Investor admits he is over dressed for the occasion but before he can look for his sleep shirt himself, Blade was already leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve something off the floor.
The Knight was definitely not checking out the rear perched up in the air during the search.
Blade throws a familiar soft and white t-shirt in Steven’s direction. “The only thing not folded, crumbled, and on the floor, I’m guessing this is yours? Or Jake’s?”
Steven catches. “It’s mine. Folding is for avoiding creases in nicer clothes. Only marc is weird enough to fold everything. And Jake, you probably know, folds nothing.”
“I know that too well.” Blade lays down on his side in the bed, the duvet shapes over his form. “So do you want me to look away, or...”
Snorting at the implication, Steven begins unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m a grown ass man, Eric. I can undress in front of another man. I will turn around, however, or I'm going to be embarrassed.”
Blade is holding back the smile forming on his lips as he watches. “Sounds like a win to me.”
With his back exposed to his guest, Steven hangs his dress shirt on a hook on the wall. He can feel the attention like hands over his limbs, stroking his neck, and trailing down his lower back when he slips out of the slacks. They too are hooked onto the wall before Steven pulls his T-shirt over his head, leaving his boxers exposed to the elements.
The sight that greets Steven when he returns makes him laugh. A curled-up hunter peeking over the duvet which covers up half his face, hands on the rim to pull closer to his body, a replicated image of the big bad wolf dressed up as grandma in bed. He had a hard time reading Blade’s expression, but he was sure it was akin of happy.
“Are you comfortable?” Steven asks, shimmying under the covers.
Blade answers quick. “I’m chilling. Very cool.”
Steven huffs a chuckle and looks at all the light switches on his master side of the nightstand. He turns back to Blade. “Are you ready for lights out?”
“Only if you want to sleep on my arm and cuddle.”
Steven raises an eyebrow. “People lay on each other and cuddle during sleepovers?”
“All the once I go to, at least.” Blade shrug.
“I’m starting to believe you have ever only been to sleepovers with Jake and Marc at this point. That’s a very them thing to do.”
“It can be a very Moon Knight thing to do.” Blade invites and props his elbow up to expose his inner arm.
Steven considers and accepts, once the lights are off.
Blade’s arm is comfortable, solid, safe and brings the scent of Steven’s body wash to an unfamiliar closeness sourcing from the body underneath him. The hand draped over Steven, separated by a layer of duvet, is heavy and grounding and feels like an amazing hug, or a comforting cuddle he usually only gets in his mind scape. It feels... different and nice to finally experience such intimacy in the real world. A degree of realness, separated by a film of practiced knowledge. There’s a hollowness to the comfort where Steven lays in the nook of Blade’s presence, routines and habits which he likes, but was never meant for him.
“Do you see them?” Steven elaborates insecure. “Do you see them in my face? Is that why you’re so nice to me?”
“What do you mean?”
Steven struggles to find the right words without them sounding too convoluted or a ramble of overthinking. Sometimes people can just do nice things for each other but to Steven it had to be due to a mutual feeling or goal.
Steven explains. “You seem to know so much... about me. And Marc... And Jake. You’re obviously closer to them. And I barely know you at all. Yet you’re just... strangely nice. I'm fairly certain half the things you do isn’t common among friends – but then again, I could be wrong, since we have the same set of friends, and this is just what people do. But if you’re nice me, or like me in any way, just because I look like them... it would make me feel a little dishearten. This is our first meeting too... Isn’t it a bit... odd?”
Blade inhales deeply. His lungs expand to squish against Steven’s shoulder, radiating heat away from the space he takes to expand. His exhale smells like his essence, easily recognisable and warm, like a bonfire just out of reach for the scorching flames but you can easily smell the earthiness of the wood from a safe distance.
“Can I tell you a story about one of the coolest men I know?” Blade asks.
Tilting his head up in silence, Steven can see the faint reflection of The Hunter’s face, lit up by the moon light in the widow he forgot to cover. Gentle lids fluttering over gentle shapes, Steven feels protected in his radiation. Steven hums affirmatively.
“Once upon a time there was a batshit crazy Knight—”
Steven interrupts the story by snorting a laugh, struggling to keep the chuckling back even behind caging hands.
“Stop laughing, this is a real story.” Blade continues with a smirk in the dimness. “A batshit crazy Knight with the most insane ideas. Most of the time the ideas are crazy enough to wrap around on themselves to work. But some unfortunate times, they end with huge draw backs.”
Steven listens patiently and envisions the story on the back of his eyelids.
Blade continues. “One of those plans were to fight a horde of vampires, all on The little Knight’s own, without back up, and without telling his strike team. Because waiting for even a second could lose a saveable life. And as indifferent as The little Knight said he was to all the killing and all the gore of the streets, deep down, he had a heart of gold and the greatest superpower of all his strike members.”
“Compassion.” Steven’s intrusive thoughts broke through. “No, wait. Moral compass.”
Blade corrects. “He had you.”
“What? Me?” Steven squawks.
“Every part of The little Knight that loves, that sacrifices, that want the better for people of the night. Every part that unapologetically wants to save people lost in the dark, is you. Despite everything in the arsenal, it will still be you.”
Steven feels a golf sized lump in his throat.
“And once The little Knight had brought everyone to safety, he fought so bravely and valiantly against the vampire master mind until backup had arrived to help him out. But by that point he had already exhausted everything and resolved to setting the building on fire, to prevent more vampires to ever spawn again.”
“Wow...” Steven awes and continues to listen.
“His backup had finished off the kill but was too injured to move out of the building on his own. Too scorched to regenerate, and too exhausted to limp outside with the both of them in arm, The little Knight and his companion were ultimatly stuck inside the burning building.”
Steven interrupts again. “The companion was you, right?”
“Correct.” Blade smiles. “By the time I regained consciousness, my arm was slinged over his neck and I was being dragged to safety, one dragging step at the time. I already thought it was over for the both of us, but there I was, being inched towards the exit. It seemed superhuman how much energy Marc had in his body to be able to do so much. Fighting hundreds of spawn. But it wasn’t him fighting the in the last stretch. It was a stranger who kept muttering ‘I am Steven Grant, and there’s nothing I can’t’ over and over again under his breath.”
Steven makes a questioning noise. “I don’t remember this? Is this really a true story?”
“You were having a panic attack and collapsed once we were outside. I would not blame you for not remembering. I was told you didn’t wake up for a week after that.”
“Oh...” Steven blushes and turns over to face Blade. “I cried, didn’t I?”
“Yhe whole time– My point is.” The Hunter continues. “That was our first encounter, and I thought you were the coolest thing I had ever seen. Through your fear, and your crying, not even unconsciousness could keep you from protecting people. Jake and Marc were knocked out cold, so saving me was all you. My little saviour.”
Blade brushes Steven’s hair behind his ear. “I love you. And if I can be so selfish and so lucky as to love all three of you equally and have all of you love me back. Shee— I don’t know. Heaven might be here on earth after all.”
“Love is a strong word...” Steven blushes deeper. “You barely know me.”
A heavy sigh fills the air they share in the dark. It was gentle, and long, like a loving huff from a dog with so much unconditional love to give. Blade takes the bold opportunity to lean forward and kiss Steven on the forehead, taking him completely by surprise.
“Did the two others tell you about the Timestream Entanglement missions we are doing? Maybe a demi-goddess named Galacta?”
“Uuuuhhh...” Steven tries his hardest to remember any of those details. “Maybe.”
Blade resumes. “There are basically different universes and realities with other versions of people. And while roaming one of those worlds, I met another Blade who told me all about his Little Knight who too had saved him, but this time from the clutches of Dracula—”
“Who’s Dracula?” Steven asks.
“Just another villain. Don’t worry about it.” Blade shrugs. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... If not in the next, nor in any greater canon, maybe in that Blade’s universe— and in this... Every path I take can lead me back to you. Every side of you... and Marc... and Jake. You were not my first love, but I wish to be your last. If we only have this and tomorrow—”
Blade picks Steven’s hand up to kiss his skin, one peck for each knuckle. “Then let this be enough. Give me time and I promise I will make you fall deeper than anything before. I can show you we are enough.”
Steven is speechless, unable to form even a noise acknowledge the bombshell of a vow that just dropped on him.
“If you can’t tell. I’ve been writing that one for a long time. Have you fallen for me yet?” Blade smirks, earning him a playful fist to the chest.