MOON KNIGHT ONESHOTS || taking requests

Behind Locked Doors (Marc & Jake)

• Where Marc finally meets Jake post Steven's sacrifice and wonders just how many things about his life he never knew about. •

for lucy :)

i wrote this pre-episode 6 so that's my reasoning for the different characterisation of jake than what the mcu showed :) hope y'all still like him lmao

he is a little shit and i love him, just like he loves his brothers <3 the whole system would die for each other and i stand by that, steven already proved my point

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Marc found himself beginning to understand the love Steven held for Ancient Egypt and their beliefs as he felt the warm brush of a breeze flit through the reeds and wind around his legs.

There was a golden sheen to everything in sight, soft strokes of sunlight leaving pleasant kisses of warmth along the back of Marc's neck as he adjusted to the change, seeing the expanse of everything Steven had rambled about and what Khonshu had dreamily described, the foretold field bringing even the stubborn god to a state of awe.

And for good reason.

The place oozed with serenity, the quiet chirp of unseen insects aiding the soft hum that sang through the scented air and Marc felt himself relax and bathe in the perfection, feeling the tickle of the reeds against his fingertips as the lumps of sand caught in his clothes fell away and melted into the cushioned ground beneath him.

It was such a stark change from the rocking of the boat and the darkened purple sky Taweret had so excitedly fawned over and as Marc's tired body remembered the constant violence and beatings and stress he felt himself yearn to melt into the field and let the soft embrace of the afterlife lull him to an eternal place of rest.

But he couldn't.

Because as perfect as the Field of Reeds was, Steven was not there.

It wasn't right, Marc knew it couldn't be right.

He knew enough about his condition to know it wasn't right and no talking hippo or cult leader could convince him otherwise, because his alter couldn't just die, go dormant maybe but death was out of the question.

Or was Marc grasping at straws for any indication that he hadn't failed yet another brother?

It would be wrong of him to just roll over and accept his fate while leaving Steven behind. He couldn't do that to the man that had always been there for him, the man who had protected him and held his hand when no one else would. He couldn't take everything Steven had done for him and throw it aside for an eternity of paradise.

So he ripped himself from the gentle coax of the reeds, the sunlight gentle against his aching and dry eyes as he spun to look for any escape amongst the never-ending stretch of gold.

And on his final turn, there he was.

His face staring back at him through the reeds, features weathered and shoulders hunched and despite how rough the man looked, Marc had never seen such a bright light.

"Steven," he breathed, voice as light as the brush of the reeds against his cracked palms.

"Yeah, try again, kid."

That was not his Steven.

This man was gruff, voice scratchy and stained with an accent Steven probably couldn't fake if he tried. While Steven was smooth and Marc was rough, this man was jagged, every cracked edge enough to rip you into pieces.

"Who the hell are you?" Marc was on high alert, shoulders raised as his hands curled into fists, entirely uncaring of the fact this stranger shared his face and body and fully prepared to fight even in the smothering peace of the field that surrounded them.