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Turns out Thor had made Horus, Egyptian god of the sky, mad. Something along the lines of a poorly timed lightning pun? And in the interest of preventing a mythological war between the Norse and Egyptian pantheons, the Avengers had sent Sam and Bucky to Cairo.
They touch down at the Cairo International Airport, 3pm sharp, and after Sam indulges in multiple tourist traps—insisting to Bucky that they buy multiple postcards—they find Marc Spector by Baggage Claim.
Or, as he’s alternatively known, Moon Knight. (Or Steven Grant, or a New York cab-driver named Jake Lockley). The Avengers had crossed paths with him a few times before.
It isn’t exactly hard to pin him down, either. The guy holds a white banner with a message written in brightly colored puffy paint. WELCOME TO EGYPT CAPTAIN AMERICA! and bucky.
The “and bucky” bit is much smaller than the rest of the words and crammed at the bottom of the banner, almost like an afterthought. Marc seems sheepish about this.
“Sorry,” Marc says. “Steven is a big fan of Captain America.”
Bucky shrugs. “So am I.”
Sam laughs, reaching to grab their luggage off the conveyor belt as Marc rolls the banner back up into a scroll.
Then Sam leans in close, suddenly conspiratorial—Marc is instantly vigilant, but Bucky rolls his eyes. “The banner’s cool, no doubt about it. But we’ve gotta stay lowkey in public. Disguised, if you know what I mean.”
Marc nods slowly. “Yes… I know… what you mean.”
“Great! Let’s find some baseball hats.”
They return to the main terminal in search of a cash grab. In Sam’s opinion, an unassuming hat is the hero’s most underrated tool. Especially if one is trying to go undetected by a) the paparazzi and b) the Ennead.
“Out of curiosity, why did the Avengers send you two for this?” Marc asks.
“Damage control,” Bucky says.
“And we wanted a vacation,” Sam says.
Sam sees a convenient hat rack through a nearby glass partition—he nods to it. Once they’re standing directly underneath the rack, it’s obvious that the hats vary in design. Some hats are plain and solid while others bare crappy graphic symbols.
Sam gestures to the wall. “Well? Take your pick, Moon Knight.”
Marc scrutinizes his choices for several seconds. And although Sam and Bucky don’t hear it, Khonshu loudly gives his two scents: “Marc! Choose the hat with the small flightless idiot bird, Marc!”
Marc reaches for a pink baseball hat with a topheavy kiwi bird on it.
“No, man,” Sam says, immediately cringing. “The point of the hat is to be unobtrusive in a way that bystanders—and our enemies—ignore. The right hat makes you unrecognizable, trust me.”
“But my suit has a mask.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sam shakes his head—then decides to demonstrate. He motions to Bucky. “Oh my god! Is that the Winter Soldier?”
“Hilarious,” Bucky says.
Sam grabs a navy baseball hat, tosses it to Bucky, who puts it on. Sam continues in faux exaggeration. “What? Who is that? That’s right. Just a regular guy.”
“He does look different now,” Marc admits, thoughtful.
Sam grins. “Exactly. The hat is magic.”
“Theatrics aside, he’s right,” Bucky says. “Wearing a hat worked when I was hiding from the authorities because of the UN explosion.”
“And wearing a hat helped me and Steve find you after the UN explosion.”
Marc glances between them. “What?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Their wallets may be burning afterwards, but the men exit as proud owners of three very beige and very unassuming hats.
Steven later takes them to a local Egyptian history museum to engage in what the superhero business calls “field research.” They stand at the bottom of a massive staircase to the entrance.
Clearly over the moon, Steven shakes Sam’s hands about three times in the span of a minute. “Oh, bloody hell—Mr. America I am honored to meet you—wow, I mean, this is—this is just the best day.”
“You too, Steven,” Sam says. He can’t deny he’s charmed.
Steven moves to fervently shaking Bucky’s flesh hand. “And you, Mr. Soldier—I mean that metal arm is a sight to behold, innit,” Steven says. “And—oh god—I hope you know I didn’t mean anything by the banner! No harm meant by it, none at all. I get over eager at times and hadn’t realized I’d run out of room before it was too late, honest. The letters were just too big!”
“Not a problem.” When his hand is finally free, Bucky subtly shakes it out. Sam notices; Steven is stronger than he looks.
Steven turns towards the museum entrance and starts up the stairs. “Well gentlemen, let us begin our journey through Egyptian mythology. Oh god—just the best day.”
Sam calls after him. “Steven! Your hat. It’s got to cover your eyes.”
“Right. Of course.” Steven makes a point to lower the bill of his hat.
Steven leads the way through the vast and ornate halls, chipping in cheery commentary for each exhibit they pass. They soon come up on the Great Ennead portion, and Sam makes note of the intricate wall paintings and hieroglyphics honoring the nine deities.
“It is definitely wise you nip this—hm, disagreement—in the bud immediately. Your Norse friend ought to know that Horus is not to be messed with—I mean, he’s the god of the sky after all. And kingship and protection and such. He’s the Big Kahuna, heh, so to speak—the living pharaoh."
Khonshu interjects: “Not too much on Horus, worm.” Steven winces, unbeknownst to the other two.
“So, how do we contact him?” Sam asks. They need to get the ball rolling on this Thor business.
Steven doesn’t look back at him, happily occupied with reading the museum engravings. “I reckon we’ll have to travel to the Temple of Edfu, perform a ritual.”
Bucky stares blankly. “A ritual.”
“Oh yes, it won’t be hard, no, the temple is dedicated to Horus—that lot is crazy about him down there,” Steven says.
They keep going through the exhibit, only stopping to observe a large sketch of a teardrop-shaped eye.
“This is the Eye of Horus,” Steven explains, “and its falcon’s eye is a symbol for protection against evil—with significant connection to the moon, I might add.”
“Falcon’s eye?” Sam repeats, his interest piqued.
“Yes, exactly. Horus is often depicted with the body of a man and the head of a falcon.”
Steven points to the line of deity statues just down the hall. Sure enough, there’s Horus—standing tall and regal with a magnificent falcon head to boot.
Sam considers the Horus statue briefly before saying, “I think I wore it better.”
At once—a piercing crrrrack like the sky itself opening sounds from above. The museum shakes. Steven jumps in fright.
“That sounded like thunder. Lightning must’ve touched down,” Sam says.
“It’s not raining,” Bucky says.
“Yeah, thanks Buck. I gathered that.”
Steven’s expression shifts from wide-eyed fear to anger, cold hard ruthlessness, a kind of… permanent scowl. Not unlike Bucky, if Sam’s being honest.
His words are biting, and Spanish. “¡Has ofendido a los dioses con tu ridículo comentario sobre el halcón!”
Sam gulps. Even Bucky looks a little nervous. This is Jake Lockley—a guy you don’t mess with.
Jake rips the beige baseball hat from his head and roughly throws it to the floor. “Ridículo.”
“Aw wait,” Sam tries. “The hat helps protect your secret identity—”
Jake cuts him off with a grunt. He reaches into his back pocket and, surprisingly, pulls out a flat cap. Switching to English, his New Yorker accent is abundantly clear: “I always bring my cap.”
Then Jake pivots, and the floor comically squeaks as he runs for the exit. He calls over his shoulder, “Khonshu me dice que luche contra Horus, así que debo luchar contra Horus. No me sigáis, idiotas.”
Sam and Bucky stand in silence for a beat. So. Might’ve angered the gods.
Sam rocks on his heels. “He called us idiots, right?”
“You think?” Bucky says. “Идиот.”