Chapter Text
Marc was no stranger to waking up in places he didn't recognize with zero clue how he’d gotten there; that was pretty much an inevitable side effect of sharing a headspace with two other 'people' And it definitely wasn't the first time he’d woken up thrashed, covered in bruises, and with a headache capable of splitting his skull in two. But waking up inside a dumpster… yeah, that was new. Pretty damn new. He also hadn’t expected all three things to happen at the same time.
With a muffled groan, he writhed in pain before slowly pushing himself up over the trash bags. The smell was godawful—acidic, damp, rotten—and honestly, he didn't want to think too hard about whatever the hell that wet thing he just touched was. He stayed still for a minute, taking deep breaths while trying to get his head in order and separate his own thoughts from the voices of the others. Nothing. Just pain pulsing behind his eyes.
Finally, he climbed out of the bin, leaning on the metal edge, and looked around. An alleyway. One he didn't recognize. Not that there was much to recognize anyway: other overflowing containers, trash strewn everywhere, rats scurrying between soggy boxes, and a brick wall covered in dark stains and old graffiti. He held his head, trying to ease the constant hammering in his temples, but it didn't help much.
His clothes were an absolute wreck, probably because of the trash… though he could spot dried bloodstains mixed in with the filth. His knuckles were shredded, skin torn and purple, and his hair was sticky and matted. He had no idea who had been behind the wheel this time. Jake was perfectly capable of getting them into deep shit and disappearing without a word, and Steven… well, Steven had an almost supernatural ability to end up in absurd situations. Marc couldn't remember the last time he’d taken a shower either, which honestly wasn't helping his mood.
He started walking out of the alley, hoping to find a street sign, a billboard—anything that would tell him where the hell he’d landed this time. He just wanted to get to his apartment, crash on the bed, and play dead for a few hours
But the street wasn't any better
It was deserted. Barely one of the streetlights worked, casting a sickly, flickering light over the damp pavement. In the distance, he could hear at least three different kinds of sirens blending together. Police. Ambulances. Maybe fire trucks. Hard to tell.
"Okay… this definitely isn't Manhattan" he muttered
The architecture was too dark, too old, and neglected. The buildings looked like they were huddling against each other like abandoned corpses. The sky was choked with black clouds or smog or whatever the hell, barely letting the moon’s glow peek through.
And then he saw it. A huge light signal reflected against the dark clouds. A bat. Marc’s brow furrowed automatically.
"Sure… because my luck couldn't get any worse" he sighed
He walked a few more yards until something caught his eye in the reflection of a closed storefront. He stopped dead.
At first, he saw exactly what he expected: a shiner under his eye, a split and swollen lip, dried blood near his forehead disappearing into his hairline. He still looked like shit, basically. But then he looked closer. The scar on his eyebrow was gone.
He blinked, confused, and leaned in toward the glass. His dark circles were lighter. The lines of exhaustion on his face were much smoother. Even considering he’d literally just crawled out of a dumpster, he looked… better. Younger. Much younger. Twenty, maybe. Exactly how he looked when he 'died' in Egypt and Khonshu made him his avatar.
Marc slowly raised a hand and touched his face hesitantly. When a spike of pain shot through the wound on his forehead, he knew immediately he wasn't dreaming. He checked his arms. Several small scars had vanished
Then a thought hit him. His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard as his hands began to shake slightly for a reason he didn't want to admit. He slowly crouched down and pulled his pant leg up to his knee.
And he stopped breathing for a second. He had to lean against the storefront to catch his breath. The scars were gone. The grotesque marks Bushman had left on his legs just… weren't there.
Marc felt a heavy knot form in his chest. Those scars were physical proof of one of the worst times of his life. The constant reminder of everything he’d lost, of how he’d shoved Steven and Jake to the back of his head so hard he almost destroyed them along with himself. Of how he pushed everyone away. Including Layla.
He’d learned to walk again. He’d managed to move on. But those scars had never left... Until now. Marc sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the storefront, closing his eyes for just a second while trying to clear the chaos in his head.
"Alright… who’s the idiot who got us into this?" he muttered, annoyed, looking at his own reflection
He waited
Nothing. No sarcastic jab from Jake. No frantic stuttering from Steven. Just… silence. Absolute silence
It had been a long time since Marc’s mind had been this quiet, and for the first time in years, it didn't feel peaceful. It felt awkward. Unnatural. Empty. He let out another sigh, more tired than irritated this time, and looked up at the night sky. The moon was a waxing crescent, bright amidst the dark clouds.
He watched it for what felt like minutes before speaking again
"Khonshu" he called out
The name had barely left his lips when the only working streetlight in the alley flickered violently. The wind whipped between the buildings, kicking up papers and damp dust. And by pure instinct, Marc knew
He had heard him
"Marc Spector… It has been a long time since you were the one to call first. Back then, you were my most devoted follower" the voice boomed
Marc looked toward the rooftops. There he was. The massive, skeletal figure of Khonshu silhouetted against the night sky, motionless, watching the moon like a corpse dressed as a priest
"I see you find yourself in an… unfortunate situation" the god continued
Marc rubbed his temples, visibly stressed. He didn't miss Khonshu. Not one bit
"Is this your doing?" he asked, feeling the headache drill into his skull
Khonshu didn't answer immediately. He simply turned and vanished behind the edge of the building. Marc snorted. Of course. His favorite way of saying 'follow me'
He climbed up the old fire escape to the roof, finding the god standing before the city again, staring at the moon as if contemplating something sacred.
"I remember every night since the dawn of my existence… and I can assure you, Marc Spector, you are more lost than you think" Khonshu declared.
The god turned slowly to look at him, his figure disappearing again behind a ledge.
"Can you quit the games and just answer me for once? "Marc growled.
The god’s voice appeared behind him
"The only answer I can give you… is that you are not in your universe" he stated
Marc spun around immediately, incredulous, waiting to find even a hint of sarcasm or one of the god’s absurd metaphors. But there was nothing. Khonshu was dead serious.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snapped "I just popped into another universe by magic?"
Khonshu let out a dry, hollow, humorless laugh.
"Perhaps you should consult one of your partners about the reason… but I can tell you this, Marc Spector: the sky and the stars do not change overnight. Not like this" he said
He slammed his staff against the ground, almost indignant at the very idea. Marc was ready to keep arguing when another voice spoke up.
"I-I think he’s right… " it whispered.
Marc tensed up instantly and looked toward a nearby window. In the reflection of the glass, he could see Steven behind him, twitching as usual, awkwardly adjusting a non-existent jacket.
"The stars do move, yeah, but it’s so slow we barely notice it" Steven explained breathlessly "T-the sky… well, the constellations are completely rearranged. They’re in totally different positions. There’s no way that happens in a single night" he added
Marc narrowed his eyes.
"Is this on you?" he demanded
"N-No!" Steven shot back " I’m just as confused as you are, I only woke up a bit ago" he defended himself
Marc let out a loud groan and ended up sitting on the roof floor, burying his face in both hands
Perfect
Just freaking perfect.
He needed to think. What was the last thing he remembered?
He’d gone back to his apartment in Manhattan around four in the morning after patrolling all night. He’d toasted an old, slightly stale bagel, fed Gus—the pet fish the three of them shared—Steven was still making a scene because Marc let the original die and replaced him in secret, and he ended up collapsing on the bed still dressed because he was wiped out.
And then… The dumpster. Most likely, Jake had taken control at some point. He’d been relatively quiet the last few months, but "quiet" for Jake was a pretty flexible concept.
"Jake" he called out anyway.
He looked at a nearby puddle, searching for his reflection. Nothing. As usual.
Khonshu spoke again, though Marc was barely paying attention anymore.
"This is an opportunity, Marc Spector. You can expand Khonshu’s vengeance even further" the god proclaimed.
The god raised his lunar staff, aligning it with the moon in the sky.
"I can feel it… the night travelers long for a savior" he said
Marc tuned him out halfway through the sentence. Honestly, he’d been doing that for years.
"Anyway… it’s not like Manhattan is going to miss Marc Spector, is it?" the god jabbed.
That one hit below the belt. Marc looked away, feeling something heavy settle in his chest.
He’d never really had many friends. The other vigilantes barely tolerated Moon Knight; many considered him unstable, dangerous, or just flat-out impossible to deal with. And being honest… they probably had a point. Spider-Man had been nice to him, sure, but Marc always assumed that was just because the kid was incapable of being mean even to someone like him.
And as for Marc… Layla wasn't talking to him anymore
Steven and Jake didn't have close enough relationships for anyone to really notice they were gone, either. Maybe the landlord would ask something after a few months. Or maybe he’d just toss his stuff in the trash and move on without giving a damn where Marc Spector ended up.
The idea should have hurt more, but he was too tired to know what to feel
"You’re not actually considering it, are you?" Steven’s voice broke into his thoughts.
A while back, they’d agreed to discuss any decision related to Khonshu and Moon Knight between the three of them. Well… 'agreed' was a generous word considering how things usually worked in his head.
Marc kept his eyes fixed on the puddle in front of him.
"Do you have any idea how to get back?" he asked.
Steven hesitated for just a second.
"No, but— " he started
"Do you know how we got here?" Marc cut him off.
"N-No… " Steven replied.
"Then do you know what the hell we’re supposed to do? Huh? Enlighten me, Steven, you’re the smart one, aren't you?" he snapped
He ended up raising his voice and slamming his fist into the puddle. The water splashed, completely distorting Steven’s reflection.
He got no answer. And when he looked up, he realized he was alone on the roof again. Marc grit his teeth hard.
"Shit… great. Awesome " he cursed
He rubbed both hands over his face, trying to calm down. Breathe. Think. Getting pissed didn't solve anything, and losing control now would be a disaster.
If Jake was going to keep ignoring him, then he’d have to take charge. He’d been a Marine. A mercenary. He’d survived in deserts, jungles, and cities where he didn't even speak the language. He’d been abandoned in much worse places than this before.
He could handle it. He had to
The human body survives three minutes without air, three hours without shelter in extreme conditions, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Clear priorities.
Shelter first. He’d figure out the rest later
He got off the roof and started walking the dark city streets again. The plan was simple: find a shelter. And if that failed, he could always sneak into an abandoned building and wait for dawn.
His original plan had been to ask for directions
That turned out to be a terrible idea
Most people avoided him the second they saw him. Others just ignored him completely. One even tried to threaten him with a rusty pocketknife. The guy didn't end up too badly hurt, luckily for him.
Now Marc had a new knife in his pocket and a pretty good idea of how the 'locals' felt about strangers. Though to be fair, his appearance probably didn't help. He smelled like trash, was covered in dried blood, and looked like someone who had just crawled out of an underground fight.
Because, basically, that’s what he looked like
He was about to give up and start looking for a boarded-up building when he heard something land behind him.
Marc reacted on pure reflex. He spun around quickly, pulling the knife into a defensive stance, ready to strike if needed.
But the second he saw the person behind him, he knew immediately it was some kind of vigilante. The guy was just a few inches shorter than him. He wore a black domino mask, a dark red and black suit, a long cape, and a bird symbol on his chest.
Yeah. Definitely not a common mugger. At least not from where Marc was from.
"You’re not from around here…" the vigilante said
He tilted his head slightly while touching his chin. He sounded more like he was thinking out loud than questioning him directly. He was analyzing him. Marc hated when people did that.
"Just a little lost" Marc answered.
He lowered the knife a bit, though without taking his eyes off him or relaxing fully. Not yet.
"Where are you trying to get to?" the stranger asked in a calm voice
The mask made it impossible to tell exactly where he was looking, but Marc was pretty sure he was eyeing the knife he was still holding.
"Just trying to find a shelter" he replied
He didn't like being studied. Doctors, shrinks, government agents, heroes… too many people had tried to 'decode' him over the years. Marc had become excellent at faking normalcy when necessary.
The vigilante stayed silent for a few seconds. Too many seconds.
"Two questions before I tell you where it is" he finally said "One: what’s your name? And two… how’d you get those injuries?" he asked
Straight to the point.
Marc seriously thought about using a fake name. Steven. Jake. Anything but Marc Spector. But if Khonshu was telling the truth and he really was in another universe… maybe someone with that name didn't even exist here.
"I’m Marc" he answered firmly after a tiny pause "And a bunch of idiots robbed me of everything" he lied
The guy nodded slowly, as if he’d just made a decision.
"Go straight down this street. Four blocks ahead, take a right and you’ll find the Martha Wayne Foundation. It’s the only decent shelter in this area" he instructed.
Then his tone shifted slightly.
"Don't wander off" he warned.
He put a hand on Marc’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. Marc reacted by instinctively shoving him away, though he was almost sure the other guy stepped back because he wanted to, not because Marc had actually moved him.
The vigilante just took a compact grapple gun from his belt and fired a hook toward one of the buildings. Marc raised an eyebrow.
"I mean it" the guy repeated
And a second later, he triggered the mechanism, zip-lining up to the rooftops until he vanished into the shadows. Marc watched him go for a few seconds.
He’d tried using similar grapples once. A temporary whim. But they snapped too easily or never handled the weight and constant movement well, so he ended up sticking to parkour and suicide jumps between buildings.
That guy had to be an engineer or absurdly rich. Probably both
With that thought, he finally put the knife in his pocket and started following Bird’s directions.
He made it to the shelter without any more trouble, and unfortunately, it was just as 'good' as the ones back home. The place was packed.
Exhausted adults sleeping sitting up, homeless people wrapped in old blankets, teenagers whispering against the walls, several kids asleep on their mothers' laps, and even a couple of pregnant women resting near some portable heaters.
Yeah
This was definitely where all the city’s leftovers ended up
Marc scanned the place as he slowly moved through the crowd. He hoped he’d get lucky and find even a free corner to sleep for a few hours without anyone trying to shank him.
He approached an older woman sitting behind a folding table. On top of it was a clear jar with a handwritten label that said "Donations." Makeshift reception. Classic
"Can I help you with something?" she asked
The woman watched him in silence for a few seconds before speaking again. And Marc recognized that look immediately.
Oh no
Not that look
He hated it
He’d seen it too many times when he talked to himself without realizing it, when he argued with Steven in public, or when Jake showed up at the wrong time. Psychiatrists. Cops. Social workers. People trying to decide if they should feel pity or fear.
Pity
It made him feel weak. And Marc Spector hated feeling weak. Moon Knight wasn't weak
"Are there… are there any beds left? And well… showers?" he asked, trying to keep his tone calm despite the irritation starting to prickle at the back of his neck. It definitely wasn't his day, and the last thing he needed was to cause trouble in the only decent shelter he’d found.
The woman seemed to snap out of it then
"Um… I think there are still a few cots free" she answered kindly "They aren't very comfortable, but well… better than sleeping outside, right?" she added
She gave him a tired little smile before continuing
"And the showers are always available. We also have a bin with donated clothes if you need to change" she said
Marc gave a small nod. A cot was fine. Honestly, he’d slept in shitty military beds so many times that a cot almost felt familiar.
"Thanks" he said
The woman pointed down the hallway, and Marc headed toward the showers. At this hour of the night, they were practically empty, something he was deeply grateful for. The silence in there was different. Quieter. Just the echo of water dripping and old pipes vibrating in the walls.
He walked over to one of the sinks and slowly looked up at the mirror
Shit
He still couldn't get used to it
He didn't know exactly how old he looked right now, but he was definitely much younger. At least he was thankful he looked over eighteen because, honestly, everything would be way more complicated if he looked like a lost teenager.
His hair was a greasy mess, matted with dried dirt. His clothes were just as bad. He’d probably end up taking something from the donation bin later. But first… The shower
Marc started pulling off his shirt slowly, and as soon as the fabric uncovered his side, he let out a low growl.
"Ah… hell. That doesn't look good" he muttered
A massive bruise covered part of his ribs. Dark in the center and surrounded by reddish and yellowish tones. Ugly. Very ugly
He wouldn't be surprised if he had a broken rib or something worse. Internal bleeding, maybe. He pressed a hand to the area, and a jolt of pain shot through his body, forcing him to clench his jaw.
Normally, he wouldn't be too worried. The bond with Khonshu gave him a bit of a healing factor. It wasn't a Wolverine-type deal, but enough to keep him functioning after wounds that should put anyone in a hospital.
The problem was the moon. It was in one of its weakest phases. And that meant Marc was… almost human again.
Almost
He let out a slow breath and let the damp shirt drop to the floor. He’d deal with that later. First, he desperately needed that shower.
The water that went down the drain was a nasty mix of red and gray. Dried blood. Grime. Dust. Who knew what else
Marc leaned a hand against the shower wall while letting the water keep hitting him. It was barely lukewarm, constantly fluctuating between cold and 'less cold' but honestly, he didn't care. He felt like a massive weight was being peeled off him layer by layer.
For the first time since he woke up in that damn dumpster, he could breathe a little easier. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting the water run over his face and neck before finally turning off the tap with a tired sigh.
Silence returned immediately
Marc grabbed an old towel and went back to the mirror, staring at himself.
He looked better. Clearly better, but the wounds were still there. The bruise under his eye now had greenish tones around it, and his lip wasn't as swollen, though it was still split. Several scrapes crossed his forehead and jaw.
And then there was the rib. That was still a problem. He looked down at the huge bruise covering part of his torso. Still looked horrible. He’d give it a few days
If it didn't get better, he’d probably have to find some public clinic or something. Hopefully, they wouldn't ask for too much ID. Because explaining who he was or where he came from sounded like a great way to end up locked in a psych ward.
He pulled his old, filthy shirt back on with a wince. Not because he wanted to wear it again, but because the last thing he needed right now was someone seeing that bruise and asking awkward questions. But as soon as he finished adjusting the fabric over his body, something hit the bathroom floor with a small metallic clink.
Marc looked down immediately, alert. A small black beacon was lying on the damp tiles. He frowned and picked it up slowly between his fingers.
…What the hell?
It must have been hidden in his clothes, but he had no idea when anyone could have planted it. He hadn't had real contact with anyone since he got to this city.
And then it clicked
Bird
It had to be him
Marc looked at the small device for a few more seconds. Probably a tracker or something similar. Any other time, he might have tried to analyze it, take it apart, or figure out how it worked, but he was too exhausted to deal with it.
"Sure… because he couldn't just let me go" he muttered
He squeezed the beacon in his hand until he heard the plastic crack and then tossed it straight into the nearest trash can.
Then he finally went out to the donation bin. He rummaged through piles of old clothes until he found some items in his size that were relatively decent: a dark hoodie, sweatpants, and a gray t-shirt that smelled like cheap detergent.
Much better
At least he didn't look like someone who had just emerged from a sewer anymore. With clean clothes on and his body feeling slightly less sore, he finally found the cot the woman had mentioned.
It was just as uncomfortable as he expected. Perfect
He dropped onto it with a low grunt. There were people everywhere. Snoring, coughing, sleep-talking, springs squeaking every few seconds… too many people too close.
But Marc had never been picky about where he slept.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment. And then all the built-up exhaustion of that shitty day finally hit him full force. His body gave out almost immediately, and for the first time since arriving in this unknown city, Marc fell into a deep sleep.
˚࿔ ⋆⭒˚.⋆˚࿔ ⋆⭒˚.⋆˚࿔ ⋆⭒˚.⋆
Steven was about to say that City was creepy in a much simpler and less dramatic way, but honestly, he’d been in this universe for less than twenty-four hours and he’d already figured out the city practically breathed crime.
And that was not helping his nerves at all
He walked down the streets trying to look cool while keeping his hands inside the pockets of the borrowed hoodie. Technically, he could summon the Moon Knight suit if things got ugly, but it wasn't like Steven was exactly a prize fighter.
That was more Marc’s territory
Steven was better at researching or silently panicking. That’s why he felt like he could finally breathe again when he saw the huge stone building in front of him.
'GOTHAM PUBLIC LIBRARY'
His eyes practically lit up. He took the stairs two at a time and rushed through the building’s doors, entering the wide main hall. The place was completely empty, silent in an almost eerie way, except for a young redhead sitting behind the main desk.
Steven hesitated for just a second before approaching
His last experience trying to ask for help in Gotham had ended with a knife against his neck, so honestly, he felt his distrust was pretty justified.
The girl looked up at him and gave a small smile. Maybe she’d noticed how nervous he was.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked
Steven almost wanted to cry with relief. A nice person—miracles did exist, apparently
"Yeah, I… uh… can I use the computers?"
He tried to hide his British accent and the awkwardness in his voice. He failed miserably at both. The girl’s expression shifted slightly, showing curiosity and maybe a bit of concern as she typed something into her computer.
"You need a library card to use the computers. I’m guessing you don't have one" she said with a kind little smile.
Steven felt a wave of embarrassment and gave a soft shake of his head while scratching his neck, trying not to look completely out of place. God, he’d never been good at talking to pretty girls
"Right, it won't take more than five minutes… can you tell me your name?" she asked, turning the screen slightly toward her as she waited for an answer
Steven went blank for a second. Should he give his name? Or Marc’s? God, this was always complicated
After overthinking it way too much—as usual—he concluded that if there was even a tiny chance his other versions existed in this universe, it was probably better not to use Marc’s name.
"Steven… Steven Grant"
The small pause before answering probably made him sound suspicious or like an idiot, possibly both, but the girl didn't seem to notice or was at least too nice to bring it up.
"Okay, Steven. Date of birth and address?" she asked, looking right at him. Steven felt like those green eyes were studying him a bit too well.
Okay
Problem
Address
What the hell was he supposed to say?
Why was he the one doing this? Marc would have handled this conversation way better. He probably would’ve even flirted with the receptionist naturally and confidently.
Not that Steven was thinking about that. Not at all
"March… March 9th, ‘95… and the address…" he stammered
He faltered, trying to invent something believable, but lying had never exactly been one of his skills. So he ended up giving a very edited version of the truth.
"I don't live here. Uh… I’m staying temporarily for… work. Yeah, work" he said as convincingly as possible. Which still wasn't very convincing. Steven noticed immediately that the girl didn't quite buy it, though she didn't say anything about it either. She just kept typing for a few seconds before printing out a plastic card.
"That’s fine. Happens quite a bit" she said, handing it to him "I’ll just put down the library’s address" she added.
She gave a little shrug, and Steven swore for a second he completely forgot how breathing worked. Her red hair fell softly over her shoulders, moving in an almost… hypnotic way.
God
She was really pretty. Steven took a few seconds longer than socially acceptable to react and realized too late that he’d probably been staring at her like a total moron. He felt the heat rush to his cheeks immediately and grabbed the card quickly.
"I… I mean, thanks, Miss…?" he stammered
The girl smiled at him again
"Just Barbara. And if you need anything, you know where to find me" she replied
Then she calmly turned her attention back to the computer. Steven stood there for a second longer, clutching the card in his hands.
And then he decided. Yeah. He was definitely going to bolt for the computers and hide behind his research before he did something even more embarrassing in front of Barbara.
He picked a computer that faced the wall, giving him a clear view of anyone approaching from behind. He was not emotionally prepared for another ambush or a knife in his back, or this insane city in general.
He slumped into the chair, letting out a long breath
"Okay… research. Focus, Steven" he told himself
He turned on the computer and logged in with the card Barbara had just given him. As soon as the browser opened, Steven felt a pang of unease.
'Goggle'
Ok
That felt wrong in too many ways. He sighed and rested his fingers on the keyboard before slowly typing:
'Marc Spector'
The results popped up almost immediately
Hundreds. Random Facebook profiles. An insurance broker. A dentist. A sixty-eight-year-old actor with a creepy smile. None of them were Marc. Well… his Marc
Steven made a little face; it wasn't like Marc was famous in his universe, but still, it was weirdly disappointing not to find anything at all related to him. There wasn't much point in searching for "Steven Grant" or "Jake Lockley" either. Technically, they didn't even legally exist in their own world
So he tried something else
'Moon Knight'
The screen loaded for a few seconds
'Did you mean: Dark Knight?'
Steven blinked, totally confused. He opened several links quickly, finding dozens of articles talking about someone named Batman. Some newspapers even called him 'The Dark Knight'
Okay
That was… suspiciously similar. Only instead of a moon theme and white bandages, this guy seemed to have a serious obsession with bats and the color black
Steven kept reading until a name caught his eye
'Who is Batman? Gotham City’s Protector or Threat?'
Gotham
Steven slowly looked up from the screen. Of course. The Gotham Public Library. So they really were in Gotham City
Okay
That was probably important. He went back to the browser and started another search
'Gotham City location'
New Jersey. Steven knit his brows. That… wasn't that far from Manhattan, was it? Well, he was still getting used to American geography, but even so. It only took a few more articles for him to reach a very quick conclusion:
This place was a dump. Even worse than Hell’s Kitchen.
Way worse
It was like someone had seen the unchecked crime in New York and thought, 'What if we made it even more depressing?' Hell’s Kitchen had a vigilante dressed as a red devil. Gotham apparently had a giant bat dressed entirely in black. And according to the stats… probably double or triple the crime rate.
Steven opened another link about Batman and ended up scrolling through a massive list of allies and enemies.
Robin
Nightwing
Batgirl
Joker
Two-Face
Justice League
Steven stood still, staring at the screen
...Justice League?
Okay
Yes. This universe was completely different from his own
He felt his head begin to buzz slowly as he tried to process too much information at once. His eyes scanned names, cities, heroes, and organizations he had never heard of.
Atlantis
Krypton
Metahumans
Aliens
Magic
God, it was starting to physically hurt to think. They hadn't fully recovered yet, and clearly, processing a whole new reality wasn't helping. Steven let out a small groan and ended up resting his forehead against the desk, closing his eyes; the light from the screen was bothering him. He needed a second.
Just one
And honestly, he didn't blame Marc. Not even Jake. None of the three had asked to share a body. But sometimes it really sucked to have to share the consequences of everything too.
"Are you okay?"
Steven sat up abruptly, nearly falling off his chair as he jerked away from the voice behind him. He immediately regretted it; it was the red-haired girl
Barbara
And now that he saw her face-to-face, there were too many things to process at once—like the fact that she was in a wheelchair... or that she was looking at him with a mix of confusion and genuine concern.
Yup
He wanted to disappear
"Oh, I... I didn't mean to" He stammered immediately. God, he was ruining it "I'm just... sorry. I've been on edge since I got here..."
He muttered, embarrassed, shifting his gaze anywhere but her eyes. He couldn't look at her directly for too long without feeling uncomfortable.
"Hey, take it easy" she calmed him with a soft voice "Gotham isn't usually very kind, is it?"
Steven barely looked up. Barbara was smiling peacefully, as if trying to make him feel less out of place, and it worked... a little
"Catching up with the locals?" she asked, nodding toward the still-open browser, where that absurd gallery of Gotham’s heroes and villains was still displayed
Steven let out a nervous little laugh
"No... uh..." His brain didn't have the capacity to come up with a convincing lie right now "I'm... still adjusting to the States..."
He murmured, scratching his neck with evident nervousness
Well. Technically, it wasn't a lie. Barbara tilted her head slightly
"Are you British?"
"Yes, uh... I lived in London. I moved a while ago and... well, I’ve been living with... my brothers or something like that. It’s weird, you know?"
The last part came out much quieter
Because yes, it was weird. He couldn't exactly explain that Steven's cover in London had collapsed and they ended up moving because Marc had more contacts in the U.S. And he definitely couldn't tell her that his "brothers" were literally other identities living in the same head.
That usually ends up scaring people off or calling in psychiatrists
"I understand, believe me" she laughed softly
Then she placed a hand over Steven’s. The gesture was calm, delicate, and completely natural, and Steven felt his brain stop working for approximately three seconds.
"But if you ever need help... you can always come here, okay?"
Oh
Crap. She thought he was involved in something shady.
Well, honestly, he couldn't blame her too much. He looked like someone nervous, sleep-deprived, and clearly hiding something. The problem was that explaining the truth would probably end with him locked in a psychiatric ward again. And he really didn't want to repeat that experience.
"I... I'm fine" he replied quickly "I think I should head back now. Thanks, Barbara"
He stood up too fast, nearly tripping over the chair in the process
Perfect. Very elegant
He practically escaped toward the exit before embarrassing himself even further.
Yup
Pathetic. He knew it perfectly well
Honestly, Steven wanted to keep researching. He had barely scratched the surface of this universe and already felt like his head was about to explode. He still had too many doubts; he wanted to know if equivalents of the Egyptian gods existed here, if his knowledge of Ancient Egyptian was still useful, or if absolutely everything worked differently in this reality. But after leaving the library, he ended up walking aimlessly until he reached what must have once been a playground.
Now the place looked like it had been abandoned for years
The metal playsets were rusted and covered in graffiti, some of the swing chains hung broken, and the grass grew tall and neglected amidst damp trash and empty bottles. The only bench still intact had insults spray-painted on it and cigarette burns on the wood. Honestly, it was the most depressing place he’d seen in days... and in Gotham, that was probably saying a lot.
But he didn't care much
His head was killing him
So he simply slumped onto the bench, slowly letting out his breath. Marc would probably end up being the one to pull them through as always—he was better at handling complicated and dangerous situations—but Steven still couldn't help but feel completely out of place. It was already hard enough to feel 'normal' in Manhattan, and now... now he was literally in another universe. He felt as if he belonged to another planet. As if there were something invisible separating him from the rest of the people around him.
At least they didn't seem to be in immediate danger
Or maybe his anxiety was burying him so deep that he could no longer tell the difference between paranoia and reality. It felt like drowning slowly in the middle of a dark ocean: conscious, trapped, and exhausted, but unable to sink completely.
The haunted park definitely didn't sound so bad anymore.
He would have loved to feel the sun for a bit and calm down, but the strange gray clouds never seemed to leave the Gotham sky. Everything there felt heavy. The air, the environment, even the silence. As if the entire city were constantly waiting for something horrible.
His thoughts were interrupted abruptly when the sound of breaking glass echoed from the street across.
Steven immediately looked up
A group of hooded men armed with bats had just smashed a store window before running inside and starting to grab everything they could find. In broad daylight
Steven blinked, confused
...Was that normal here? Because if it was, Gotham really needed professional help
He hesitated for just a second while watching the robbery from a distance. Technically, they were still Moon Knight. They could intervene. They probably should intervene. But there was something terrifyingly definitive about doing it here. As if putting on the suit in Gotham made this whole situation too real.
Too permanent. And honestly, he wasn't sure he could handle it yet
Marc handled those things better. Marc knew what to do when criminals, blood, and quick decisions appeared. Steven could barely hold a conversation without panicking.
God. That sounded really pathetic when he thought about it too much
He hunched over a bit, letting out a frustrated sigh, though he didn't have much time to keep lamenting because almost immediately he heard thuds coming from the store.
Quick thuds
Violent ones
He looked up just in time to see someone fly through a broken window from a kick. It was a man wearing an incredibly flashy yellow suit and a bright bat symbol on his chest.
...Oh
He was one of Batman's allies, right?
Steven didn't even try to guess which one. He had enough with the constant headache without having to memorize the entire family of people dressed as bats.
Fortunately, the guy seemed to handle the situation with relative ease. He disarmed one of the thieves with a quick strike, dodged another bat, and took down a third before Steven even finished processing what he was seeing.
It all happened absurdly fast. And as he watched from a distance, he couldn't help but think of something.
...Could he have done that too, if he had dared?
Honestly, he didn't know
He got up from the bench after what felt like hours. At least the headache was no longer pounding his skull with the same intensity, and the sky was just beginning to darken, tinting Gotham in even more depressing shades of blue and gray. He thought he’d be fine walking back to the shelter.
He thought wrong
"Hey! Empty your pockets!"
Steven tensed immediately upon hearing the voice behind him. He barely turned his head, finding a group of four guys; "guys" was a generous way to describe them considering they were probably roughly his own age. None of them looked particularly large, but they looked desperate enough to be dangerous.
"Please, I don't have anything..." His voice came out more nervous than he would have liked. Clearly, it didn't help much because one of them pulled out a rusty pocketknife while another swung a metal bat threateningly over his shoulder.
Steven swallowed hard
"Not now..." He muttered more to himself as he took a step back. The four began to approach slowly, and honestly, his brain stopped working enough for him to plan anything smart.
So he did the worst thing possible. He threw a punch at the closest guy
It was a terrible punch
Steven was fairly sure it hurt him more than it hurt the other guy, but at least he managed to surprise them long enough to take advantage of the momentary shock and bolt away with all his strength.
"Dammit, get him!"
He heard footsteps behind him as he turned down a narrow street. His heart was pounding against his chest so hard he could barely hear anything else.
He couldn't summon the suit
Yes, probably no one knew Moon Knight in this universe, but he also didn't know how they reacted here to someone capable of materializing magical clothes in the middle of an alley. And considering the luck they'd had so far, Steven assumed he'd end up locked in a government lab or something worse.
"Marc... ugh... Marc, this would be a good time..." He pleaded between gasps as he kept running
He received no immediate answer. And he felt his soul literally drop to the floor when he turned a corner and found himself facing a dead-end alley.
Oh
Perfect. Simply perfect
"Ugh, you son of a... YOU’RE DEAD!"
The guy who had received the sad punch appeared first, clearly more offended than hurt. Steven backed up until his back hit the damp wall of the alley.
"Oh, Marc..."
This time he practically begged for it
The guy grabbed him violently by the collar of his shirt, raising a fist ready to slam it into his face.
But the blow never came. Because 'Steven' caught the fist in mid-air
The change was immediate. The posture, gaze. Even the way he breathed
"I wouldn't do that" The voice no longer trembled
Marc shoved the man’s arm aside roughly and struck him directly in the throat before breaking free from the grip. The guy fell to the ground coughing while Marc was already moving toward the next one. Two quick, precise, and brutal strikes were enough to take down the one with the bat before snatching it from his hands.
The rest was simple
Violent. And fast
When he finished, all four were on the ground groaning or trying to crawl out of the alley. Marc slowly let go of the bat, letting it drop to the pavement with a metallic clang before leaning his back against the wall.
His knuckles, which had barely started to heal since the night before, were open and bloody again.
"Great..." He sighed tiredly, watching the blood slide down his fingers
He had to think. Because honestly, all of this was starting to spiral out of control way too fast.
Marc knew perfectly well he couldn't stay at the shelter forever. Every night was practically a lottery to decide if beds would be available or not, and although he could keep going for the free meals, honestly, he was starting to feel guilty. Every time he accepted a plate, he ended up looking around and thinking there was probably someone there who truly needed it more than him.
The bruise on his ribs wasn't helping his mood either
It didn't hurt like he'd been shot every time he breathed or touched it anymore, but it still looked horrible. The edges now had an unpleasant greenish tint, while the center seemed darker than before, almost black under the skin.
Yeah
Maybe he really should go to a clinic. But first, he had another, much more urgent problem
Money
He had absolutely nothing on him when he woke up in this universe and, being honest, even if he had kept his wallet, it probably wouldn't have been worth much. He seriously doubted his bank account existed here. Hell, they weren't even sure if they themselves existed in this reality yet.
Getting a job would be complicated. And sincerely, he didn't want to fall so low as to work as a mercenary again.
"What if we work as cab drivers?"
Marc tensed immediately. He turned quickly toward the nearest window and there he was
Jake
Reflected relaxedly in the glass with his arms crossed and that insufferably calm expression he always seemed to have.
"I thought you were ignoring us?" Marc questioned with annoyance as he walked toward the display window " Why the sudden interest, huh?"
Jake simply shrugged with a slight smile
"It's my body too"
Marc let out a dry, humorless laugh
"Like hell it is" He moved closer to the glass, looking directly at Jake’s reflection "Answer me honestly, Jake... what the hell did you do to make us end up here?"
The contained rage in his voice was evident. Jake, of course, barely seemed affected.
"I didn't do anything" He said it with complete indifference, as if they were talking about the weather. And that only made everything worse
"DON'T MESS WITH ME!" Marc raised his voice violently, drawing the attention of a few people on the street
"Are you telling me NO ONE is responsible for this? Huh?" he exclaimed, gesturing around "That we just appeared in another universe just because?
"Hey, don't get mad at the messenger" Jake replied mockingly
Then he tilted his head slightly and the smile faded just a bit
"Besides... how do we know YOU aren't the one truly responsible for this?" Marc stood motionless. Jake continued talking before he could respond "Maybe you repressed the memory or something. Wouldn't be the first time, right?"
That hit too close
Way too close
Marc felt something break inside him even before moving his arm. The punch went through the store window with a dry crash. The glass exploded in all directions and pain immediately shot through his entire hand.
His knuckles, which had barely stopped bleeding, opened up again even harder; deep cuts slid across his fingers and his hand.
Blood. A lot of blood
The drops slid quickly between his fingers as he breathed heavily, watching the shards of glass fall to the ground.
The sharp pain slowly turned into a dull, distant buzz. He could barely hear anything besides his own breathing and the accelerated heartbeat inside his head.
Jake had disappeared from the reflection, but the words were still there. ‘Wouldn't be the first time’
Marc squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the voices, the memories, and all those unpleasant images Jake seemed to bring up on purpose every time he wanted to hurt him. Because yes, he had repressed things before. A lot of things.
Entire months
People
Deaths
Whole parts of himself
And the worst part was that he couldn't say with absolute certainty that Jake was wrong
Marc tried with all his might to control his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Again. He could feel the constant drip of blood running down his hand and falling onto the pavement, though honestly, he could barely feel his fingers anymore. Numbness was slowly replacing the pain, and he was so focused on trying to calm down that he didn't even notice someone was talking to him.
"...okay?"
"What?"
He blinked in confusion, finally looking up toward the voice
Oh
Bird
Marc briefly closed his eyes with mental exhaustion. This guy must seriously think he had problems. The first time he saw him, he was covered in trash after literally waking up inside a dumpster, and now he had just run into him having an outburst of rage—or panic, honestly, he didn't even know which—so strong that he ended up breaking a window with his bare hands.
He didn't even want to think about the possibility that he had also heard him screaming at a non-existent reflection.
The vigilante remained silent, observing him. His gaze was clearly fixed on the blood still trickling between his fingers. The mask still hid much of his expression, but Marc didn't need to be a genius to know exactly what he was looking at.
"I asked if you were okay" the boy repeated, tilting his head slightly "You’re going to need stitches"
Marc finally looked down at his hand. Now that the adrenaline was starting to fade, he could clearly see the cuts: several were deep, especially one that crossed part of the palm and another near the knuckles. Great
Normally he’d stitch them himself. He’d done it too many times before.
The problem was that now he had nothing
No needle
No thread
No bandages
No money
No... nothing useful, really
"I don't have money or insurance"
He replied while squeezing the wound with his other hand, trying to control the bleeding a bit. Bird watched him for a moment before responding calmly.
"There’s a public clinic nearby. They don't have the best equipment, but it’s free"
Marc frowned slightly
Now that he thought about it... it was quite suspicious to keep running into him so often. And there was the small detail of the tracker hidden among his clothes. Clearly, the guy had been watching him or following him in some way.
But honestly, he didn't have the energy to question it right now
Besides... he couldn't keep ignoring the bruise on his ribs. And he was fairly sure that if he kept losing blood like this, he’d end up collapsing in some alley before getting back to the shelter.
"Okay..." The answer came out with evident distrust
Bird simply nodded and started walking down the street as if assuming Marc would follow him.
And he did
He followed a few steps behind while trying desperately to remember the guy’s real name. Because yes, mentally calling him “Bird” worked, but sooner or later it would be really weird to keep referring to him like that.
Though honestly, it would also be weird to ask him his name directly after all this.
For a second, Marc really thought Bird was leading him straight into a trap... or something worse. But to his surprise, they did end up reaching a clinic, a small one somewhat hidden among old buildings. From the outside, it looked almost abandoned, though upon entering he could see a few people waiting scattered throughout the room. It was quite empty for Gotham, which honestly he didn't know if was a good or worrying thing.
As soon as they crossed the door, an older woman came quickly from another room and walked straight toward him. She took his injured hand with care but with evident expertise, observing the cuts with professional concern.
"You like to keep things interesting, don't you, Red Robin?" she commented before turning her attention back to Marc’s hand "It’s a deep cut, you’ll need stitches. What happened?"
Red Robin. Marc took a second to process it... «That was Bird’s name? Like the restaurant?»
"A fight against a window... the window won" Red Robin replied with a slight shrug
Marc let out a brief nasal exhale. Okay, that was slightly funny
"I’ll leave him in your care, Leslie"
The vigilante left shortly after without saying much more. Marc watched him walk away for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the woman
"Come, I’ll give you some anesthesia and stitch those cuts"
The woman—Leslie, apparently—led him to a small room with a cot, several medical cabinets, and a constant smell of cheap disinfectant. She moved with tranquility while preparing a needle with local anesthetic along with surgical thread and several sterilized tools.
"What’s your name, dear?"
She asked as she carefully measured the anesthetic
"Marc"
The needle pricked his hand shortly after. Honestly, he thought it should hurt more, but the area was already so numb he barely felt half the procedure.
"Did you hit a glass window?" she asked again while preparing the thread
"Uh... well, technically, yes"
He replied, watching as she began to carefully clean the dried blood from his hand before starting to stitch the open cuts.
"I suppose you won't say why"
There was a slight smile in her voice as she worked. Her movements were surprisingly precise and calm, like someone who had spent too many years doing exactly this.
"I’d rather not"
He was completely sincere, and Leslie didn't insist. That made Marc relax his shoulders just a bit. Clearly, she was used to dealing with people who didn't want to explain much about their wounds or how they got them.
"Do many people come to this clinic?"
He tried to sound casual while making conversation. And, in the process, gain some information.
"Mmm... some people" she replied, finishing closing the deepest cut before starting on the next one "I treat anyone without asking too many questions, so those who can’t... or won’t... go to normal hospitals usually come here"
She shot him a brief, meaningful look
"I suppose you fall into the second group"
"I don't have money or insurance"
No identification, no medical history, no legal proof that he existed, but of course, he decided to omit that last part.
The conversation continued superficially while Leslie finished stitching the various cuts on his hand. It was strange... relaxing even. It had been a while since he’d had a calm conversation with someone who wasn't trying to psychologically analyze him or punch him.
Finally, she finished bandaging his hand completely
"You’ll have to get the stitches out in about two weeks. More if you keep hitting random things" She commented while throwing the bloody gauzes into the trash. Then she looked up at him "Do you need anything else?"
Marc hesitated for a moment. Because honestly, he couldn't keep ignoring it.
"Uh... yeah" With some awkwardness, he slowly lifted his shirt using his healthy hand, revealing the massive and unpleasant bruise covering part of his ribs.
Leslie showed an expression of clear surprise as soon as she saw the full bruise. She immediately moved closer, leaning in a bit to get a better look at the area while her fingers touched carefully around the ribs. Marc winced slightly at the contact; it still hurt. Not as much as before—he no longer felt like something was stabbing him every time he breathed—but it was definitely still a constant nuisance.
"Now I do need you to tell me what happened"
The seriousness in her voice made it quite clear she was no longer making casual conversation.
Marc hesitated for just a second before responding
"I got hit by a car"
Well... technically it was a lie. But it was also close enough to reality to sound believable. Honestly, his injuries probably did look like the result of being hit.
Leslie slowly looked up at him
"You need a CT scan"
The immediate and firm way she said it made Marc already know where this conversation was headed.
"I don't have insurance to go to a hospital..." He repeated, showing himself just as stubborn as before
Leslie let out a clearly frustrated sigh before leaving the room. She returned shortly after pushing a small machine.
"It’s an ultrasound. I usually use it on pregnant women, but it’s the best we’ve got"
She signaled for him to lie down while she slightly lifted his shirt again. The cold gel on his skin made him grimace slightly while Leslie began to move the device slowly over the bruise.
Her expression tensed almost immediately
"You have fluid buildup... blood, probably"
Marc remained silent, watching her
"You must have had internal bleeding" she continued, frowning as she kept checking the screen " But seeing as you’re still alive and haven't collapsed, it most likely closed on its own... though the blood got trapped there"
Marc slowly let out his breath
Yes
That sounded like something his healing factor would do
Halfway
"I’d tell you to go to a hospital for a minor surgery" Leslie continued, finally pulling the device away "but I suppose you’ll refuse"
Marc didn't answer. And that was answer enough
Leslie sighed again
"I can drain the accumulated blood, but I need you to understand something, Marc" The woman looked at him directly with a seriousness much harsher than before "Stop hitting things. And stop getting into fights for a few days, because you really could die"
Marc barely nodded
Yes, he doesn't, actually die that easily, but he preferred not to put it to the test. He more or less followed the advice.
Two hours and several unpleasant pricks later, Leslie had drawn out nearly two hundred milliliters of blood so dark Marc could barely believe it had been inside him. The bruise still looked horrible, but now at least it should heal correctly.
Honestly, he could already breathe much better
After thanking Leslie several times, he finally left the clinic. Gotham was now completely dark and the night air felt heavy and cold against his skin again. Marc barely looked up toward the sky and there it was again. The massive bat signal shining among the clouds.
Batman
Yes, that was his name
Marc watched the figure for a few seconds in silence before turning his gaze toward the partially covered moon over Gotham. He never needed a signal in the sky.
The moon had always been enough
"Soo... cab drivers?"
Marc slowly looked down toward the window of a car parked near the clinic. There was Jake again, reflected with total tranquility as he watched the bandaged hand as if none of what happened mattered much.
"You heard the doctor" he continued with slight mockery "Don't hit any more glass"
Marc let out a breath through his nose and quickly looked around. The street was practically empty, barely lit by a few flickering streetlights. In any case, he wasn't going to start screaming at a reflection in the middle of Gotham. He still had the uncomfortable suspicion that Red Robin might have been watching him more than normal, so keeping his voice down seemed like a good idea.
He moved until he was standing in front of Jake’s reflection
"Why a cab driver? Just because you worked that gig for a season?" The question came out loaded with sarcasm. Jake barely shrugged
"You don't have a job... well, 'mercenary' doesn't really count as a job, does it?" He smiled slightly while Marc glared at him "And sincerely, what do you think you could get a job as? Oh right... a souvenir salesman in a museum"
The small mocking laugh he let out made Marc clench his jaw
"If we want money, we need to exist legally" Jake continued more calmly "And to exist legally, we need money. If Gotham is anything like New York, there must be groups of cabbies who don't ask too many questions"
Marc ran his healthy hand over his face tiredly
"And what? We just go, ask for a job, and they magically accept us? Please, I thought you were smarter"
Jake let out another small laugh
"Leave it to me"
"No" The answer was immediate
Jake was unpredictable. Yes, he was calm and relaxed now, but Marc hadn't forgotten how easily he could become violent when he took control. And as long as he could avoid it, he wanted to keep the murder record in this universe at exactly zero.
"Oh, come on" Jake insisted as they began to walk down the street "I can get us a job. Besides, you look like a traumatized soldier and Steven looks like he’s about to apologize for breathing. I am clearly the best option"
Marc ignored the comment and kept walking. His original plan was still to go back to the shelter, spend the night, and figure out the money situation in the morning
Jake, of course, kept appearing in every possible reflection
Windows
Cars
Display cases
"It's literally the only option to get legal money fast... of course, unless you want to go back to being a mercenary. I’m not opposed"
Ignore him
Marc kept walking, clenching his teeth while throwing death glares at anyone who seemed too interested in approaching.
"Sooner or later we’re going to need ID, Marc" Jake continued, now more serious "And you need money for that. You know how to find people... but I know how to talk to them. Let me get us the money"
Marc finally stopped, letting out a heavy sigh. In front of him, the dark display window of a shop clearly returned Jake’s relaxed reflection watching him.
He was going to regret this so much
"Fine" The word came out exhausted "But only for tonight. Then you give control back to me or Steven"
Jake smiled immediately and made a small 'got it' gesture with his hand. And then the change happened
The body staggered slightly as the entire posture relaxed. The shoulders dropped, the tension vanished from the face, and Jake brought a hand to his neck, cracking it before stretching leisurely.
It had been a while since he took full control
He looked at the bandaged hand for a few seconds before starting to walk
"Well..."
A small smile appeared on his face as he looked up toward the distant lights of Gotham
"Time to get to work"