Work Text:
Steven never intended to fall asleep on public transportation. It was just that when he wasn’t getting much sleep, the white noise it provided combined with the repetitive motion, seemed to rock him gently into slumber. It didn’t matter how much tea he drank or how hard he tried to stay awake. It just kept happening.
Of course, now that he knew about Marc, and they were both getting more sleep it wasn’t happening anymore.
Until now, apparently. It was a little over a month after the events in Cairo, when Steven woke up, alone, on the tube.
Oh, scratch that. The train was apparently approaching the 8th street NYU station. So…New York City?
What. The Actual. Fuck.
Okay, yeah, there was clearly a third alter. They knew this. They’d been trying to communicate with him – or them, it wasn’t necessarily a guy – for weeks, with no progress. And yeah, they were aware that the other one took over the body and did stuff that they had no recollection of, just like Marc and Steven had done for years (though it was entirely inadvertent on Steven’s part). But so far, since the events in Cairo, they’d usually woken up in their own bed, and always at least the same city they’d gone to sleep in.
So, while this was familiar territory, it was still unusual for their recent history and certainly unexpected.
Steven had never been to New York before, as far as he knew. Marc had been, but he couldn’t feel him at all, so he couldn’t get his help. Well, at least Steven knew exactly where he was. That was a major improvement over a random small town somewhere in the Alps.
There weren’t many people on the train. A watch on his wrist told him it was 1:32 AM.
He searched his pockets hoping to find a hotel key or something. He wanted somewhere to go to get off the subway and out of public. He really hoped that the third alter was heading back to wherever they were staying, rather than heading out for the night.
Instead, he found an assortment of objects from mundane to perplexing:
- Marc’s phone, and a phone he did not recognize, but not his own.
- A switchblade and a monkey’s fist – of course there’d be weaponry if this one was more violent than Marc.
- A set of house keys with a car key and a crescent moon keychain that made Steven a little uneasy.
- Some sweets and small, squishy, animal-shaped toys wrapped in plastic. Erm what?
- A wallet with some cash (USD and CAD, but no GBP), a credit card, a metro card, and a New York driver’s license! Ding ding ding! It wasn’t a passport, so he couldn’t use it to get home, but at least he could learn something.
Okay, this guy was Jake Lockley. Male, so Steven could go back to using masculine pronouns unless he was told otherwise. The date of birth was 03/09/1982, so same day but five years older than he and Marc and his weight was listed as about 15 lbs. heavier than what Steven knew to be the reality. Interesting. Similar to how Steven viewed Marc, he technically had the same face, but looked completely different. His expression was not Marc or Steven, that was for sure.
There was a home address, but Steven wasn’t sure how accurate it was. The document itself was either fake or obtained with forged paperwork (not that Steven was in any place to judge since the same could be said about his identification). And the issue date was three years prior, so even if it had been correct at the time, it could just be out of date. Still, it might be worth trying to see if he could get in with the keys.
As Steven was putting the wallet back in the inside pocket of the coat, he noticed something else. How had he not felt it before? He was so concerned with his pockets because that was generally where he usually kept things, he didn’t think to search the rest of him. There was a handgun in a shoulder holster under his left arm.
It was bad enough when he’d found Marc’s in a duffel bag, but on his person? He didn’t dare touch it this time. As far as he could tell, it was safely holstered and hidden away. Probably best to leave it that way while he was in public. Did this guy really need the switchblade and monkey’s fist if he had a gun?
He tried unlocking the unrecognized phone, but Jake had facial recognition turned off. Probably smart, given that there were two other guys with the same face who might have very different agendas from him. He tried guessing the passcode but after three failed attempts, was locked out for a minute and decided not to push his luck when the minute was over.
Just then, Jake’s phone buzzed with a text from DuChamp! Steven felt like breaking out into song! He wasn’t going to, because he wasn’t that kind of subway passenger and it was little too late in the night for that, anyway. But he felt like he could. Steven had only met Frenchie once so far, but the man was awake, generally knew the situation with their DID, and apparently, was even in contact with Jake.
He took out Marc’s phone to text the guy. Oh man, texting was so hard on this thing. But he only had wi-fi signal, no cell service here. He had to press each number multiple times for most letters. How did Marc do it? Shoot! He went over on the letter he wanted and had to keep pressing until it came back around.
By the time he was done typing, he’d passed another stop and most people had gotten off his car. Now it was just him, a homeless man asleep at one end of the car, and a group of seemingly drunk young adults at the other end. Maybe sorority and fraternity kids.
Steven here. Lost in NYC on Q train. Help plz?
A minute later, Marc’s phone chimed with a reply.
Of course! Meet me @ 72 St station, I will explain
There was another a few seconds later
Hang in there, you’re ok :)
Steven had never been attracted to a man before and was very much in love with Layla. But he was pretty sure that right now he was a little in love with Frenchie, too. He typed out his thanks and put the phone away.
It was only then that he realized that things had taken a turn in the subway car. He hadn’t noticed earlier because they had been quiet up until now and he’d been distracted with how awful texting was on Marc’s phone. Despite his absence, Steven could practically hear Marc telling him that he got along with that phone just fine without ever losing situational awareness.
“Jared!” he heard from one of two young ladies amongst… he counted four young men, “I said stop!” This Jared had her pressed against the wall between a set of seats that faced forward and ones by the door that faced sideways.
The other young lady was trying to pull Jared off of her. “Stop! It’s not funny!” But the other young men just laughed. Two of them had their phones out filming.
He stood up. He wasn’t about to sit idly by while some girl was assaulted, or worse, just a few feet away from him. “I believe the lady told you to stop!”
They didn’t react, so he got closer. “Hey, she said stop!”
“Mind your own business, Dumbledore. This doesn’t concern you.” One of the filmers told him, the phone now facing Steven. Dumbledore? He was 38 and could kick their arses individually without breaking a sweat.
“See, but I am concerned, so that makes it my business.”
This was a bad idea. Yeah, outside of just muscle memory, Marc had been teaching him martial arts since Cairo (turns out a lot of it is strategy and knowing moves will only get you so far). But it was four against one. Even with the weapons, that he was not at all prepared to use, and the fact that these guys were altered, he was at a pretty big disadvantage by numbers if they wanted a fight.
He was now getting very close. In a split-second decision, he grabbed the phone closest to him and flung it behind its owner.
“Oh shit! My phone!” He cried as he ran after it. The other filmer turned his head away to watch his friend’s phone go flying, making it easy for Steven to repeat the move. He had to pass by Steven to get around pole and oh god, his breath was horrid. Definitely drunk.
Two down, two to go. The other young lady stepped away and moved behind Steven. So now it was just Steven, Jared and the other guy who hadn’t said or done much of anything but laugh. He still wished Marc would show up, or even Jake would take over.
Not-Jared put up his fists.
Steven figured the time had come to fight, so he did the same. “If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get. But I have a feeling you’ll regret this more than I will.” As he spoke, an old feeling came back to him. His shoulders went back for a moment and there was the unmistakable sensation of being enveloped in that familiar fabric head to toe. He spared a fraction of a second to look at his fists just to confirm the presence white gloves of his Mr. Knight suit. The change in appearance seemed to lend credence to his words.
“Oh fuck!” he muttered, as he backed away from Steven. “You’re the guy from Egypt!” Well, that was easier than expected.
Steven didn’t waste any more time and immediately turned his attention to Jared, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him back. He pushed him away and down the aisle of the car. A wet spot formed on the younger man’s pants as he retreated to the corner of the car.
He turned back to the young lady who was still leaned up against the wall. “Are you alright?” He asked her.
“Yeah, I think.” She nodded.
It wasn’t hard to put himself between the men and the women, especially now that the men were cowering in the corner. He hadn’t even done anything. Well, he was pretty sure the two phones he threw were broken, but that was a good thing. He didn’t want clear video of his face on the internet, even if the video ended before the Mr. Knight suit showed up.
He comforted the young ladies until they all got off at the next station and he helped them order an uber home. “Be safe!” he called as he closed the car door behind them. He hoped that seeing a masked vigilante at the pickup point would help keep them safe till they got home.
He found a wall to hide behind for a moment to dispense with the suit before heading back down to the subway.
The next train car he got on had a few more people. A man wearing a t-shirt that read "D.A.D.D. Dads Against Daughters Dating" (which Steven found a little regressive); a group of people armed to the teeth with water guns; a family with a sleeping toddler; and a nicely dressed couple, sleeping leaned up against each other, with an empty pizza box falling off their laps, the pizza on the floor at their feet.
The rest of the way to Frenchie’s stop, he thought about everything he’d learned in the last - oh God, it wasn’t even half an hour! He could still summon the suit. So Khonshu lied, they weren’t free. Was Jake still choosing to work with him? Was there something else keeping them on the hook?
Also, Mr. Knight had a bit of reputation, it seemed. And it was enough to make a guy piss himself! True, he was a drunk guy, and Steven was manhandling him. But still, he felt powerful. Was that so bad? It helped him fix the situation with no injuries, after all.
Oh, and the third alter was a man named Jake who lived in New York and knew Frenchie. Nice to know that much.
When he saw Duchamp once he got above ground, he gave him a huge bear hug. This, of all things that night, seemed to wake Marc up. Maybe Marc was a little bit in love with him, too.
Frenchie brought them to a dive bar he knew nearby. On the way, he told them that he and Jake thought they were going to be stopping an auction tonight that included trafficked kids. The sweets and toys were to aid in rescuing them.
They laughed over a beer when he explained that the whole thing turned out to be misunderstanding on the part of some of Jake’s informants. It was actually a livestock auction including heritage breed kids, as in juvenile goats, taking place the following afternoon. Why it was happening in Manhattan, Frenchie had no idea. But there was nothing going on at the location right now.
Well, that was a relief.
Steven related the events of his night to both Frenchie and Marc over another beer. He could feel Marc’s anger rising as the story went on. When he reached the part about the suit appearing Marc abruptly took control and gripped the bottle so hard, Steven was almost afraid it would shatter.
They had to explain to Frenchie that they were supposed to be free from Khonshu. Clearly, he’d taken advantage of their ignorance of Jake. The pilot had no idea of the situation, or he’d have told them earlier.
He wanted to help by telling them everything he knew about third alter, but unfortunately it wasn’t all that much – he seemed to keep people at arm’s length. Jake was a cab driver from Brooklyn, though these days he mostly drove a limo in London. He kept his job at least partly because it helped him keep an ear on the street for his vigilante work. He took his job as protector of the travelers of the night very seriously.
Despite ‘not knowing him well,’ Frenchie was able to direct them back to Jake’s shitty, shoebox apartment, which was not the address on his license. Steven had more questions that he decided to keep to himself, since Frenchie wasn't coming with them.
They got in and flipped on the lights. It was a small studio, but he managed to fit both a bed and a couch along one wall. On the opposite wall, the kitchenette and the bathroom shared a single sink. There was a small window stuck open a couple centimeters that even Marc couldn’t get to budge. Searching the apartment, they found some clothes, a couple flat caps, and more weapons than even Marc thought was necessary, (“a khopesh? Really?”), a few boxes of condoms (at least he was being safe), a few model cars that looked hand-painted (Steven found this kind of cute), and some magazines about cars and driving in both English and Spanish.
They sat on the couch feeling a little disappointed that they hadn’t learned as much as they wanted. Just then, the lights flickered, and a wind blew around the apartment, flipping the pages of the magazines and tossing one of the caps on the floor.
Khonshu appeared, seated on the bed.
“You!” Steven called out, “You lied to us! You underhanded little-”
“Spare me your petty slights and forget your foolish pride.” He sounded bored. “It’s past time you learned you don’t decide when we’re done. I do.”
They went back and forth for a few minutes before the boys just gave up. The adrenaline had worn off and they were tired. They had no power here. As long as Jake agreed to be Khonshu’s fist, Marc and Steven were along for the ride, just like Steven had been when it was Marc. Once they stopped arguing, it was no longer fun, apparently, and the bird left them.
“This is going to sound mental,” Steven started, “But I think we might have been better off if I’d just gone back to sleep on the subway. Let this Jake bloke take care of the whole thing.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, we’d still be blissfully ignorant. He could have told us when he was ready. According to Frenchie, he’s not a bad guy, right? I mean, you trust his judgement, yeah?”
“Well, he hangs out with me so…” Marc’s voice sounded like a shrug.
“Not this again.”
“Look, maybe Jake would have told us on his own. Or maybe we would have found out under much worse circumstances, like when surrounded by people trying to kill us?”
“True. That would have been much more stressful. At least this way I got to help someone.”
“And you made a fratboy piss himself! That’s gotta be worth something!”
“Yeah, that was kinda funny.”
“Also, Steven, general rule: don’t sleep in the subway.”
“I’ll try.”