Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By trade, Tony Stark isn’t a very gullible person, but even he will admit to feeling duped when he finds out that deities apparently walk the Earth and can exist undetected by any current scientific metric.

It’s Thor, of all people, who leads him to this conclusion, though Thor is easily detectable. As is his hammer. Obviously.

(Tony’s still convinced he can figure out a way to pick it up.)

((Hell, if anyone can figure it out, it’s him. Which means he’s also probably the guy who can make these apparent “deities” visible to some form of radar. He’s a genius, after all.))

Thor doesn’t think this is a big deal because Thor never thinks these things are a big deal. He shrugs his massive shoulders, says something about magic, and moves on with his life like it’s nothing, as if he is oblivious to the fact he may have just sent Tony spiraling again because fucking magic.

(The little smirk Tony catches on Thor’s face suggests he isn’t half as oblivious as he acts, but the man has an impeccable poker face otherwise. Now, Tony would never admit it, but he’s impressed.)

So now he knows there are Egyptian-god-avatars running around having a grand fucking time, which means the gods can generally run around beside them. Cool. Not his problem, technically, though Tony would gladly take them in and ask to run some tests with the cooperation of the aforementioned deities. Or semi-cooperation. He isn’t too picky, so long as they give him something, though he’s learned better than to try and force people into shit they truly don’t want to do, lest they try and murder him. Not so fun, that.

Despite that, the gods act helpless and never really do shit, and when they do do shit (ha!), they’re punished. When Tony asks Thor how, he just shrugs again.

“I am not aware of all the gods’ particulars, Man of Iron.” And yeah, he’s just calling Tony that to annoy him. “I would expect the people of Midgard to know more than I do, given they are locals.”

(Sometimes Thor will randomly throw in modern-ish lingo to his otherwise Thor-like Asgardian language, and Tony is no longer sure just how much Thor is fucking with them all and how much is him actually trying to adjust to Earth.)

Regardless, the Avengers are now seeking out an ushabti that apparently houses a god that Hydra has decided they wanted. Who would be the god’s avatar, they’re not sure. Tony doesn’t remember the god’s name right now, but what he does know is that it’s bad news, and Hydra having the ushabti is the worst news, even if Tony hasn’t been informed of all the implications.

Tony’s scanning the base from the air, too high up for the sensors to grab him. With the infra-red, he can tell that there are a ton of bodies in there. A busy day to be Hydra. “They’re gathering near the southeast corner,” he says in the comms. “If they’re about to try anything, it’s going to be there.”

There are a few guards posted outside—a few meaning roughly three dozen, so, not exactly small, but not exactly a problem, either—most of whom, on the west side, are fully inactive besides having hands to their ears.

Tony takes off infrared, switches to normal camera with zoom capabilities, and eyes them.

Then he sees a man dressed in mummy-looking garbs rushing the east entrance, and swears. “We may have a problem, guys,” he says.

“East side,” Natasha says, somehow already on it. When he looks closely, he can see a blot of red hair in that area. “We’ve got an unknown bogey. It just took out half the guards here and set off the alert. Are the other guards starting to come this way?”

“Yep,” Tony says, and Cap starts barking out orders that most of them have likely already intuited.

Hawkeye takes west side, using the distraction to break through, and Natasha begins following the bogey. Cap and Tony make themselves a big ol’ distraction as they take out forces and begin to sweep the perimeter, trying to move inside as quickly as possible before Hydra begins the ritual or whatever-the-fuck one does with a tiny-ass statue.

Plenty of alerts go off when Tony breaches the sensor zone, but FRIDAY is already disabling the missile-responses—yes, seriously—before most can take effect. One launches, but Tony has already redirected to go the opposite direction, and there’s a boom as it barrels down toward the Earth, not powerful enough to get far, but powerful enough to do some structural damage and create another distraction.

Thor isn’t actually on this mission, having just consulted briefly before getting called off by Valkyrie for some shit he didn't bother to explain yet sounded important.

Ultimately, this run is just the four of them, and it’s going pretty swimmingly. Tony knocks out all of the roof patrols with his mini tranqui-missiles, and he hears the moment Natasha and Clint make it inside the building undetected.

“I do make a decent spy when I try,” Clint says, and Natasha just says, “A great spy where nobody is paying attention, sure,” which makes Clint bark out “Hey!”

Cap is laughing, even as he says, “Focus,” and there’s the distinct sound of his shield rebounding off someone’s head and into Cap’s hand. “What’s the bogey doing?”

Cap is heading directly toward the ushabti, and Clint’s getting into position to back him up from his little sniperly shadows. Natasha says, “I think he’s after the ushabti.”

Which. Yeah. But the implication is that he’s probably not on Hydra’s side, but maybe not on the Avengers' side, either.

Then there’s a sound of a scuffle, and Tony thinks, Fuck before he’s diving straight through the building toward where he’s tracked Black Widow and the attacker.

Mummy-man and Natasha are doing some fancy fighting, and Tony is all too happy to interrupt by landing right between them, sending them both backward with his palms extended toward the mummy. “Hey,” he says.

The mummy’s eyes are glowing. Tony really hopes it isn’t magic. The mummy’s hand is to his chest where there appears to be a pair of crescent blades, but he’s hesitating. Tony’s giving him the benefit of the doubt because Tony’s a nice guy. To Natasha, he says, “I can handle this guy. You’re probably the best bet to—”

“I know,” the man growls suddenly, and Tony gets the impression that wasn’t directed at either him or Natasha.

“Pardon?” Tony says, still pretending to be polite.

On the comms, it’s becoming clear Cap may be getting overwhelmed—which would mean Hydra has their hands on weapons that aren’t just the ushabti. Fantastic.

Natasha slinks off, which Tony takes as a compliment of her trust in him to handle this guy. Or maybe it’s her not trusting him to effectively have Cap’s back without destroying stuff in the process. Also fair.

“The Avengers,” the man growls, and he’s looking at Tony now. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same to you, Mummy Man.”

Some wind catches the inside of the facility, which Tony imagines is probably from the hole he just blasted through the roof.

“I’m Moon Knight,” the guy says, “and I’m here to retrieve the ushabti. I’d appreciate it if your team didn't destroy it and release Kek to the world. Because that would be bad.”

Ah, so this guy had a sense of humor and a funky little name. Fun. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Tony, crossing his arms. “And you—”

Moon Knight throws one of those crescent blades at him, and it strikes the repulser in Tony’s palm, shutting it down for maybe one second, which is apparently all this guy needed to make a break for it.

Tony thinks, Shit, and soars after him.

***

“It’s the bloody Avengers!” Steven keeps saying, which is decidedly unhelpful as Marc curses and keeps running. “Marc. Marc!”

“Shut the hell up!” Marc snaps. “I don’t know how much time we have, and—”

“They’re on our side! Why would you attack them? Even Khonshu—”

“Don’t bring Khonshu into this.”

Listen to the worm, Khonshu says, throwing papers off in Marc’s peripheral vision as he keeps running. As if he hadn’t just gotten pissy at fucking Iron Man for calling his avatar ‘Mummy Man.’

Marc hadn’t realized it was Black Widow stalking him until after he’d attacked her, but he wouldn’t call that a bad choice. Except for the fact it meant he’d attacked an Avenger.

“Two Avengers,” Steven corrects him, which is a fantastic reminder that he’s being pursued by one.

Marc, Khonshu growls.

Marc grits his teeth, slows his pace, and says, “Fine,” just in time for Iron Man to catch up with him. Marc puts his hands up placatingly, even as he glowers. “You all don’t know what you’re dealing with, but I do,” he says quickly, “so let me take care of this and get the ushabti somewhere safe so it doesn’t get stolen again.”

The faceplate lifts, and Tony Stark lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “First of all, we do know what we’re dealing with. Second of all…” He looks like he wants to say a number of things and decides against all of them, probably for the sake of time. “You can help us.”

Marc bristles at that. “You can help me,” he can’t help but say.

The faceplate returns. “Sure, Moonshine. But I’ve got my eye on you.”

***

The mission goes fine.

Tony will admit that the Moon Knight character was helpful, especially when it became clear he could take several hits without going down, and his own punches seemed to be on par with that of Cap.

When it is all said and done, easy enough, Moon Knight is holding the ushabti and glaring at all the Avengers. He hisses something, too low for any of them to hear, and then his eyes seem to soften somewhat. “I can take care of this.”

“Sorry, bud,” Tony says, “but we still don’t know shit about you. Appreciated the backup, though.”

Cap, of course, holds out his hand so as to shake it. “What did you say your name was?”

“Ohmy—” Moon Knight starts to say, sounding funny and flustered before he shakes out his head and takes Cap’s hand. His other hand, still gripping the ushabti, is pointedly far away, like he’s afraid Cap’s about to pull a move that takes the thing from him. “Moon Knight. Fist of Khonshu, protector of travelers in the night.” He cocks his head. “And shit like this.”

“Khonshu?” Tony says as Cap retreats and shares a look with Natasha.

“Sounds fancy,” Clint says. He’s still holding his bow, and as casual as his stance is, Tony knows him well enough to recognize he’s still wary. “What the hell does it mean?”

Moon Knight examines the ushabti. “Khonshu is another Egyptian god. God of the moon. I’m his avatar.” He looks at Cap. “Hence why I came after this. This is my territory.”

There’s a silent ‘not yours’ there that Tony doesn’t miss. So the guy’s a bit of an ass, too.

Tony throws up his hands. “Did there really have to be more god-stuff? I was hoping Thor was exaggerating.”

The wind buffets them suddenly, hard enough that Tony is forced to take a step for balance.

“Yeah, Khonshu isn’t a fan of that.” Moon Knight turns away from them, glances over his shoulder. “Bye.”

And then he’s running, whipping out his cape, and then—

“Are we seriously just gonna trust that guy?” says Clint.

Natasha’s weight is heavy on her left hip. “I trust him. Somewhat.” Her eyes flick over to Cap. “I get the impression we’ll be seeing more of him.”

Cap’s jaw is tense, and he looks unsure, so Tony does him a favor and claps him hard on the back. “Relax, Star-Spangles. I’m sure it’s all fine. Let’s just see what we can dig out from all the stuff here, find any other Hydra base locations. Surely these morons left something for us to see.”

***

Even once they’re leaving, Tony can’t help but wonder what the hell was up with the Moon Knight guy. Really, he just hoped Nat was wrong about seeing him again.

Chapter Text

Clint frowns into his binoculars.

He’s been staking out a shipment supply warehouse, mostly to get his bearings before he inevitably started shooting and generally fucking everything up for those assholes, but also to make sure that these were the assholes he was looking for.

He was fairly certain they were, But for a second, he saw a glimpse of white, and thought that dude from Romania—Moon Knight, was it?—was here, but no. This guy was wearing a full three-piece suit. Which certainly was… a choice.

Clint puts down the binoculars, pulls out his bow, and shoots at a guy pointing a gun at the man in white, effectively disabling the gun and pinning that man’s hand to a nearby crate. Then he’s jumping from the nest, using his grappling hook arrow to launch himself over to the building and right through the window.

He smiles. Says, “Surprise.” And then is in the thick of it, three arrows strung and each of them nailing various assailants. Notably, the man in white squeaks, plainly surprised. He hits a few guys with his pair of batons, but as soon as the guys are down, his hands are up as he faces Clint.

“Hawkeye!” he says in a distinctly British accent. “It’s—you’re an Avenger. I’m—” He swats one hand, says in a loud mutter, “I am being professional,” and then continues on like normal to say, “I’m honored to meet you properly, yeah? Though we’ve still got business to attend to, um, seeing as there are some people approaching behind y—”

Clint curses himself for getting distracted, both frazzled and amused by the man’s reaction, but the distraction is short-lived as he dives back into the fray.

Clearly the other man prefers close combat, wielding those batons wildly and overall fighting with a style that is haphazard at best yet strangely effective in all its pinwheeling glory.

When it’s said and done, the other man is panting, and Clint is panting with him, stretching out his back. “Nice to meet you, too, pal.” Now that he has a proper look, he isn’t surprised he made the mistake earlier. If anything, it reinforces the idea that this guy is familiar.

Clint points at his head as the man blubbers his response obviously fanboying, and says, “Moon Knight had that same symbol.”

“Right, yeah. I suppose he would, being, you know. Avatar of Khonshu and whatnot.” He teeters forward and back. Then, abruptly, he sticks out his hand. “I’m Mr. Knight. Absolutely pleased to meet you, Hawkeye.”

Clint walks around him and pats the guy on the back. The guy startles and yelps, then laughs awkwardly.

“So Khonshu has two avatars?”

“Oh, bloody hell, no. That would sure break a number of rules wouldn’t it? No. No, he only has one, mate.”

Clint’s still scanning the area, but he frowns at this. “So… you replaced the other guy?”

“Hm? Well, I suppose you could put it like that, yeah. Didn't think about it that way. Sure, yes. Um.” He puts his hand to the back of his head. “Wha—” he whispers, then turns around, and Clint, dammit, can’t hear whatever the hell this guy says to himself, but by the end of it, he seems monumentally distressed. “Sorry!” he shouts. “Sorry, um, sorry, that’s a bit confusing, innit? Oh, bloody hell, let’s just, uh. Why are you here?”

“Human trafficking. Why are you here?”

“There’s—! No, that doesn’t mean we kill them! We can— well, obviously we can beat the shit out of them, sure, but—” As Clint blinks at him, Mr. Knight goes on to say, “We were here for the stolen artifacts, but I’ll more than gladly help you with the trafficking business.”

Clint kind of appreciates that. He doesn’t really need the help, but backup can be good, as he’s learned more and more recently. Still, the word he focuses on is, “We?”

“Oh. Uh, like the royal ‘we,’ yeah. Because I’m… British—look, sorry, I’m not making sense,” he says with so many hand gestures he could put Spider-man to shame, “but let’s just finish this business up; I’ll take care of the artifacts—yes, I obviously know the people are the priority—and then we’ll be on our cheery way.”

Clint’s dealt with some really weird people. But by God, this guy was super fucking weird. “Sure. Yeah. But uh.” He gestures his bow around to everyone in the area, most of whom are passed out, the others of which are either groaning or impaled to various parts of the ground or walls. “Probably want to move quickly,” he says, “before we have to start re-taking out these idiots.”

Mr. Knight looks, of all things, nervous, what with how he’s fiddling with his gloved hands. “Yes. Great idea. I’ll work on finding the victims—”

“East side,” Clint says, pointing in that direction. “Take them out that nearest exit door; I took out all the guys guarding that area. I’ll start bagging the rest of them.”

***

To Clint’s surprise, Mr. Knight did not abandon him when it was all said and done and he was neatly holding his artifacts in wrapped bags. Clint isn’t sure where the guy found the bags and wrapping paper and bubble wrap, but, uh, well. He seemed to care a lot about the things.

Clint, as promised, took care of the rest of the bad guys, tying them up and making the necessary calls so they could be taken away for prosecution and all that. He elbows Mr. Knight then, grinning. “You weren’t half-bad, you know. Though you look a bit like you wanna shit yourself.”

“B- but I’m wearing a mask?” he squawks.

“It’s your whole demeanor, not the face.”

“Oh.” He shifts his footing, glances behind himself at the victims, who he’d been taking great care into comforting when Clint arrived. Only when Clint told him that the bad guys were down did Mr. Knight go retrieve the artifacts, making sure the people were never alone. Whatever he said must have put them in a decent mood.

Oddly enough, Clint finds himself quite liking the guy. He seems sweet and earnest, maybe a little weird, but weird was good sometimes.

He thinks about it. Most times, actually. If Clint thinks about it, none of his friends are… well, not weird, himself included.

Clint waves a hand. “Turn around real quick.”

The guy turns immediately, and only then asks, “Why?” which is such a blatant show of trust that Clint smiles and shakes his head. He reaches over, rips a scrap of paper from Mr. Knight’s hugged collection of artifacts (he makes a displeased noise, but Clint had been careful, so.), pulls out a pen—it’s also a dart, but the pen does work—and writes down his number. Then he stands in front of Mr. Knight and tucks the paper into the pocket square. Mr. Knight’s eyes are wide.

“There,” says Clint, still grinning. “Feel free to call if you need help. Or if you want a superhero friend.”

“But w— I’m not. A… Um.”

“If I’m called a superhero, I’m sure as hell calling you one, too. You helped me out, and I appreciate it.” He lifts his brows. “It can be tough in the beginning, but you’re doing good. See you around, Mr. Knight. You probably want to head out now, unless you wanna be stuck in hours of debriefings.”

“Oh, I don’t mind—” He winces, hard and sharp, readjusts, then says, “Yeah, actually, good point. Maybe, ah, another time. Yeah. Um. Thank you, Hawkeye. Really.”

“Clint,” he says.

“Steven,” Mr. Knight says so abruptly it feels like an accident. “Um. Is my name. With a ‘v.’ God, yeah, sorry, anyway, we—I’ll! Be off! Royal 'we' again, ha. Anyway. Laters.” He shrugs the artifacts as though to replace a wave.

Clint does him the favor of waving back and then looking away so Mr. Knight—Steven—can scuttle away in relative peace.

Sweet guy.

Chapter Text

Jake Lockley isn’t exactly surprised when, in the middle of preparing to cut a crescent blade into a man’s throat, his hand is webbed to the wall.

He only isn’t surprised because being surprised would be embarrassing. The “Mierda, ¿qué carajo? ¿Qué?” he shouts is not surprised.

Thankfully, before the guy can shoot him in the fucking face, that man is webbed down as well, followed by, “Sorry! I was just in the area, and since this is sorta my area, I try to not let people kill other people, y’know? So, uh—was that Spanish? My Spanish is super unreliable, so—”

Fucking Spider-man. Fucking Spider-man, and it sounds like he’s a fucking child. Either that or unlucky genetics.

Jake rips his hand free of the web and glares. “I’m after the Ammit cult in the area.” He yanks down the man’s sleeve and points at the tattoo. “I’m on the side of good y todo eso.”

“Oh, yeah, I know these guys! I mean, I don’t know them, but—”

“Is that a kid?” Steven squawks.

“—but I’ve been seeing them around and—why are you shushing? Are you shushing me?”

“No,” Jake says, like a fucking idiot. Steven is blabbering on, anyway, even though Jake has told both him and Marc several times that he’s not used to them talking while he’s in the body and thus can’t focus like he’s accustomed to, but Cristo. “Yes. They’re people I’m familiar with.”

“Wait—you’re the Moon Knight, aren’t you! Mr. Stark mentioned you, but I thought he said your suit was all white, but it looks like yours is mostly black except the cape and hood and—or is it a cloak like Dr. Strange?—and you’re talking about Ammit whose part of the Egyptian mythos right? And Moon Knight did all that and had moon stuff like you do, unless there’s—ohmygod unless there’s a bunch of you because Hawkeye mentioned also meeting a moon guy!”

“Oops,” Steven says.

“Who did he say Moon Knight worked with? Khonshu, right?”

“Please,” Jake says, “shut the fuck up. I can’t think.”

Marc stirs somewhere nearby, but he’s not close enough to see what’s up just yet.

“I can handle it,” Steven says. “He’s a kid, and I know you don't really handle—”

“No sabes una mierda,” Jake hisses. “I’m fine.” Marc would be the one freaking out about the kid. Jake, by contrast, is totally fine with this fact. For sure. He’s an adult. Unlike this actual child before him.

“Mr. Stark also mentioned that you sometimes talk to yourself, so I guess that holds up? I mean, you could have been telling me to shut up, but then you kept going, so, uh.” From where Spider-man is hanging on the wall of the alleyway, looking at home amongst the grime above the garbage bin, he waves a hand. How the hell is he hanging like that? “Hi, Mr. Knight. Or—wait, if there’s also a Mr. Knight, then—”

“Jake? Are you alright, mate?”

In response, Jake elbows the Ammit-guy unconscious. Or doubly unconscious: the web spider-man shot him with had a pretty shocking velocity when it nailed him in the face.

Spider-man finally jumps down, vaulting over the garbage bin. It’s strangely comedic in a sad kinda way.

“You ramble as much as one of my friends,” Jake says, standing up to full height.

“Oh, are you talking about me? Am I the friend?”

“Por el amor de dios.”

“I do ramble, yeah. Uh. Question and answer might be goo—”

“I’m Moon Knight,” says Jake, “and there are more of these people in the area. They’re…” Jake sighs. “I know where their base is, so I just need to take that out, and I’ll be out of your hair. Todos serían felices.”

“I can help!”

“No.”

“Really, I just—”

“No.”

“I’m gonna follow you either way,” Spider-man says, walking toward him. “I don’t want you killing anyone.”

Jake doesn’t want to say ‘please’ again tonight.

He doesn’t mind not killing these people, even if he thinks the world would be better off with them dead. But “I don’t want to babysit. You are a child, and you should—mierda, you should be in bed or studying for high school or… Cristo.”

“Listen, Mr. Moon Knight—”

“Me voy a suicidar.”

“Jake!”

“Uh, I did understand that, actually, considering it's close enough to English—and maybe please don’t? Do that?”

Jake isn’t going to do this today. He knows where the Ammit folks are, and they don’t know he knows. He has time.

Jake takes a deep breath. “Do me a favor, chico, and go home. And if you don’t go home—”

“I won't be.” He sounds chagrined but unsurprised. So Jake is far from the first person to do this.

“And if you don’t,” Jake repeats, “then tell me what I can help you with, because there ain’t a chance in hell I’m lettin’ you run around out here alone.”

Spider-man’s eyes widen, then return to normal size. He takes more steps closer. “Didn’t you just say you didn't want to babysit me?”

“Yeah, well, fuck you. I’m not leaving you.”

“Oh. Um.”

“Jake?” Steven prods. “This is—um, are you good? With children? Because I really don’t mind. I won’t force you to switch out! Obviously, um, but since I’m here—”

Spider-man, clearly oblivious to the sound of Steven yapping about, says, “Maybe you can help me with my Spanish homework?”

Jake closes his eyes.

“Mr. Moon Knight?”

Steven is giggling. Marc stirs closer, prods the two of them, and asks, “What’s going on?”

“Spider-man asked Jake to help him with his Spanish homework.”

Marc is a blank spot for a second. And then he snorts, his amusement forceful enough that he actually comes through the body, making their outfit shimmer with a switch before settling back on Jake’s.

“Woah!” Spider-man says, immediately in Jake’s face and examining the suit, too close for personal space but thankfully not touching him. “That’s so cool! You’re able to switch suits? Holy crap, that’s awesome. Is that the suit Mr. Stark saw? Why did it start to change? Was it an accident? Can you turn back to that suit?”

“If I switch to that suit, I won’t be able to help ya with Spanish,” says Jake.

“Oh. Why?”

Jake shrugs. “Won’t know Spanish.”

Spider-man is quiet. And then he laughs, bending over himself in the fit, and Jake doesn’t know what to do because it really wasn’t that funny. Well, it shouldn’t have been funny to anyone but him considering only brain-buddies could get the joke, but…

“I don’t get it!” Spider-man says, “But it’s funny!”

Dear God. Jake hated children.

Marc and Steven are both cackling.

***

Peter hadn’t actually expected Moon Knight to help him with his homework.

But the man had helped. He acted pretty impatient and cursed a lot (and seemed appropriately surprised when Peter eventually dished it back), but was actually incredibly patient, even if he wasn’t great at teaching. Half the time, he seemed distracted as though consulting his own childhood teachers or something, talking through the best way to teach Peter.

He never took off his costume, but to be fair, neither did Peter.

But this guy’s costume—he really shouldn’t call it a costume—was neat, flexible in weird ways, mostly that black but his eyes glowed and Peter couldn’t tell what the technology was behind it. He did ask, and Moon Knight said it was magic, and then said that magic was bullshit, so Peter was left unsure and unwilling to interrogate it given, at that moment, Moon Knight had started treeing down conjugations in Peter’s notes to help him.

When he gets his quiz back, it’s an A-minus. Peter’s pleased enough to smile at Ned and point at the grade until he keeps reading and sees Please see me after class, not funny scrawled beneath his written question on the back of the paper 'a cool friend of mine said something in spanish like mierdo que caroja, what does that mean?'

“Shit,” he whispers.

Chapter Text

Thor and Steve are sparring in Avengers Tower when Tony bursts into the Fight Like Fuckwits room (Tony’s dubbing, and though Steve kept his expression impassive when Tony announced this, he did, in fact, think it was kind of funny. He also knows Bucky could have come up with something funnier), shouting, “Thor! Thor, Point Break, buddy. How many fucking avatars are running around?”

When Thor’s distracted by the question, Steve bops him in the head with his shield, and then remedially says, “Oops,” which Thor responds to by elbowing him in the chest. Steve, kindly, doesn’t block it.

“You have to be more specific, Man of Iron,” Thor says, making his voice boom across the room in the way he only ever reserves for Tony.

Tony sighs and waltzes toward them, slipping off his sunglasses—which, by the way, sunglasses indoors have never been cool—to say, “You heard about Hydra trying to get an Egyptian-god-avatar, and that we busted that op, yeah?”

Thor tosses Mjolnir once, twice. “Of course. You were victorious in battle. Go Avengers!” He lifts his hammer, and Tony spits several curses about not summoning lightning indoors, and Steve has to turn around so Tony won’t see him laughing.

When things have settled a bit, Thor acting oblivious to the harm of lightning in technological spaces but nevertheless not summoning the lightning, Tony continues on, giving Steve one hard look to say ‘I see you hiding that shit-eating grin you stupid motherfucker,’ which just makes Steve suck in his cheeks further as he bites his tongue. “That one guy joined us. Moon Knight. Avatar of Khonshu.”

“And?” says Thor.

“And Katniss told me he met another avatar of Khonshu.”

At this, Thor actually stiffens, his face shifting from his lax, ‘I’m-pissing-off-Tony-and-happy-about-it’ face to something serious, his jaw hard. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Apparently he’s called Mr. Knight. Also wears a white suit and has a completely different fighting style than Moon Knight’s. And he apparently said something about being a replacement? It could be some logistical shit. But if it’s not just one and gods can have more than one avatar—”

“They can’t,” Thor says, and his sternness is real this time. It has Steve also stiffening. He considers how, exactly, they plan to take on another god, and how the avatars may come into play, let alone what the other Egyptian gods would think and if they’d also be enemies. He’s cocking his head and thinking about hijacking his way into becoming an avatar for a false god when Thor continues, “or, at least, they shouldn’t be able to. We’ll need to figure out what is happening among the gods, as they wouldn’t tolerate that behavior. They barely tolerate avatars who are active in human affairs.”

That’s good to know, at least.

“We need to talk to—” Tony stops himself and looks at the ceiling. For a second, Steve thinks he’s about to ask FRIDAY to do a search for him, but instead Tony says, “Actually, I distinctly remember wanting to never meet that guy again, so nevermi—”

“We need to talk to them,” Thor interrupts, and Tony does a full-body cringe. “A god abusing his power is no light matter. Do we know where this Moon Knight primarily operates from?”

“Moon Knight?” shouts another voice as the door opens again, and Spider-Man, mask off, comes strolling into the Fight Like Fuckwits room. “That guy’s awesome!”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to stiffen. His left eye twitches. Before he can say anything, Peter goes on, “He helped me with my Spanish homework! He’s definitely from Eastside Brooklyn, his accent was so thick it was kinda hard to take him seriously until he almost killed a guy, and he curses a lot, but he’s actually super nice! Oh, and he can switch his suits! The one I saw was mostly black, but for, like, a second, I got to see the white one you guys mentioned earlier. I prefer the black one, but they were both cool! He said it was magic, though, so I imagine it doesn’t change like that suit you designed for me, Mr. Stark—”

Tony uses the introduction of his own name as motive to interrupt: “Stay away from him.”

Peter frowns, obviously not even pretending to entertain this order. Steve can’t help but snort. Peter actually gives him the finger, and then just as quickly puts it down, saying, “Sorry, Mr. America!” and then says, “Why? He’s a perfectly nice guy, like I said. And—”

“He can switch suits?” Steve says this time, and it’s like Tony had forgotten he was there because the man jolts. “This could go into the alternates theory, but it would mean there’s one suit among them.” He puts his shield on his back and crosses his arms to continue, “It also means there’s at least three avatars in play. The guy we met in Romania didn't have a Brooklyn accent.”

“You sure?” Peter asks.

Steve gives him a Look. “Trust me. I would know.”

Peter squints like he’s about to interrogate if Steve used to have a Brooklyn accent of his own, but thankfully Thor speaks up again, saying, “This is something that needs sorting.” He turns to Peter. “The one you met was in New York, then?”

Peter nods so hard it looks like his head will topple right off.

Thor then looks to Steve, his blue eyes sharp. Clearly, there’s some history behind his opinion on all this. “We must talk to Moon Knight. This could involve an abuse of the god’s power, and if so, that could mean the avatars are in danger.”

“Wait, what!” Peter squeaks. “Then we have to help them! And not just ‘cuz he helped me with homework, but that definitely—”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, giving Peter his best smile. “He’ll be okay. Did he give you any way of contacting him?”

Peter shrugs. “No? I don’t think he did.”

Then they’d have to find him the old-fashioned way. Or a new-fashioned way using all of Tony’s technology.

“Hey, everyone!” comes a shout as the door opens once again, and Steve shouldn’t be surprised. Sparring areas were always popular, and it wasn’t unusual for them to be more populated with chitchat than the actual common areas.

What is unusual, though, is the fact that Clint is strolling in with a pep in his step being trailed by someone else.

The aforementioned Mr. Knight, to be precise.

The man is looking around the place, obviously gawking despite the garb hiding his face, and his eyes are wide and glowing. His gloved hands are up as he takes it all in, and he seems to be repeatedly saying, “Wow! I’m in the bloody Avengers Tower!”

Steve clears his throat. Tony looks stricken at the timing of this, and Thor is already beginning to approach the man.

Clint seems to catch on that something is amiss, his beginnings of an introduction dying on his lips with a frown.

Mr. Knight, however, jerks his head toward Steve and quietly says, “Oh my bleeding days. That’s— you’re— you’re Captain America! And I’m the one standing in front of you this time, how bloody special is that? I can’t be—” Then he sees Thor approaching, and his eyes go even wider. “Thor! My knowledge of Norse mythos isn’t so nearly well-versed as Egyptian, but I am still absolutely—”

“Avatar of Khonshu,” Thor says, looking down at him and displacing Clint, who then mouths ‘What the fuck?’ to Steve.

“Y- yeah, that would be me, yes. Mr. Knight, and all that.” Then, whispered, “Don’t start!”

“Are you in communion with your god right now?”

“Hm? N— well, yes and no, I’m sure the old bugger is hiding somewhere in here. Pigeon’s always around. Why? Need to have a god-to-demi-god chat? Battle of wills? That’s— I’m joking, really, but— what! I am not going to fight bloody Thor! You must be having an absolute bubble—what is with you?”

Steve cocks a brow, this time looking at Tony and saying, “It’s like the other guy. Could it be that when he’s talking to himself—”

“He’s talkin’ to Khonshu?” Tony finishes. “Seems likely.”

“Spider-Man!” Mr. Knight then chirps, leaning to look behind Thor. “How did your Spanish test g—”

Thor grabs Mr. Knight by a lapel, and he squeaks. “Tell your god to show himself,” Thor says.

“What! No! Chill the f out, won’t you! I don’t bloody care for the pigeon, but I’m also not going to sit around taking idle threats from someone just because he’s a bloody handsome Avenger and myth of bountiful lore—you don’t just get to manhandle me and get what you— No, no, no, I’ve got this, we can be civil—and get what you want! We live in a perfectly reasonable society full of—”

“How did you know about my test?” asks Peter. Only now did Steve notice the kid had automatically put his mask on at the new arrival. Good reflexes, though he hadn’t done his usual jump to indicate he’d gotten a ‘Peter tingle,’ or whatever they called it these days.

“I must know if Khonshu has found a loophole to achieve more avatars,” Thor continues, steamrolling Peter—likely by accident—and continuing to hold on. “Have him show himself.”

Mr. Knight’s mask wrinkles. “Oh, bugger off! He doesn’t have multiple avatars.”

“You speak in defense of your god?”

“In this singular, remote instance? Begrudgingly, yes. I’m intimately aware of his avatar situation.”

Thor steps back, releasing Mr. Knight. As Mr. Knight adjusts his coat, muttering angrily, Steve purses his lips and moves to stand next to Peter, ignoring Clint’s, “What the fuck is happening?”

“Are you getting—” he begins, and Peter immediately nods, “Spidey sense! Thor, please don’t—”

Thor swings his hammer at Mr. Knight.

Clearly not having anticipated this, Mr. Knight takes the blow to the side and stumbles back. “Ow! That bloody hurt!”

Thor bares his teeth, and Steve snaps, moving in front of him, “Enough!”

Thor throws his hammer at Mr. Knight, directing it to weave right around Steve.

It hits Mr. Knight in the stomach with a painful ‘Oof!’ and sends the man careening into the wall with enough force to elicit a crack!

The hammer drops.

In shaky movements, Mr. Knight reaches down and—

“Holy shit,” says Clint.

—picks it right up like it was nothing.

“That was— no I said I had a handle of— we aren’t about to—! Ugh, fine,” Mr. Knight says, and then suddenly the suit is changing, twisting in on itself into the familiar mummified version they had all seen in Romania. He twists out his neck, those glowing eyes glaring, his hand still holding Mjilnor.

Thor hasn’t said anything on the matter, just stares.

Then Moon Knight says, “You’re lucky I’m the nice one.” And then he throws the hammer directly back at Thor, meaning Steve had to fucking take a step to the side, one hand reaching out to stop the hammer from colliding with Thor’s chest, seeing as the damned so-called god doesn’t do anything to protect himself from the blow.

Thor’s eyes trail Steve. After a moment, he says, “Let us not play catch potato with my hammer.” And then he gently grabs it from Steve’s hold.

“Oh fuck that,” says Tony. “What the hell just happened? Where did that British guy go?”

“Oi!” Moon Knight says, but it’s actually Mr. Knight again, the mummy-costume turning into the three-piece suit once more. “I gave Hawkeye my name, and I know bloody well he told you. It’s Mr. Knight. I’m much more than just some ‘British guy,’” he finishes with both air quotes and a terrible American accent.

“Uh, bud?” Clint says, waving. “I think we’re all just a bit confused right now. And you picked up Thor’s hammer. What?”

Mr. Knight hums. “Not that impressive, is it? Ah, well, and you all right better be confused, but not more confused than us. You attacked me! After I bloody told you the issue you thought existed did not ex—”

“His hammer!” Clint repeats.

Peter raises his hand.

Steve is just a little relieved he’s not the only one who doesn’t know what’s happening right now. Everyone’s confused, and Tony looks more than a little pissed off—because of Moon Knight’s brief appearance or the hammer-thing, Steve isn’t sure.

“Thor!” Clint insists, scittering into view with crab-like motion. “He lifted your hammer!”

“Well, it is moon stone, and as the avatar of K— what! Why would I not say—oh, bloody—fine, Jake. Forget I said that. We lifted it ‘cause we’re worthy.” Mr. Knight tilts his head. “Actually, maybe we are just worthy, Khonshu-powers aside, yeah? Uru isn’t— fine, fine, you old bird, I’ll give that to you, but that doesn’t mean—”

“What the fuck!” Tony exclaims, and Steve just finds himself nodding along.

Finally, Mr. Knight seems to pick up on Peter’s raised hand. “Spider-Man, yeah?” He clasps his hands behind his back. “What can I do for you?”

Peter puts his hand down and clears his throat. Then, he says, “WhAt?” his voice cracking halfway through. In the relative new silence, it practically echoes. He coughs into his arm.

Mr. Knight sighs. “I—hm.”

In an attempt at continued peacekeeping, Steve steps up to say, “We’re sorry about that. Really. Thor—he was worried that your god may have been abusing the avatar-system to take advantage of you all. But that… we’re frankly still not entirely clear on that. But I apologize.”

“Yeah, um. Yeah, I guess I also could have handled it a bit—” The shift from Mr. Knight to Moon Knight is once again sudden, and he goes on, “Not your fault at all; they attacked us before—” and again “—c’mon, mate, they didn't all attack us! And Thor went relatively easy on us, and I may have provoked him a bit—cierra la boca, idiotas. Sorry Jake! Oh, bloody hell.”

Steve’s brain is about to break. Almost instinctively, he does his familiar gesture of ‘this is nice and familiar!’ by sticking out his hand and saying, “Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Captain Ameri—! Yeah, of course, mate!” Mr. Knight grabs his hand with both of his own and shakes vigorously. “It’s an honor. I know I’m English, but even I’m not immune to the lure of the American Golden Retriever! Wait, that’s not impolite to say, is it?” He’s still holding Steve’s hand. “Oh gosh, I hope calling you that wasn’t rude; bullocks, I just keep—” The suit changes into one Steve’s wholly unfamiliar with, largely black with some gray accents and a white-crested moon (figures) on the chest, and a white cloak very similar to the mummy version (Steve briefly wonders if he would have seen it as mummy-like had Tony not said it was. Maybe, sure, but he can’t help but think about the role Tony’s unfiltered thought processes have begun to influence Steve’s own). The man releases one hand, says, “Te ves ridículo, Capitán América,” and then also releases his other hand.

Peter gasps.

“If I look ridiculous, it’s just because I’m confused,” Steve says honestly, flashing him a smile.

The man stiffens. Steve’s smile turns cocky. The man then rolls his head in the clearest example of an eye-roll possible wearing a mask.

“You’re— him! Mr. Moon Knight!”

“For fuck’s sake,” the guy growls in—as Peter had said—a very Brooklyn accent. “Khonshu ain’t up to shit. We’re one person, just… ¿como diablos supone que explicó esto? Multiple… identities.”

Peter whispers, “I understood some of that.”

There’s a winding change back to Mr. Knight. “How did that test go? You never answered, and, well, Jake isn’t the best at teaching… well, anything—oh, shut up, you know it’s true. Now, that was hardly a lesson in tactical driving so much as an opportunity for you to putz about dangerously whilst scaring the daylights out of me—whatever. Uh, exam?”

“I got an A-minus!” Peter says, and then, inexplicably, he takes off his mask so Mr. Knight can see his huge smile. “And he—Jake?—he did a great job! I got in some trouble for asking about something he said and it turned out to be a lot of cursing, but that’s kinda on me, but that’s okay! It was super helpful. Uh, is it okay that I kinda know his name now, or—”

Tony’s on his phone, doubtlessly doing some searching with that bit of information he’d just gotten. Thor is watching the exchange, all his frustration—or, to call it what it really was, fear—faded and replaced by amusement. Clint, meanwhile, has snuck up to Mr. Knight and thrown an arm around his shoulder. “You’re great bud. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but you’re great.”

Mr. Knight’s mask fades off to reveal dark curly hair on a man with brown skin wearing a bright smile. He briefly leans into Clint before saying, “Sorry! No, no, it’s fine, we worked it out just now. Um. I’m Steven. With a V. Grant. Uh.” He glances at Steve. “No relation that I know of. Not that I wouldn’t be positively chuffed if there was, but ah. Well. Yeah.”

“It’s a nice name,” Steve says.

“Yeah! It is, innit? Anywho, uh, like Jake, er, sorta began—well, we’re… you know, one body one person, but, ah, multiple people.” He cocks his head. “Oh, it’s probably just easier to say we have DID. Multiple identities.”

It clicks. Unprompted, an understanding, “Oh,” leaves Steve’s lips.

“Marc Spector,” Tony says.

The suit changes from Steven’s back to the mummy-version, though there’s still no facemask. The expression changes entirely, going from open and, well, charming, to harsh, unyielding. “That’s me,” he says. “What now, Tony Stark?”

Tony looks up from his phone. “I just deleted your criminal history. Happy birthday. New clean slate.”

Marc’s face does a series of complicated, small things. And then the suit changes again—Jake—and he says, “You’re still a dick.”

Tony doesn’t look surprised. “You helped the kid with Spanish. I owed you guys one.”

Jake’s eyes flit down to Peter. It appears that he has a bit of a resting bitch face. Or he just isn’t a people person, given he puts a hand in Clint’s face and shoves him away. “You’re welcome.”

“Muchas gracias,” says Peter, still smiling, both at Tony and Jake now.

Now Jake’s eyes slide to Clint, who huddles on himself and squints suspiciously back. “What?” Clint demands.

“You told Steven he could spar with you all.”

Clint’s eyes narrow further. “I did.”

Jake looks back to the rest of the Avengers. “The offer still stands.”

Steve thinks that was supposed to be a question. “It does,” he says.

Jake looks at Thor. “If you try any shit, I’ll break your fuckin’ hammer.”

Thor’s brow furrows.

“I can do that,” Jake says to the unasked question.

Their eyes go skyward, and it’s Steven again, this time looking sheepish. “Sorry about that. He’s just a bit of an arse, but he means well… Yes you do! Anyway, uh. Hello.” He waves. “Um. I feel like we should re-introduce ourselves, but well—”

Once again, Clint slings his arm over Steven’s shoulders, and he’s smiling widely. “No worries, man. How about we get some sparring in? Just don’t throw Thor’s hammer at me, because I can’t do what you can. Awesome, by the way,” he says, and Peter nods along.

“We’ll need to talk afterward,” Tony says, lifting an eyebrow. “Me and all of you guys,” he continues, gesticulating broadly at Steven’s person. Steve assumes this has to do with Peter. “For Spanish reasons.”

“I doubt that’s true, but sure,” Steven says, blinking. “Sounds delightful.”

“And may I extend my own apologies myself, Man of the Night.” Thor extends his hand.

After a second, Steven takes it. “No harm done! Khonshu is a right slimy bastard, so it’s understandable that you were worried. But we have it under control, thank you very much.”

“We’ll take the corner over there,” Clint says, pointing to the southeast side. “I’ll gladly take on any of you guys, but I need some time with my main man, Steven with a V.”

Steven winces. “I did that to myself, yeah?”

“Absolutely, Not-Steven-Grant-Rogers.”

Steve rolls his eyes this time, but he’s still grinning. “Feel free to take on any of us available. Despite Tony being Tony, you’re welcome here.” He sucks in a breath. “I, for one, have to go. If I’m late to meet Bucky for coffee one more time, I think he’ll actually throw me off the tower.”

“Rightfully so,” says Peter, nodding.

“Your generation is so nihilistic,” Steve says, putting on a rasping voice that makes Peter smirk.

“Have fun, Cap,” Tony says, waving a hand dismissively and looking back down at his phone.

Steve gives one last encouraging smile to Steven. “Welcome to… all this.”

And then he takes off at a run.

***

He’s five minutes late. Bucky, to his self-proclaimed infinite generosity, does not throw him off Avengers Tower.

Chapter Text

Someone is messing with Thor.

He keeps getting blown off course by extremely localized gusts of wind. And lately, Mjolnir has been taking several more seconds to reach his outstretched hand.

It hasn’t caused any actual problems, but it has made him start to question himself and his teammates, who ostensibly laugh at him. Thor, however, will not be deterred, and is determined to question his supposed teammates. This includes Stark in particular, who has apparently heard “Man of Iron” one too many times, which means he’s the obvious culprit.

But that would mean Stark has somehow tampered with Mjolnir, which simply cannot be true. And that tampering of Mjolnir, of course, points to Captain America. But how would Steve tamper with Thor’s flight? It is preposterous to assume the two would be working together on this—they’ve had prank wars, of course, but they prefer to put each other in the crossfire. The fact that they would team up for what ultimately amounts to a small inconvenience is inconceivable. Both of them are expert prankers, as Stark learned the hard way their first go-around.

He’d spoken first to Stark, attempting to menace a confession out of him.

Stark takes a sip of his mai tai (small umbrella included. The umbrella is cute, and Thor has been collecting them). “Huh.”

“The pranks,” Thor repeats, pointing Mjolnir at him.

Stark squints at him. Slowly, he pulls the umbrella from his drink, then holds it out to Thor. “This what you’re after?”

He seems genuinely confused, and genuinely attempting to come up with an answer that makes sense for how he perceives Thor. Seeing as Thor has made sure Stark has absolutely no idea how to perceive Thor, this is difficult. Stark doesn’t like problems he can’t solve, and Thor has found himself delighting in this fact. Now, it means that Stark is likely blameless: a situation he is rarely in.

Thor delicately takes the umbrella. He puts it in his mouth. He swallows.

Stark pales. “I think my machine broke. The one that does the… machining.”

“Excellent prank,” Thor tells him with a sage nod.

Stark downs the rest of his drink and speed-walks away.

The next person had been Steve, who was wearing glasses and reading a newspaper.

Thor had squinted at him. “Correct me if I am wrong, but… you do not need glasses. The miniseries I watched on you said the serum fixed your eyesight.”

Steve snorts and peers at Thor from over the glasses. “I don’t need them.”

“Aesthetic choice, then?”

“What documentary did you watch?”

“American From the Ages: Collisions of Science and War. It was four episodes.”

“Great.” Steve picks up a pencil and scrawls something onto the newspaper. To Thor’s unasked question, Steve says, “I’m keeping track of them. It’s for a thing. Don’t worry about it.”

Ah. “You are planning another prank war.”

Steve’s smile is devious. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“And the glasses?”

“I need everything Tony sees from me to be just slightly off. Are they too much?”

His ears did not deceive him: “Pranks of slight differences?”

Steve takes the glasses off and leans back in the chair. “Pushing it, maybe.”

“I take it you are pranking the whole team?” Thor raises an eyebrow in an extremely effective manner. It’s a sure tactic to get a confession from anyone, both cunning and intimidating. Loki taught it to him and told him he was extremely good at this, and Thor happily took his dear brother at face value.

Steve’s eyes go wide. He sucks in his cheeks. Then he promptly bursts out laughing, whipping his head back and bringing a hand to his chest. His glasses go clattering to the floor.

Thor had waited the man out, only for Steve to say, “Maybe I am.”

“It’s a yes or no answer.”

“It’s a maybe, seeing as you think I’m pranking you specifically,” Steve says, waggling his pencil at Thor. “At least, that’s what I think your constipated look was about, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

Constipated? Ridiculous.

Steve goes on, “What’s been happening?”

“Nothing,” Thor says, clearing the hair from his face.

This made Steve a possibility. However, it becomes clear with time that all of Steve’s energy is focused on Tony, which then rules him out. Though Tony may be a scientist, Thor can also scientististic… things. He is a god of many talents.

He asks Clint next. Clint laughs, says, “I wish,” and then keeps laughing.

He does not ask Natasha. For all he is the God of Thunder, he will not risk the Widow’s wrath.

It’s by coincidence that he ends up asking Peter.

Peter seems equally interested. “Wind and Mjolnir, huh?” His face does many strange human things, and then he says, “Uh, gotta go. School stuff.” And leaves.

Highly suspicious, but Thor knows the Spider is not the culprit.

Perhaps, though, Thor is simply incorrect. Perhaps Mjolnir’s timing is the same as ever. Perhaps those gusts of wind are natural, or perhaps Thor has forgotten how to fly so smoothly.

He sighs, resigning himself to this fate. He will figure it out eventually. Surely.

***

Khonshu has taken to sabotaging Thor in minor ways.

It’s Steven, of all of them, who helps facilitate this.

Steven is ecstatic that they can move Mjolnir around, and he delightedly calls himself worthy while simultaneously insisting Marc and Jake are not. For them, it’s the uru.

Khonshu, delighted that Steven is helping him sabotage Thor, keeps backing him up on this argument.

“I do not lie, Worm,” Khonshu says, and he has transferred the ‘worm’ title to Marc temporarily. He sees this as the highest form of insult because the god is a petty motherfucker. “I have never influenced Steven Grant’s hold on the weapon of moon rock. It is of his own power he wields it.”

All of them are pretty sure that’s bullshit, but none of them are positive. It’s not unlike Khonshu to lie for his own gain. It is unlike him to lie on Steven’s behalf, but then again, it’s unlike Steven to go along with Khonshu by any design whatsoever. So anything’s up in the air, apparently.

“Bullshit,” Jake says.

“Do not slander me, Jake Lockley.”

“What’s this about, anyway?” Marc asks, crossing his arms. “Why are you getting all petty? What did Thor do to you?”

They’re on top of Avengers Tower, which maybe Stark knows. He hasn’t said anything, so. But it’s apparently a prime spot for Steven to fuck with Thor’s hammer without getting caught, because who the hell would just chill on Avengers Tower? Them, apparently.

“I am not petty. I am a god.”

“Like Thor?”

Khonshu huffs. “I am far more powerful and godlike than that Asgardian alien.”

That sounds like it’s probably impolite. Marc can’t bring himself to care.

Jake says, “Are you bitching porque you’re mad he can influence things without an avatar?”

“Thor is not a true god! It is an insult to the gods to claim as much.”

Yeah, okay. “Really, Steven? This is the cause you’re supporting?”

“It’s harmless!” Steven defends. “Besides, it’s a good point! Khonshu and I have talked a lot about deity classifications, and—”

“Por el amor de dios, shut the fuck up,” Jake says, and it’s unclear if he’s talking to Khonshu or Steven. Or both, at this rate.

Tony and Thor are currently sparring. Khonshu disappears briefly.

Marc sighs as Thor is once again thrown into the side of the building. You’d think the man—god? demi-god?—would be steering clear of it by now.

Thor throws Mjolnir at Stark, who zooms off in his little suit.

People on the ground are taking pictures. What for? It’s just gonna end up looking like two dots in the sky, and New Yorkers see superheroes every day now, right?

Steven takes the body and extends a hand, saying, “Come on over, sweetheart.”

Mjolnir obliges, rushing into Steven’s hand and trembling.

“I knew it!”

Steven yelps and drops Mjolnir, whereupon it goes flying back to Thor. Steven also loses their grip on the building, and Marc curses, taking hold of the body and trying to grab onto that obnoxious ‘A’ before they’re too late.

He’s too late. But that’s fine, seeing as Khonshu blasts wind up from below to propel him up as Spider-Man webs his hands and yanks them back.

Khonshu immediately goes back to disturbing Thor.

Marc says, “What are you doing here?”

Spider-Man—Peter—mimes taking a picture and says, “Catching you all in the act. Thor said somebody was messing with him! I was like ‘no way,’ right? But then I thought about it, and it totally makes sense! It’s a god feud, isn’t it?”

Steven takes the body, drops the mask, and begins shushing Petter, herding him out of sight as he desperately looks behind him. “It’s all good fun, mate. And bloody Jesus, you’re being loud.”

“Sorry.”

“S’alright, kid,” Jake says. “Steven’s being an idiot.”

“Oi! Am not!”

Peter snorts.

“Thor isn’t too upset, is he?” Steven asks.

Peter shrugs. “He’s pretty confused. I’m mostly just surprised you guys aren’t, like, supremely fucki—messing with him.”

Steven frowns. “How do you mean?”

“I dunno. Is it a god feud?”

There’s a series of curses from Thor as he finds himself briefly pinned to the building. It’s something of a miracle he hasn’t spotted them.

Marc says, “Yes.”

“And, like, your god can appear or materialize or something?”

Marc squints at Peter. Frankly, he isn’t sure what Khonshu’s reservation is with showing himself, though he suspects it’s more about the energy it would cost. “Maybe,” he says. “Why?”

“Why don’t you just have him take Mjolnir?”

Thor is freed from Khonshu’s pin.

Khonshu appears next to Marc, his head cocked.

Fuck.

***

Thor and Clint aren’t sparring in Fight Like Fuckwits; rather just hanging out, occasionally shooting arrows at targets (in Clint’s case) or throwing Mjolnir at targets (in Thor’s).

“Steven has been so weird,” Clint says. “Grant,” he clarifies almost immediately. “I swear, it’s like he’s getting along with Khonshu. I may only hear half of their conversations, but it’s still weird. Plus, Steven has started calling Marc ‘Worm,’ and Marc keeps saying that’s Steven’s name.” From his seated position, Clint unloads an arrow behind his back and, without looking, hits a bullseye. “I haven’t asked him about it, though. Is it weird to ask an avatar about their god?”

Thor hums contemplatively. It is true that his relationship to godhood is vastly different from many others. He knows very little of the Egyptian gods, though he does recognize they have their own deal of power and influence. “Perhaps,” he says. “I would not know.”

“Would you ever take an avatar?”

Thor laughs and claps Clint on the back, then pretends not to notice Clint’s wince. “Never. Never. I have no need! I am Thor, God of Thunder, and all of my strength is my own.” He frowns. “Though I suppose I could bestow the powers of Thor upon others, if I so desired.”

Clint whirls to face him. “Really?”

“Why, of course!” Thor chuckles. “No, I will not bestow my powers upon you.”

“Meh,” says Clint, shooting another arrow. “Not like I was interested, anyway.”

“Sure,” says Thor.

The lights in the room blink out.

Clint is on his feet immediately, an arrow notched, and Thor has summoned lightning to Mjolnir, the sparks dancing across the hammer’s surface.

The light nearest the door flickers on.

The doors whoosh open in a gust of wind.

“What the fuck is going on,” Clint hisses. “Shouldn’t there be alarms or something going off?”

Unless there is no intruder.

“Reveal yourself!” Thor booms.

In his grasp, Mjolnir begins to shake.

Clint glances over, his breath hitching. “What the hell?”

Thor begins holding his hammer with both hands, frowning as Mjolnir continues to rattle in his grip, each twitch bringing it closer and closer to the tips of his fingers.

The light at the doors goes out.

Clint and Thor both hold their breath.

In front of the doors, bathed in that darkness, a tall figure appears.

Clint fires.

The figure disappears.

Thor is now digging his heels hard into the floor. He thinks, with some relief, that he finally has a witness to these strange goings-on.

That relief is just as quickly stripped away when the doors slam closed, the figure reappears under the lights just ten yards from where they stand, and says in a low, projecting voice, “Mine.”

Mjolnir launches from Thor’s hands and into the skeletal grasp of the figure—a lanky, bandaged creature with a bird skull of a head.

Thor and Clint seem to notice something at the same time, as simultaneously, they say, “Ah, shit,” and the figure disappears with the hammer.

“Khonshu!” Thor bellows. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“He had that same crescent design on his chest and everything,” Clint sighs. “I should’ve figured it out earlier. I mean, shit, even the staff! And Steven calls him a pigeon for a reason, I guess. Jesus.”

“Not Jesus,” Thor growls, “Khonshu.”

“Uh. Yeah. It’s just an expressi—”

“Khonshu!” he roars again.

***

“Bloody hell,” Steven says from where he is leaning against the wall just outside the sparring room. “You’d think by now he’d at least walk out here, yeah?”

Khonshu is preening. He is admiring the handiwork on Mjolnir, examining it from as many angles as he can manage. Occasionally, he mutters something to himself, then chants something, and some of the inscriptions change. He doesn’t let Steven read what those changes are.

“Khonshu! You old weathered hag off the universe’s scaly rear!” comes Thor’s yell again.

Khonshu is unphased. “Moon rock, and he expects to have more power than the God of the Moon.” He scoffs. “Pathetic.”

Clint walks out the doors.

Steven, having not known Clint was in that room (though, really, the arrow clean through the wall should have indicated it), yelps once more and scrambles into a suitable standing position.

Clint stares at him.

Steven stares at Clint.

Clint lifts an eyebrow.

“Shit,” says Steven.

“So this is what you and Khonshu have been up to.”

Khonshu is once again out of non-avatars’ sight. To make his presence known, he thumps his staff into the ground, hitting Steven and Clint with a gust of air.

Clint whistles. “Wow. Real mature.”

Steven shrugs. “Uh, yeah. It’s. Um.”

“Thor’s gonna kill you.”

“He can try,” Khonshu growls. “It would be his end. Supposed ‘gods’ like him are easy to kill.”

“Khonshu says he’d kill Thor first, which would be easier since Thor’s corporeal and without his hammer.”

Khonshu huffs approvingly.

Clint rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Jesus Christ.” He taps a foot. “Can Khonshu please give it back? What was with those dramatics, anyway? What’s with any of this?”

“No,” says Khonshu.

“He says no.”

“To which part? All of it?”

“I presume so, yeah.”

Clint pinches the bridge of his nose, and Steven starts to feel a little bad about this whole thing. “How about this?" Clint says. "You take the hammer for now, and Thor and Khonshu stay in there and talk things out.”

Khonshu rematerializes, if the way Clint jumps and stares is any indication. He hands Steven Mjolnir.

Steven takes it wordlessly, his mouth agape with questions he can’t form words to.

“Fine,” Khonshu says. “I will talk with the alien.”

He disappears.

“Uh,” says Clint, “is that good?”

Steven shrugs. “Dunno, mate. Maybe? It’s been pretty fun messing with Thor, though. Did he ever suspect it was us?”

“You,” Marc corrects. “Not us. You.”

Eh, whatever.

“I don’t think so,” Clint says.

Brilliant. Steven grins.

***

It’s a couple hours later when Khonshu reappears.

Clint doesn’t see him, but he does notice the doors whap open in an unseen wind.

Steven will easily admit that the archer is right: Khonshu’s more than a little dramatic.

“Well?” he asks Khonshu.

“Thor is a cuck,” Khonshu says. “You may return the hammer.”

Steven does so.

Thor is left wondering for weeks why his hammer refuses to return to him handle-first.

Steven refuses to say what the new hieroglyphs ascribed on the aforementioned hammer are.