Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Is someone else around?’ Steven asks internally, feeling someone creeping in from the side, almost as if they're trying to be sneaky and unobtrusive. Steven presses pause on the television, hoping that facilitate communication by minimizing external distractions. 

‘Hi,’ The Kid says softly, his voice a timid squeak. Like a little mouse poking his head out a hole.   

Steven closes his eyes, relaxes his shoulder, and focuses on the voice, ‘Hi Kid, what are you up?’ Steven tries to make his voice light and welcoming, mindful to not scare him away. It's rare to see Kid without Jake or Birdy right beside him. 

‘Are you watching a cartoon?’ he asks, curious about the show playing on the television.

‘Yeah, it’s called Avatar. I was rewatching it with Layla yesterday. I made a joke that our system communication is kinda like how the Avatar is able to talk to his past lives,’ Steven replies. 'Thankfully, we don't need to be dead to communicate,'   Steven had told her. Layla's face had lightened up when Steven made that comment yesterday–it was her favorite western show growing up after all. She even made Marc binge-watch it when they first started dating, which probably explains why Steven is vaguely aware of the permiss. Now, Steven had been tasked with the very crucial mission of watching all of Book 1 but 'not the finale, you have to watch to watch that with me.'

‘Hmm,’ The kid hums, shuffling his way a bit closer to the front. 

‘Do you want to watch it with me?’ Steven asks gently, glancing up towards the screen.

‘Yes please,’ The Kid says, ever so politely. 

‘Do you want to front? I can make you a snack?’ Steven offers. Their therapist had suggested letting the two younger alters front a bit in a safe controlled environment as a way to warm them up to the idea of fronting in therapy. Layla, the wonderful angel she is, tries her best to be around to keep the younger parts company and comfortable. But Steven can help too. 

‘No thanks,’ The Kid replies, his tone still hinting at his aversion, poor thing. 

‘I know, the front can be a little scary. If you change your mind, just let me know,’ Steven comforts him, careful not to push him. Instead, he goes ahead and presses play on the controller, content to share this time with him.

Chapter Text

In the last couple of weeks, Layla had been getting friendly with the new head of the Ten Rings. And truth be told, Marc was getting increasingly more uncomfortable with their ‘business relationship.’ 

“They pay well and you know me, I wouldn’t take a job if I thought it was sketchy or if I was morally opposed to it,” Layla had said. Still, Marc can help but worry. Sure, logically he knows his wife is the badass avatar with Tawaret's divine blessing–with the intelligence, strength, and grace to back it up. But Marc isn’t always able to think very rationally. 

So that’s how he found himself chasing some grunts, leaping from rooftop to rooftop because he didn’t have any fancy golden wings. Marc is still adamantly opposed to wearing his old Moon Knight suit, even if his other headmates had renegotiated a contract with Khonshu behind his back, he wants nothing to do with it. He doesn’t need a fancy suit to kick ass. 

Marc feels his phone buzz, a text from Layla reading, ‘Found them. 1097 on King Street, 6th floor. I’m breaking in from the back, east side.’ He types the address in, quickly realizing that’s the next building over. He could leap across, break in through the window and make his grand entrance. Easy, he thinks, the only thing in my way is this 30 feet leap. 

That’s not that bad, 30 feet is nothing, Marc tries to hype himself up. He just needs a running start. Concentrating, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, visualizes the leap, and imagines kicking off from the ledge and landing (mostly) safely on the other side. He’s got this. He opens his eyes, focuses on an anchor point on the other side and— why isn’t he moving? Instantly, his head is flooded with images of hospital rooms, the nauseating smell of disinfectant, the irritating beeping, the excruciating pain burning through his body.    

‘What are you thinking?’ He hears a little birdy’s voice screech, pushing her way to the system’s internal pilot deck. Damn it, Marc winces. 

‘Birdy? What are you doing here?’ He deflects, surprised at her interference. As long as he’s known her–given it was only a couple of weeks–she’s never interfered with ‘Moon Knight’ business. 

‘Were you really planning on trying to make that jump?’ She squawks, horrified, forcing Marc to look down towards the alleyway. The brick pavement certainly did not look like a safe landing spot. 

‘Don’t worry, I got it.’ Marc tells her, setting his sight back onto the other side. Although, the gap between the two buildings did seem to grow wider as the self-doubt started to creep in. 

‘No, you don’t. Remember last time when you tried to jump out of a moving train and broke like all the bones in your legs? Or the time you tried you drank literal rat poison just to prove a point? Or all the times you used the body as a human meat shield instead of just dodging? Because I do.’ Birdy snaps, carefully articulating and delivering each word to emphasize her point. Marc cringes at each memory as Birdy sends a wave of terror and torture through him.

From all Layla’s interactions with Birdy, she came across as a timid sweet birb. “Marc, she’s so adorable. She just wants snuggles and treats,” Layla had gushed, once Birdy finally started to let her guard drop. 

But Marc knows her true color; she can be as much of a menace as the others–stubborn, sneaky, argumentative. A brat, to put it simply. If anything, she’s more of a goose than a little lovebird. Loudly honking whenever Marc even thinks of doing something she doesn’t deem ‘safe.’   

‘Calm down, Khonshu always healed us, didn’t he?’ he groans, annoyed that he's being lectured about the risks by a teenager. 

‘It still hurts! It’s so unnecessary and dumb!’ she cries, scolding him for his idiocracy. ‘And you were doing that shit before Khonshu was even around! And guess who had to deal with the aftermath?’

‘...You,’ Marc mutters, covering his eyes with his hand in frustration. 

‘Me! Take the freaking stairs!’ She demands, her messy white hair puffing up like ruffled feathers. Marc groans audibly, but he takes ‘the freaking stairs.’

Chapter Text

‘Who’s fronting? The body looks like shit’ Daniela says aggravated, catching a glance of the body from the bedroom mirror in the corner. 

“Dunno,” whoever’s in front murmurs, rolling over onto their stomach, burying their face into the pillow, and sinking themselves deeper into the mattress. 

‘This is pathetic, give me–’ She says, pushing her way to the front. The switch’s messy, hitting her like a pile of bricks. Once her vision isn’t so foggy and her ears stop ringing, she forces her way off the bed, feeling the blood rush from her head as she struggles to regain her balance. 

“Layla leaves us for one week and you guys turn into a depressed schlump.” She mutters out loud. Her head still feels like it’s full of cotton and isn’t completely sure anyone is even near the front. Either way, she’s pissed. “She’s going to come home this evening and the apartment looks like a frat house on a Sunday morning. Shitass hosts you lot are,” she continues as she undresses the bed and tosses the sheets into the laundry hamper. “Ugh, when was the last time we ate something?” 

‘We had some bread this morning…’ Good, someone’s still here, Daniela thinks as she picks up the rest of the shit off the floor. 

“Bread isn’t a meal, dumbass” she snarls before pulling out the phone and opening up UberEats. Daniela swipes through until she finds something that makes her mouth water. She’s never had Thai food before but the coconut curry sounds divine, creamy yet spicy. She adds two dinners to the chart as well as an order of mango sticky rice to share with Layla when she gets home.  

In the meantime, Daniela figures she can clean up the body since these birdbrains were completely incompetent. She pulls out her hair products she hides away under the bathroom cabinets and steps into the showers. The warm water wraps her up, melting away the lingering feelings of emptiness and abandonment. Daniela squeezes out a dollop of shampoos, massaging in the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle on their scalp. She can feel someone near the front but couldn’t exactly tell who it was–whoever the freeloader is, maybe they could learn a thing or two about a good head scrub. She applies the conditioners next, scrunching up the curls to work the product in before brushing it out. It really was beyond her how no one else in the system knew to properly take care of curly hair. They all seems more content to pile on a gallon of hair gel instead of putting in the slightest amount of effort. Daniela lets the product sit while she scrubs and exfoliates the rest of the body, careful not to agitate the skin too much. She washes all the products off, dries herself off, and applies the leave-in conditions before blowing the hair dry. She goes ahead and takes care of the rest of the grooming, giving them a nice clean fresh look. 

“There. Now your stench won’t make your wife vomit as soon as she walks in through the door,” she says spraying on some cologne. 

‘You’ve been doing this for a while, haven’t you? I never knew who was taking care of us during our depressive episodes…’ Marc says quietly, peeking out from the side. 

“I wouldn’t need to if you were actually good at your job and had an ounce of self-respect,” she says softly, though lacking the typical air of resentment.

Chapter Text

‘Mr. Lockley, can I please speak with you in my office for a second?’ Mr. Knight motions towards their room. Just beyond the front command room, passing through the locked hatch door exists a white corridor with numerous rooms. Some lead to pocket-sized rooms, uniquely personalized for each alter. Not necessarily a utopia, but certainly a safe space. Other rooms remain locked, with Jake holding onto the only key, but what lay beyond remains a mystery to even him. 

For Jake, his room resembled the shitty apartment they lived in briefly in Washington Heights. Leaky faucet and infected with cockroaches–the true New York experience. Right after they got discharged from the military, after Marc fell into that never end void of darkness, floating aimlessly through space, cold and empty. 

The first time Jake had any real control over their lives, instead of just a passive influence. The first time he felt like he was more than a just tool, more than just the bottled-up rage, the first time he was a real person. However uncomfortable that thought made him. However uncomfortable that still makes him. 

Mr. Knight, unsurprising, has the most monotonous and unimaginative room. It’s all white, from top to bottom, with a sparse amount of office furniture.  

‘Whatdya want?’ Jake asks as he follows them to their office, leaving the door open behind him. 

‘We’ve, and by that I mean the identity of Moon Knight, have received an invitation to collaborate with some other local vigilant individuals,’ they say, handing him a printed copy text exchange screenshot. 

‘Who?’ Jake asks, squinting down towards the paper. 

‘Daredevil, Ms. Jessica Jones, and Mr. Luke Cage,’ not bad, he thinks. They could do worse.  

‘What are you guys talking about?’ Marc questions, leaning against the doorway.

‘Ah, Mr. Spector, in full transparency we are talking about Moon Knight -related affairs. While I’m aware that you formally occupied that role I believe you’re currently distancing yourself from all Moon Knight matters?’ They say candidly. 

‘Yeah, well, I still want to know what’s going on considering it affects us all,’ Marc replies. 

‘Very well,’ Mr. Knight says as he handles Marc another copy of the printed-out text exchange. ‘As I was discussing with Mr. Lockley, the team colloquially referred to as the Defenders requested our help in a case by the docks.’

Marc lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Ugh, Daredevil is kinda a dick. I don’t want to deal with that.’

‘I understand your aversion to working with Mr. Daredevil but please keep in mind they requested assistance in stopping a villainous organization called ‘The Hand’ in case that sways your decision.’

‘Of course, they have a dumb name,’ he snides.

‘Wait, why do you hate Daredevil?’ Jake circles back, taken aback by the news, this is the first time he’s heard of them even meeting. 

‘He’s an ass. Ran into him a couple of weeks ago. Was feeling switchy and I could feel Birdy nearby. He was going on about a plan and we couldn’t focus so Birdy asked him if he could just write it down for us because we were having a bad case of brain fog and he said no,’ Jake lets Marc finish before letting out a small chuckle. 

‘Sorry, I would have told you if I knew you were going to work with him,’ Jake grins, slapping Marc’s back. 

‘Tell me what?’ Marc asks, narrowing his eyes. 

‘Dude’s blind. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, he just can’t see,’ 

‘Oh.’ Marc turns white, as if all the blood rushed out his head, staring off blankly. ‘How long have you known him?’ He follows with a murmur after a minute. 

Still smiling, Jake answers, ‘Years, before the blip. He’s my lawyer. How come?’ 

‘I don’t know if it was Birdy or Steven or me even but someone called him a pretentious ableist two-legged-rat,’ he drops his head, pressing his palms into his eyes, ‘and then he said ‘you really weren’t joking about your memory issues, huh’ and I allegedly punched him straight in the face.’

He did what?

Jake can’t help himself, he throws his head back with laughter, echoing throughout the room. He can’t even remember that last time something made him laugh this much,  ‘Oh my God, Marc, that’s hilarious. But please, if you’re going to punch my friends in the face can you at least get it on video?’   

‘Would you still suggest I decline the invitation? Perhaps I can send them an email,’ Mr. Knight redirects, unamused by how off-topic they’ve gotten. 

‘No, we can help. I’ll just stay close. Keep Marc on a lease and all.’ Never missing a chance to tease him, Jake winks before Marc tries to crawl away in shame.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Layla. In case I’m not around next time either Birdy or Kid front, can you tell them to open the presents I bought them?” Jake asks as soon as he hears Layla walk into the bedroom. Jake taps on the two gifted wrapped boxes before hiding them in the back of the closet.

“No problem. What did you get them?” Layla says curiously, emptying the basket of laundry on the bed. 

“The new pokemon game. And another switch for Birdy. She’s complaining that the Kid is ruining her animal island,” He replies, taking a seat on the bed. Following Layla’s lead, Jake picks up some articles to fold, stacking them onto the pile. His mouth turns up into a slight smile, thinking back at all the passive-aggressive notes Birdy has been leaving in the system’s journal telling Kid to stop inviting “ugly villagers” to their island and to stop changing all the characters greetings. Birdy even rejected Steven’s request to make his own villager because he’s “just going to ruin it too.”

“Oh yeah, he’s leaving fish and bugs all over. Making his own outdoor zoo,” Layla chucks, “Don’t know why but I expected them to be better at sharing and working together. They really are just kids.”

“They’re great at sharing, they have to be,” Jake says plainly, tapping the side of his head. “But they should be allowed to have their own things too, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” she smiles, picking up Jake’s freshly washed jacket from the pile. She brings it up towards her face, taking in the scent of lavender before handing it to him. 

Chapter Text

“Steven was telling me how you guys were all working on internal communications. How he and Marc just discovered the inner world, how it’s shaped like a rocketship,” Layla says, adjusting the face mask on Daniela’s face. 

“You don’t ‘discover’ something that already existed. We've had an inner world for a while, Marc was just not allowed in it. Steven used to have his own room for a bit but his door’s been locked,” Daniela explains, keeping her eyes closed as Layla’s hand gently pressed against her skin.

“How does that work?” she asks. 

“No idea, brains are weird,” Daniela shrugs, grabbing another face mask off of the side table for Layla. She tears it open as Layla lies on her back as if to give permission for Daniela to put the mask on her as well. 

Layla shivers slightly as Daniela places the chilled face mask on her, careful to spread it on evenly. “What do you guys look like in the inner world then?” Layla asks as she feels Daniela pushing her bangs back. 

Daniela hesitates slightly before closing her eyes, almost as if she's trying to visualize them, “Marc looks like the body. So does Steven but more like a dweeb. Jake too, but he has this stupid pornstache, like a Cuban version of that guy who smashing in Nancy Kerrigan’s knee. Mr. Knight always has that pompous suit on, don’t know if they have the same face under the mask but they never take it off anyways. 

“Kid looks like we did when we got pulled out of the cave, I think. He has a blueish tint from the lack of oxygen. Always drags around a little orange blanket. I tried to take it from him but he had a meltdown. Wasn’t worth it.”

“Why’d you try to take it?” Layla asks softly. 

“It’s fraying from the bottom. Wanted to patch it up so I wouldn’t keep finding stray strings all over.”

“And Birdy?”

“Chamaca despeinada, her hair’s a damn rat’s nest. If she ever sits still I’m going to cut it off. Birdy always looks beat up, although recently her bruises have started to clear up. White hair, white eyes, white hospital sweats,” she says, not hiding her irritation. 

Layla can’t help but smile slightly, finding the humor in how annoyed Daniela is regarding Birdy’s hair and Kid’s blanket, despite presenting herself as if she doesn’t care. Layla looks up at Daniela before asking about herself. 

“I’m the hot one, obviously,” her mouth turns upwards into a slight smirk, “Like a woman, I guess. Tan, curly red hair, sharp features, a nice ass.”

“Do you… do you look like your mother?” Layla follows up. 

“Not particularly? I just look like me,” Daniela shrugs, slightly raising her eyebrow. 

Layla lifts her head up, pushing her way up to lean her back against the bed’s headboard, “Huh.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Do you see yourself as a caretaker of sorts? Like a mother? Not… your mother in particular, just in general,” Layla asks. 

Daniela groans at the question, scooching back to sit next to her, letting her head drop back onto the headboard to look up towards the ceiling, “System roles are stupid. I don’t understand the obsession of trying to fit everyone into a neat little box.”

“No, it’s just,” Layla hesitates, squinting her eyes, “How do I explain it? I think, deep down, you love your alters and you want to protect them. But you don’t always know the best way to express it. So you base your perception of what it means to be ‘protective’ from your mother.”

Daniela presses her lips together and remains silent for a minute. Layla worries that she pressed too hard too fast, anxiously waiting to see what she'll do next. Would she sass her like Steven? Would she redirect and shut down like Marc? In many ways, Daniela is still a stranger to her. 

“Do you want to know what I think?,” she finally says after collecting her thoughts, “I think that we were a malportado, malagradecido chamaco sin vergüenza who got off on attention and acting up. You know, when my mother was fifteen, her mother paid a coyote to smuggle her into the US. By herself, no one to protect her. She would have been married off to some narco if it weren’t for that. Undocumented, didn’t speak a word of English, but she was determined and self-disciplined enough to succeed in school on top of working as a housekeeper. She struggled so much just to have an ungrateful brat. If we had just listened to my mom we would have been fine, Randall would have been alive and we would have been safe.”  

Layla just looks at her with sadness and heartbreak, seeing all the trauma Daniela has internalized. Neither Marc nor Daniela will ever admit it, but they really had a lot in common. Layla rests her head on Daniela's shoulder before softly saying, “It’s not a child’s responsibility to be grateful to their parent. Nor to heal their parent’s trauma for that matter. No child is ever deserving of abuse. You did not deserve to be abused.”

“I do love them. I want to keep them safe. If they’d just listen to me–” the words get choked up in her throat, immediately whipping away her tears of frustration before Layla notices. She takes a couple of deep breaths to recollect herself before harshly saying, “You tell them and I’ll set that new dress I just bought you on fire.”

“No, you won’t.” 

Chapter Text

Birdy had never had an easy life; in the early days of her existence, she somehow rationalized her purpose as some sort of lab rat–one being experimented on for some greater good. Faceless strangers took glee from her suffering, silencing all her pleas for help because her pain had an end goal. It didn’t take long for her to accept that her life and body in particular were disposable, that she herself didn’t matter. She was just another testing bird with a broken wing, too broken to escape. 

Birdy remembers coming to on a stretcher, with her arms crossed and strapped down. Trying to scream, trying to escape at first, and how quickly her rage and terror turned into defeat.  

But despite the haze and pain that clouds her memories, there was someone who always stood out, someone who was always there to hold her hand and comfort her. Unlike all the faceless strangers in hospital scrubs, Birdy never struggled to visualize her dad’s face. The only one who physically stayed by her side and kept her company. Jake had also been by her side, telling her what to say and how to act, but it was different. Birdy remembers how her dad would take her hand between his to pray, how he’d bring her presents and treats after physically and emotionally draining days, and how he’d kiss her head good night. 

The day Birdy discovered that Marc did not share her love and admiration for their father, it shattered her heart. Just another thing about her life that turned out to be a fantasy. Marc refused to explain why because of course he did. But Birdy’s done with letting Marc control her. 

So when Birdy is finally alone in the body, she finally has the opportunity to dial the number. Despite reminding herself that this is what she wants, she can’t stop her hand from shaking as the tone rings and guilt flows through her. 

“Marc? Marc, is that you?” Her father finally answers, sounding shocked and confused at her call. 

“Hi dad. Happy Father’s Day,” Birdy says softly into the phone, careful to keep her voice down in case anyone else in the headspace can hear her. Focusing on herself and the moment. 

“Marc, I can't believe it. Are you okay? Is everything alright?” her dad stutters, still in disbelief over the call. 

Birdy holds on tight to the phone, pressing against her warm cheek, “I’m ok… How are you?”

“I’m just happy to hear from you. Listen, about your mother’s fun–”

“Can you tell me more about you? What have you been doing?” She interrupts, uninterested in talking about their mother. Birdy couldn’t be sure how long she’d be alone in the body so she need to use her time efficiently. 

“The house is quiet, it’s hard to get used to it. I've been spending a lot of time at temple. I’m volunteering at the local food bank. And I’ve been seeing a–a grief counselor. Not just for what happened with her but for Randall, and… for you,” her dad says quickly, fumbling over his words. Almost as if he’s aware she could hang up at any moment. 

“That’s good… Dad?” She asks again. 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I was such a burden growing up,” she whispers, feeling the tears fall down her face as the memories rush in. 

“Marc, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything–”

“Please don’t. I don’t want to think about it but I need to tell you…” Birdy needs to tell him she wasn’t ‘Marc.’ That she was ‘Marc’ but not ‘Marc’ at the same time. But she chokes on her words and no sound is able to escape her lips. 

“Are you still there?” her dad asks, after some silence. 

“I’m here…” Birdy whispers. 

“Are you still living in Europe? Maybe…maybe you can come home for Rosh Hashanah?”

“Maybe…” She trails off. She wants to say yes, she wants to see her dad, but she knows that just by calling their dad she betraying Marc's trust. Maybe even Jake’s trust. “I have to go. I miss you.”

“Marc ple–” is all she hears before she hangs up. She lets the tears fall onto the phone’s screen as she delete the call history.

Chapter Text

[Alt image text: Monday

Woke up at 7:30am, no nightmares. Took a shower and did our morning routine. Had a cuppa with overnight oats for breakfast. Marc joined me around 8:20am -Steven 8:45am, Monday

Daniela, did you front this morning? If so, please try to remember to log it. –Steven 11:34am Monday

no.

Watched tiktoks and took a nap –Birdy 1pm

Remember if you’re fronting around lunch time you have to eat lunch. Ice cream is not lunch. Therapy’s today at 3:00 and I am once again begging anyone to please join me. Marc, please stop conveniently disappearing right before –Steven, 2:33pm

Joining Layla on a mission tonight. Steven stop drinking so much soy milk it hurts our stomach –Marc 6pm

After Marc's mission with Ms. Layla, Khonshu informed me of some followers of Ammit in the area. I fronted for the duration of the mission which lasted 2 hours, 18 minutes and 51 seconds. Once I complete this note I will pass the body back to Mr. Spector. Don’t worry too much about the large cut on our chest, Khonshu said it will fade in 3-5 business days. 

Second Marc’s comment, no more soy–Jake 1am

Tuesday

IT’S THE FREAKING DAIRY WE’RE LACTOSE INTOLERATE -Steven 8:08am

can we get more ice cream please? –Kid]

Chapter Text

Marc had never been to the Kid’s room. The few times they’ve interacted were the times they were co-conscious or when they both found themselves in the observation deck. Stepping further into the inner world is still a challenge for Marc, somedays all he needs to do to unlock the airlocked hatch is a push, somedays, no matter how hard he bangs on the door he can’t come in. 

After days of the Kid avoiding him and all attempts of contact, Marc is finally able to walk through the door, and down the endless corridor. Just past Daniela's door–a spitting image of his parent’s old bedroom door, past Jake’s door–an old brown door with way too many locks, past Birdy’s– a hospital room door, is Kid’s room. With the same exact door, he had when he was that age.  

He knocks gently, although the simple action sends shivers down his spine. He hears a timid voice call him to come in.  

Slowly, Marc opens the door, lending against the wall by the door, ready to walk out in case Kid asks him to leave. With downcast eyes, ‘Hey Kid, I’m really sorry I was mean the other day,’ he says. 

‘It's ok…’ Kid mumbles as he continues to connect the lego pieces, forming what appears to be a Star War ship. That same old orange blanket still hanging off his shoulders. 

Marc crouches down to take a better look at the legos, how his small hands are so easily able to pick up the tiny pieces and how he is still able to see clearly despite all water dripping down his hair onto his cheeks. ‘Do… you want to play or something?’ Marc asks softly. 

The Kid shrugs, not taking his eyes off his lego pieces.

‘Rand…’ Marc stops as he feels his heart arch, sink down his stomach, finding himself unable to finish that though. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes in, and exhales before saying, ‘Ro-Ro used to love playing with legos.’

‘You know Ro-Ro?’ Kid finally looks up with wide-open eyes. 

‘Yeah…’ Marc nods, trying to force a smile. 

‘I miss him…’ he says feebly, wrapping the blanket tightly around himself. 

‘I miss him too.’

‘Marc? Can I ask you something?’ Kid looks up at him to ask. 

Marc hesitates before nodding. 

‘Why don’t the others know Ro-Ro? I ask Jake and Birdy and they don’t remember Ro-Ro. I asked Steven but he was weird about it.’

‘I dunno, brains are weird…we all have different memories,’ Kid still occasionally struggles with remembering and accepting that he’s not actually dead, that he’s not still trapped in that cave. Jake and Steven still have to continuously remind him that he’s safe. How is he supposed to explain their condition to him, especially without telling him about their mom? Instead, he just asks ‘Do… do you remember how Ro-ro used to cry whenever we used to watch Nightmare Before Christmas?’

‘He didn’t like the boogieman,’ Kid answers. 

‘And we used to hold his hand.’ 

‘Yeah…’

‘You’re a good older brother,’ Marc says, smiling at him earnestly. 

‘I let him drown didn’t I…if I were a good older brother I should have died to protect him–’ he starts to panic, violently shaking and coughing, spitting out water. Marc quickly pats his back, squeezing the Kid’s hand. 

‘Hey, hey, don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault,’ Marc reassures him. It almost doesn’t feel like a lie. 

Chapter Text

‘--no matter how hard you scrub your hands will always be stained with blood. You think that you can deceive everyone just because you hide behind a mask but I know the truth. You pretend to have a noble cause, a righteous one, but you’re not different from Marc. Both of you disgust me. When will you ever open your eye and admit that the only thing you’re good for is inflicting pai–’

“What the hell is your problem? Is it really so hard for you to shut up for a bloody minute? I've had a shit night and I don’t need another self-important prat yapping in my head,” Steven finally snaps, slamming his hands on the side of the sink. The water running from the faucet, a mix of blood, dirt, and water flooding the sink. Steven stares directly at the mirror, almost expecting to see her –whoever she is–instead of his own tired reflection. 

“What is the freaking end goal here? Do you take pleasure in tormenting us? Is this fun for you? You refuse to talk to us unless it’s to abuse us. You won’t even tell us your name. To be completely frank, it’s getting old.” he talks back, speaking out loud as if to better articulate his point. 

‘I don’t owe you an explanation, I–’ she curses, her low voice booming through his head. 

“Then, respectfully, piss off. You've been in my head for as long as I can remember, yeah? You’ve been the one telling me I’m not good enough, that’ll never be good enough. I always just thought you were my intrusive thoughts, my self-doubt. I’ll have you know I’m not going to let myself be bullied by anyone else; not Donna, not Khonshu, and much less you,” he states, shutting off the tap. Steven runs his hands through his hair, tugging his hair to cover his eyes as he takes a seat on edge of the bathtub.  

‘You insolent worm, how dare you–’ she spits, crawling at his skin. 

“What, are you picking up insults from Khonshu now?” he sasses, rolling his eyes. “Marc says that you remind him of mum… how she really was, not how I imagined her to be. How he just shuts down whenever you poke your head in because it’s too painful,” he mumbles, dropping his hands to his lap, “Do you remember her?”

He doesn’t know how to interpret her silence. It’s so quiet that he can ever hear the water droplets hitting the porcelain sink, one after the other. He clears his throat before continuing. 

“I remember her… sober. Loving us. Marc doesn’t like it when I talk about it but… I remember spending afternoons cooking as music played from the kitchen, curling up by her side and watching movies, how tears would run down her face when she kissed us,” the memories of her comforting him play across his eyes, lacking the warmth he once associated when he used to reminisce. “I know they’re not real but… it was real to me… I know my mother died with our brother, I know she hurt us not just Marc, I know she was awful and sick and I’m wrong and I know it was a lie … it’s hard to process that…my whole life has been a lie,” he finishes, wiping the tears off his cheek. 

“What do you remember?” Steven asks again, opening the door.

Instead of a verbal reply, the cold wind shakes through his bones. Images of a young girl, with fiery red hair, pulled back into a tight updo. The girl is wearing what appears to be a school uniform, a white blouse underneath a plaid dress the same color as her hair, sitting perfectly straight like a doll. A looming shadowy figure stands behind her, ominously slapping a ruler against its open palm. The second the girl slouches, the sound of the ruler hitting her skin crackles, jolting Steven to straight out his back. 

Instead of tears in the girl's eyes, Steven sees rage seething in her eyes. 

Chapter Text

‘Jake.’ Marc calls out, creeping out from the back of the headspace. 

‘Oh hey Marc,’ Jake replies, setting a white hairy fluff ball on his bed. 

‘What is that?’ Marc asks, watching as Jake pet that thing, hair getting all over his and Layla’s bed. 

‘Mi hija. Gatarina,’ Jake says, scratching its chin as it starts purring. 

‘We’re not keeping a freaking cat. What the hell happened to not making decisions without consulting the system first?’ Marc says angrily, feeling his annoyance grow despite how calm the body felt. 

‘Y-H-L-Q-M-D-L-G.’ 

‘What the hell does that mean?’ he snaps back. 

‘Yo hago lo que me da la gana,’ Jake says flatly, taking a seat on the bed and placing the cat on his lap, ‘Also they all already said yes. Daniela named her.’

‘Seriously? Everyone? Even Mr. Knight?’ 

‘Yup,’ Jake smiles grows widely as the cat started to climb up his shirt, ‘They said, and I quote, ‘sure, it’s good for moral’’

‘What about Layla? Or did you forget that we share a home with her?’

‘Layla was with me when we found her,’ Jake picks the cat up to bring her right to their face. Two gigantic blue eyes stared back at him, ‘Marc. Marc. Mirala. Mira su cara.’

Marc looks away, refusing to play into this trap. ‘Fine. Make your own G-d damn decisions. Who the hell cares about what I think, right?’

Jake’s smile drops as he closes his eyes and sighs. He sets the cat back down on the bed before falling on his back. He brings his hand up and covers his eyes. ‘Is this really about the thing with Khonshu?’

‘This about you constantly blowing me off because you think you know what’s best for us,’ and with that, a lifetime of frustration and hurt finally off his chest. After weeks of passive-aggressive comments and avoiding Jake unless Steven was also around, Marc is directly vocalizing with betrayal. 

‘Is it so hard for you to believe that everything I’ve done was to protect you?’ Jake says calmly. 

‘Then why did you go behind my back? Why did you hide from me for all this time? You said that you’ve been with us for years. You even kept Birdy away from us too. Why didn’t you make me believe I was alone?’ Marc demands, concentrating on keeping the emotional wall between them. Careful to not let Jake feel the betrayal Marc is feeling. 

‘The walls you built to keep Steven out kept us all out. I did reach out, but you weren’t ready.’ Jake explains, ‘if you’re so against Gatarina then I can return her.’

‘Mami, mami, look at what we found’ ‘That’s great, amoursitos, but cats are a lot of responsibility. We can take her to the shelter and find her a good home.’

‘It’s… fine.’ Marc replies, feeling the cat crawl up onto them, curling up their chest. Her constant purring making their whole chest vibrate, cute. ‘Just don’t expect me to clean her litter box or anything.’

Chapter Text

“You’re like the people in the maths questions. Is there a reason you bought so much ice cream?” Layla asks, taking a seat on the countertop as she watches Steven try to play Tetris with all the different ice cream bars, pints, and popsicles in the freeze. A whole other bag filled with even more frozen dessert sat beside her on the kitchen counter, still watching to be stuffed in the freezer. 

“Everyone else in the system refuses to admit that we can’t digest dairy. They were all ragging on me because I forgot that we were Latine and have native ancestry yet they’re all still insisting our stomach issues are because of my vegan food,” Steven rants as he continues to adjust all the containers to maximize the empty space. 

“Aw, you’re their scapegoat,” Layla chuckles, helping herself to one of the fruit popsicles sitting on the counter. 

“Yes! Exactly!” Steven exclaims, tossing his hands up before looking over at Layla. “Love, sorry I should know this but can you eat dairy?”

“Yeah, just not a lot. I’m not super sensitive so I just take a Lactaid before eating a shit ton of cheese.” She answers, “It seems like it’s a team effort, huh? Minus Mr. Knight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them eat, they’d probably say something like ‘consuming food is not part of my job description.’ ” She says, mimicking Mr. Knight's trademark monotone speaking pattern and facial expressions, “All of Birdy and Kid’s ‘safe’ foods have dairy in them. Lots of bean and cheese burritos. Sometimes, I catch Marc eating handfuls of cheese instead of a proper meal. And no matter the time of day, Jake’s drinking his cafecito con leche. ”

“Mhm I love it when you take Spanish to me,” Steven moans into Layla’s ear as soon as he closes the freezer, grabbing her by the waist. 

“Bebesita nolgon~” she purrs, meeting him for a kiss. 

The next day, when Birdy opens the freezer she lets out a shriek when her usual print of Ben and Jerry’s was magically replaced by a vegan alternative. 

“What happened to my ice cream!? Why would you mess with my routine, I’m a virgo!!” She cries dramatically. 

‘Birdy, no we’re just autistic but it’s fine. We’re fine, we’re fine, see I got you lots of other ice creams for you to try! This one is the same flavor and everything, and it won’t hurt our sto–’ Steven panics. 

“It’s not the same!” 

Chapter Text

Birdy Spector Tuesday – 3:12 PM

Attachment: Fullhouse-Only-It’s-In-My-Head.ppt

Lunar-sys.docx

image_642.jpeg

I made the powerpoint when we first started seeing our therapist but some of the information has changed. At the time, I only knew about Marc, Steven, Jake, and myself. 

Steven and I made another document with some info about the others 

I know SMJ made another document that’s like a history/timeline of everything we’ve been through but they won’t show it to me 😒

Which is bs because I literally have all the trauma for trying to unalive ourselves but they think I can’t handle it 

Elias Spector – Tuesday 5:26 PM

Thanks. Is it ok if I show this to my therapist? Also, I finished reading two books you recommended, we can talk about it next time you can call. 

The cat is very cute. 

Sorry to ask but

Since leaving home

Did you attempt again?

Birdy Spector – Wednesday 11:32 AM

Yeah, that's fine

Not me, just Marc I think. He’s doing better though. 

Probably lol 

Jake’s really good at keeping us safe

He;s funny, Jake made him a jar and now Marc has to drop a dollar every time he makes a joke about dying lmao

Also whenever Daniela is mean 

or anyone says someone mean about themselves

Although

It’s less funny when he makes me do it 😒

Elias Spector – Wednesday 12:57 PM

I’m just glad you’ll are safe now

I understand you dislike labels but just for my comprehension, is it safe to say that you didn’t have BPD and/or Bipolar disorder? Was it just different alters fronting?

Birdy Spector - Wednesday 4:46 PM

Not sure 🤷🏼 

What gets confusing is that while yes we are separate alters and all but we do all share the same brain, body, hormones, etc. And even when we’re not fronting/co-con, we can still have influence 

So its hard to tell if we are acting a certain way because of another disorder or if its related to DID

Steven and I were reading about how childhood trauma shapes dna, brain development, how bodies react, etc it’s wild ngl

Maybe depression with mixed features? We’re testing out some new mood stabilizers to see if they help. Not everyone is good at logging the effects/side effects Steven and I are the only ones that are super consistent but I don’t actually front that often. It’s sooo exhausting trying to get everyone on the same page 😩   

And it’s not that I don’t like labels, I justthink it was super frustrating how doctors would keep throwing whatever label at us and just hoped it’d stick

I felt like I was hoarding mental illnesses lmao like damn lunar sys leave some for everyone else

U know anyone who wants some? Currently got a buy one get one free special lmao

Elias Spector - Wednesday 4:48 PM

I imagine that’s difficult. How have you been doing otherwise?

Birdy Spector - Wednesday 4:50 PM

I joined Steven and Marc for some sessions this week. Three times a week is too much. since I was there we talked about the stuff that happened when we were younger. Jake was also there, but he only watched

EMDR is terrible, I hate it so much 

But…

It’s easier to open up to the psychologist after talking to you about it first

But I’ve been fighting with Marc less so that’s probably good. Although he still won’t tell me about what he remembers and he even forbid Steven from telling me too. Jake has always been weird about it and Daniela is still pretty scary

Can you please tell me?

Elias Spector - Wednesday 5:05 PM

Be patient with Marc. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, I think it’s best if you talk to the others about it. 

Marc isn’t scooping, he’s totally fine with his alters having boundaries and privacy. He just happened to come across Birdy’s email account–which she stayed signed into–and stumbled across a chat thread with who else but Elias Spector. 

His vision turns red, scrolling through dozens and dozens of messages, images, and call receipts. The earliest message is dated just over 6 weeks ago, although the first couple of messages imply that they were already in contact before then. 

‘Steven. Steven! Steven!!’ Marc yells out internally, hoping to wake Steven up from wherever he is in the inner world. 

‘What?’ He says grouchily, slowly stepping towards the front. 

‘Look at this shit. What the hell was she thinking? Did you know she was in contact with our dad?’ Marc says as Steven takes control of the body to look at the screen. 

‘Marc, you need to calm down,’ Steven says, still working his way through all the messages, he can feel Marc in the headspace making trenches from pacing around so much. 

‘How dare you tell me to calm down? I can’t even trust my own fucking alters to not go behind my back. This is fucking Khonshu all over again!’

‘What’s going on, are you doing something dumb?’ Jake jumps in, suddenly appearing in the front conference room, as if he appearing out of thin air. He must have sensed their stress level rise. 

‘Respectfully Jake, go fuck yourself. This isn’t about you.’ Marc snaps back, irritated he had the nerve to stick his head into this. 

‘It looks like Birdy has been a messaging dad. Talking on the phone too, I think.’ Steven tells him, essentially ignoring all of Marc’s wishes. 

‘She what? ’ Jake asks in disbelief, getting closer to the front to get a better look at the messages in question. 

‘That sneaky little bra–’  

‘Marc, stop it. I’m mad too but I won’t let you talk about her that way.’ Jake interrupts him in his tracks. 

‘Oh of course you’re on her side. She’s always hiding behind you. And we all know you’re an expert at making decisions behind our backs, aren’t you? Tell me, what other secrets have you been hiding from us? Was it actually you that got me kicked out of the military?’ Marc rages with an exasperated outrage, arms wrapped around himself, taking careful steps backwards. Keeping his back against the wall. 

Jakes glares at Marc over that comment, standing his ground, he shouts back, ‘Ok fine! Maybe this is my fault! Sorry I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth about our childhood! You don’t think it hurt me when she talked about how nice and protective her dad was when my dad failed us?’ 

‘Maybe we all need to take some deep breaths, yeah? I can make us a cuppa–’

‘Steven, your endless optimism and desire to make everything ok is exhausting sometimes. Can you please just shut it?’ Marc says, in a low bitter voice. 

In response, Steven shut the laptop close, dropping his head to his hands, ‘Fine! Then I guess I won’t share what I think!’

‘What do you think?’ Jake asks with a heavy sigh. 

‘Maybe… we should reach out to dad, it’s obviously helping Birdy. Looking over at his messages he seems accepting. And it looks like he’s in therapy too.’

Marc's knees buckle as his breathing rises, ‘I can’t believe this. Steven, what happened to system cooperation? I can’t believe you’re siding with her.’

‘I’m not siding with anyone.’ Steven replies calmly. 

‘Marc, stop it. You’re acting like our mother.’ Jake states sharply and it hits Marc like an asteroid. Marc's mouth opens in shock, his eyes glare, almost as if he's going to attack back but he doesn't. His eyes, rapidly flashing from betrayal to anger to disgust to shame to fear. He slides down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knee, dropping his forehead onto his forearms. 

Even Steven tenses up at that comment.

Exhausted, Jake pulls out his chair from the crescent conference table, pulls out a cigarette from his jacket, and places it between his lips. This is all fake– all of this is happening inside their head, but somehow, the smell of tobacco fills the body’s nostrils.    

Jake lets Marc recollect himself for a bit before saying, ‘There are no sides, we are a system. If you yell at her, all the work we’ve done to get her to open up will be for nothing. Tell me, who does Birdy remind you of?’ Jake asks in a stern but calm voice. When Marc doesn’t reply, he says, ‘She acts like we did at that age. Time has always been fuzzy for me but I remember feeling like I had no control over anything. Like adults were quick to dismiss all my problems. I’m guilty of this shit too, I’ve fed into her delusions about how great our dad was and how our mom was too sick to visit her in the hospital. I kept telling myself I was protecting her innocence but maybe I fucked up. 

‘I still do that shit with Kid. I know he’s confused but I can’t explain it to him. Maybe I am protecting him, or maybe I’m just trying to protect myself.’ 

The three of them let words seep, processing Jake's words and the situation. It feels like all the hard work that Marc has done to try to heal, not just suppress, has been for nothing, he still felt like a scared child, abandoned by his parents.

‘Maybe...' Steven says, once some of the initial tension calms down, 'we should think about how our alter didn’t feel comfortable talking to us first before sneaking off to talk to dad. Be honest Marc, how would you have reacted if she asked you for permission?’  

‘I would have blown her off…’ Marc mumbles, still hiding his face in shame. 

‘Yeah, and I wouldn’t have been any better…’ Jake sighs. 

‘Steven, I know you want to talk to dad, I know you don’t see him like I do. But his…indifference almost killed us,’ Marc says softly. 

Steven pauses, before warily saying, ‘I think… there’s no growth living in the past and maybe… closure would be good for us.’

Chapter Text

‘Mate, I’m not gonna lie, everything time you tell me about what you do as Moon Knight I want to imminently text our therapist but I know everything you do is technically illegal and we would get sent straight to jail,’ Steven says, examining at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over all the newly acquired battle scars. Steven is starting to suspect that Khonshu is getting lazy with healing the body as a middle finger to Marc and himself. 

Mr. Knight had just finished giving Steven a download of everything he did, sparing no bloody details for ‘transparency sake.’ It was something Marc and Steven disagreed on; if Marc takes control of the body after Mr. Knight, he does not want to know about ‘any of Khonshu bullshit’ while Steven refuses to stay in the dark. 

‘Yes, well, protecting the travelers of the night does not conform well within the confines of the law,’ Mr. Knight states.  

‘What exactly is your justification? I thought you were all by the books and all,’ Steven asks, raising a brow at that comment.

‘I do adhere to pre-established set rules, however, those rules don’t always align with ‘the law.’ I am not opposed to bending rules if it's for the greater good,’ Steven sighs. This justification seemed to be the common response for all vigilantes. Despite what others may think, Steven isn’t naive. He knows that the system itself is corrupt, that racism and discrimination against the powerless have built the foundation of society, that money speaks louder than the truth. Steven didn’t even need to be a brown, Jewish, autistic man with mental illness to see it. So maybe an outsider is able to fill the gaps of injustice. 

But even since Steven found out they were back in Khonshu servitude, the ethics and morality of being a vigilante pondered in his head. It had been easy when he was roped into all the bullshit with Harrow and Ammit because of course genocide and eugenics are bad. Again, he didn’t need to be indigenous, Jewish, autistic, and mentally ill to come to that conclusion. But is he naive enough to believe that what they’re doing when they’re wearing that mask is for the great good? That Khonshu, being a god of justice, can fairly judge a human for their sins. Are they preventing further harm or are they just contributing to the endless cycle of violence? Are they even acting out of their own free will or has the bond to Khonshu been written in the stars?

‘Very utilitarianist of you,’ Steven groans. 

‘Are you opposed to my methods?’ 

‘Well, I don’t exactly appreciate that every time you return the body to us it feels like it’s gone through a meat grinder. Or that you stole my look. I guess my reservations are what your exact motives are. Are you really in it to protect people?’

‘It’s a benefit,’ a benefit? Steven stops, looks up to meet his reflection in the mirror. 

‘And your main drive is…?’

‘I enjoy it,’ Mr. Knight answers with a smile. 

Chapter Text

Jake’s pretty sure Daniela forcefully took control of the body as soon as they passed that one soap store she likes. And while Jake certainly didn’t appreciate the mind splitting headache and the overwhelming sense of nausea that came with it, he's secretly grateful he’s back in the headspace. Away from everyone and the social expectation of being a “person.” He’s fine leaving the body for someone else to deal with. So as he strolled through the narrow corridor in the inner world he passes Steven and Jake, deep in discussion over something, before reaching the Kid’s room and gently knocking on his door. Jake opens the door as soon as he hears a faint ‘come in’ creaking from behind. 

‘I bought you the Thor lego set, I know Moon Knight is obviously your favorite hero but their agent's got a birdbrain and can’t get us a good merchandising deal,’ Jake jokes, a little present for Kid the next time he fronts.

Kid’s sitting on the ground, playing make believe with his New York lego set, reenacting some sort of battle of heroes vs aliens. He wiggles with excitement before rushing over to hug Jake, ‘Thank you, Jake. But Moon Knight’s not my favorite hero.’ 

‘What do you mean he’s not your favorite, we’re Moon Knight,’ Marc says, sounding mildly insulted from overhearing their conversation, gesturing at Jake, Steven, and himself. 

‘You’re not, Spider-Man is my favorite,’ Kid replies matter of factly, totally indifferent to their betrayal. 

‘You don’t even like spiders!’ Steven points out. 

‘No but I like Spider- Man. He’s super cool, he can climb on walls and swing on webs!’ Kid says, bringing out the tiny Spider-Man lego figure to mimic him swinging through the air. 

‘We have a god on our side. And we can fly. Who need web shooters when we can literally fly,’ Marc argues. 

‘But he’s so cool! Spider-Man goes like fwip! And they can catch bad guys just like fwip, fwip, fwip,’ Kid presses his middle and ring finger against his palms, aiming it at Marc and Steven as if he’s fwipping the bad guys. ‘And, and, he’s really cool and strong and he’s really funny!’

‘Moon Knight’s cool and strong too. And funny. Steven, tell him a joke,’ Marc pouts, elbowing Steven. 

Steven jolts up, mumbling into his fist as if to try to recall a joke. His eyes widen and he smiles wide before saying, ‘Wait, I know. Why are mummies very aware of investment security?’

‘Why?’

‘Because their favorite is Cryptocurrency!’

‘I don’t get it,’ Kid says with a completely blank expression. 

‘Well, you see–’

‘Come on, let’s go see Mr. Knight.’ Jake says, bemused by this whole exchange, curious to see how they’d reacted. More so for his own entertainment. He never expected to see Marc and Steven defend Moon Knight, especially since he and Mr. Knight were the only ones actively acting as Moon Knight at the moment. When they all reach their room, Jake knocks while saying, ‘Hey Vengeance, we have a dilemma, open the door.’

On command, the door swings open automatically. Mr. Knight sat at their desk, back straight, hands crossed up under their chin, ‘Gentlemen, I don’t believe we had a scheduled–’

‘We’re not the Kid’s favorite hero. Tell him a joke,’ Marc demands right away. 

‘I do not have time for this childish tomfoolery.’

‘Please, we have to be his favorite,’ Steven pleads. 

‘If you four don’t get out of my office I’ll eject you all into outer space.’ 

‘You’re so mean. Spider-man wouldn’t be mean to me,’ Kid pouts, rolling his whole head dramatically in discontent. 

‘Parasocial relationships are unhealthy, Spider-Man is not your friend despite what the video online will have you think. However, I’ll consider your complaint for further examination at a later date, thank you for reaching out. Now leave,’ And almost as if the floor turned into magic carpet, the four of them get thrown out of Mr. Knight's office, the door slamming right behind them. 

And so mission Be-Kid’s-Favorite-Hero commenced. 

‘Kid look! Moon Knight just saved ten people from a building on fire,’ Marc says, showing Kid some blurry videos from a couple of years ago. 

‘That’s cool. Spider-Man saved an entire boat when a bad guy tried to cut it in half.’

‘He didn’t even do that! Iron man did!’

‘Kid, look. I got you a custom Moon Knight and Mr. Knight lego figure just for you,’ Steven says when his Etsy order finally arrives at his doorstep.  

‘That’s nice. Ms. Layla bought me a Spider-Man figure, maybe Spider-Man can save Moon Knight.’

‘Kid, do you know Moon Knight is Gatarina’s favorite hero?’ Jake tells him. 

‘That’s nice! You have a fan!’

‘Kid, did you know Moon Knight fought Dracula? Isn’t that cool?’ Marc asks him.

‘Dracula isn’t real. If he was, he'd probably be a nerd.’

‘I bet Spider-Man doesn’t even know how to drive,’ Jake says.

‘He doesn’t need to, Jake! Remember, he can swing!’ 

‘Moon Knight got invited to be an Avenger, isn’t that cool? Spider-Man isn’t an avenger,’ Marc says proudly.

‘Seriously? When?’ Steven asks in disbelief, questioning the validity of that statement. Marc just nudges Steven in response and tells him to hush. 

‘Ms. Layla says the Avengers are a US-sponsored militarized team who doesn't take accountability for the mess they make and a real hero would focus on saving people even after the major threat instead of flying away.’

“We need web shooters,” Jake tells Khonshu before their next mission.

“Why would I indulge in such a childish request, may I remind you that you can fly?” 

“Nah, we need web shooters.”

“You have batoons.”

“They specifically need to make the ‘twip’ sound.”

“Marc,” Layla says, cupping his cheeks so he looks up towards her, “Why are you grumpy?”

“I’m not,” he mutters. And in response, Layla gives him that look, the ‘ I’m not playing this game with you, Spector’ look.  

“Kid's favorite hero is Spider-Man and I guess I’m jealous,” he sighs. 

“Awww. If it makes you feel better, Moon Knight’s my favorite,” giving him a kiss on the forehead,  “after Black Panther of course.”

“Then why don’t you go marry him,” he huffs making Layla laughs before panicking and retracting with,“wait, actually no, please don’t.”

‘Kid look, Moon Knight can–’ Steven says before Daniela cuts him off. 

‘Hijo de la grandísima puta, are you guys still at this? Why can’t you just accept that Moon Knight is a nerd and the only people who like him are pretentious hipsters too cool for any of the real heroes, conspiracy theorists trying to figure if the mummy and wannabe James Bond are the same dude, and incels who think he’s a real life version of batman?’ Daniela groans. 

‘It’s okay guys! You can be my third favorite hero,’ Kid says, giving Marc, Steven, and Jake a genius smile, reaching all the way to his eyes. His soft innocent eyes peering straight at them, without even the faintest hint of fear behind them.   

‘Third!? Behind who?’ Marc asks. 

‘Ms. Layla of course!’ 

‘Damn straight, Kid,’ Daniela smirks, holding her hand out for a high five. Kid even jumps up a little to meet it. 

‘That’s… fair, I guess I can live with that,’ Layla was Marc's favorite hero too, with or without the Scarlet Scarab suit. Looking over, Steven was also nodding along in agreement.   

‘Who’s your guys’ favorite hero?’ 

‘You are.’ Jake answers with hesitation. The Kid who still smiled despite the water trying to drag him down. 

‘Yeah,’ Steven nods. The Kid who is still kind and gentle in face of all the chaos. 

‘The bravest kid we know,’ Marc pronounces. The Kid who despite being tied to them and all their baggage is still good. 

‘Hey Birdy, who's your favorite hero?’ Jake jokingly asks the next time he sees her. 

‘King Valkyrie, obviously,’ she answers without even looking up from her game. 

Chapter Text

All Jake wanted was a quiet evening by himself, sipping a good cup of cafecito and un de los hot dogs de Gena before heading out to do Khonshu’s dirty work. Was it really was a lot of ask for?

She declined when Jake offered to do a shot for good luck with Gena. She’d turned him all of the previous visits too. And while Jake would never comment on it, of course, he had noticed that she was putting on a bit of weight. Jake thought it must be due to stress, it's hard work raising a kid alone. That was until he heard Daniela’s arrogant laughter bouncing around in his head before saying, ‘She’s pregnant, dumbass.’

OH.

He was flustered, unsure how to react or what to say. He scarfed down the remainder of his meal without any further comments before imminently passing the body to Mr. Knight, too ‘wide eyes emoji’ as Kid and Birdy would say to act as Moon Knight properly tonight. 

‘Gena’s pregnant, not diseased. Why are you being so fucking weird about it?’ Daniela finally says, kicking the side of his chair to get his attention. Jake’s staring off, glaze far away, pretending to be concentrated on watching Mr. Knight.   

‘I’m not being weird about it,’ Jake mutters, arm crossed across his chest. 

‘You couldn’t even look her in the eye’ Daniela says. She slides her chair over, leaning in uncomfortably close with a devilish grin before asking, ‘hey Jake, how would you react if Layla got pregnant?’ 

Jake’s face just turns to the same shade as Daniela’s hair, muttering nonsense as sweat pours down his face. Daniela just rolls her eyes and leans away from him, ‘ugh, are you really so disgusted by women, that’s–’

‘It’s not women, it’s just… everyone. Sex. Pregnancy. Childbirth. All of that; grosses me out.’

‘Oh I understand, are you asexual? Aromantic?’ Steven chimes in, sitting on the other side of Jake. 

‘Asexual? I’m not a fucking plant or some–’

‘Are you like..sure? That’s you don’t like sex?’ Marc asks. 

‘I did kiss Frenchie one when I was drunk. It’s okay I guess. Like I can recognize that he’s an attractive man, just like how I can recognize that Layla is beautiful but…’ he shrugs. 

‘Asexual just means you don’t feel any sexual attraction. It’s all a spectrum, yeah? And you can fall anywhere on the line,’ Steven explains, extending his arms out as if to represent a line. 

‘I guess then. Never been interested in labels or any of that crap. Half of the time I don’t even feel like a person…’

‘That’s fine too. It’s normal for us to have different desires and all. As long as we all discuss it first and are all on the same page.’ Steven nods along. 

‘This is dumb, can we go back to making fun of Jake for being a virgin?’ Daniela groans, lending back into her chair. 

‘Grow up Daniela, you’re not even getting any either. Flirting with my wife doesn’t count.’ Marc says bitterly. 

‘Our wife.’ Steven corrects him.

‘Your marriage is fake, Layla made your marriage license on photoshop.’ Marc says under his breath, crossing his arms. 

‘I respect Layla too much to mess around but I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t get any before you got married,’ Daniela says. 

‘What!? When?’ Marc asks with an open mouth. 

‘Remember when you went dormant after getting kicked out of the military? When we moved to New York and Jake had to be the host for a bit?’

‘No, I don’t remember, that’s literally the definition of being dormant.’

‘Go on, Daniela,’ Steven says. 

‘Yeah well, I’m very hot,’ she raises her shoulders and gives them a cheeky grin. ‘And the body’s not awful looking. So whenever Jake got tired of being a person I’d take over and have my own fun.’

Marc's face turns red and covers his eyes with his hands before asking, ‘why are we just now finding out about it?’

‘Because I don’t like you.’

‘Who did you…sleep with? Women? Men?’ Marc follows up. 

‘Non-binary people?’ Steven adds on. 

‘Bit of all. You know I’m mostly,’ Daniela bends her hand at the wrist. ‘But a lot of men were really into me. I guess they liked it when I was mean to them.’

Daniela rolls her eyes back, resting her palm on her chin to tapping on the tip of her nose before smiling wide. She leans back into Jake and with a smug grin asks, ‘actually, Jake, you know your friend. The blind catholic one?’

‘...yeah?’ Jake answers suspiciously. 

‘He was really good at taking orders,’ Daniela winks. 

Chapter Text

‘Sit.’ Daniela says, looking down at the chair in front of her, with a comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. A vanity temporarily appears, with a collection of different hair supplies laid across the top, anything you could possibly need for a total transformation. 

‘Why?’ Birdy asks nervously, glancing around the room, looking for the trap.

‘I’m going to cut your hair, ahora te me sientas,’ she says, using her comb to point at the chair. Her eyes glared into her, as if to taunt her into questioning her authority. But apprehensively, Birdy takes the seat in front of Daniela.  

She tilts her head back to look at Daniela, and in a timid voice asks, ‘Why?’ 

‘Chamaca greñuda, you know why. It’s obvious you only had a dad walking around look how you do,’ Daniela says, putting her hand on the top of Birdy’s head to push it towards. With one hand, she grabs a clump of hair and with the other she brushes it out, pulling and tugging at the numerous knots. 

‘Ow Daniela that hurts,’ Birdy cries, feeling her neck pull back. 

‘Then sit still.’

Little by little, the knots loosen up and her head felt lighter. Birdy could even run her fingers through her hair, free of any resistance, nothing holding her back. Daniela sprays her hair water, swapping her brush for the scissor, sectioning out a piece to snipping off the ends. The metallic snips-snips-snips made her whole body tingle. 

And as the heavy chucks began to fall, Birdy straightens out her posture a bit, clears her throat, and stares straight back at Daniela’s reflection in the mirror, ‘Hey Daniela?’

‘What?’ 

‘Why… do you think you’re a woman?’ Daniela momentarily freezes at that questions, looking up to meet Birdy's gaze in the mirror. But quickly turns her focus back onto the hair, and continues to snip off the dead ends.  

‘Is it a sin to be a woman?’ She asks between snips. 

‘No, of course not.’

‘Do you know my theory or the therapist's theory?’

‘Both, I guess.’

‘Introjects of abusers are extremely common in dissociative systems. It makes sense why I’d resemble Wendy on some level. I’m not her but we have a lot in common.’ Birdy had been able to put the two and two together; that Daniela isn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty. She did, after all, spend a majority of her time fronting reading about their conditions and watching videos from fellow systems. And just recently, Jake had finally opened up about the truth of their homelife, the truth of their mother. The pain that Marc and Jake experienced from the person who brought them into this world. How she wasn’t content with just passing on her blood to them, she also needed to spill it. 

Her mother too, even though she had no memories of her. 

It had been hard to hear, even harder to digest. 

Steven found her afterward, curled up with Kid, giving them both a comforting hug and a handful of candy, even if Kid still had no idea what was going on.  

‘And yours?’ Birdy asks. 

‘Soy cabrona. I don’t give a shit if I'm the villain; if I’m Ammit or Lilith or Wendy, I know who I am. What about you?’

‘I don’t know…maybe because girls got treated better or got more sympathy from the medical staff? Maybe because adults are less scared when girls have meltdowns than boys. I know that like statistically women are more likely to be abused in their lifetime compared to men, but part of me can't help but wonder if we would have been safe as a girl. Like maybe girls don’t play in caves and moms don’t hit their daughters…’

‘There’s no point pondering what if. What happened happened, and we have to live with it and move on.’

snip-snip-snip.

‘I can’t help but question it. If Marc had just listened and been good, been more like a girl, then maybe none of this would have happened.’

‘So is Marc bad because he’s a boy?’

‘Well, no bu–’

‘Then why is Marc bad?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I can read in between the lines.’

‘I guess…I couldn’t help but blame him for everything. When I first met Jake and he told me that we exist to protect Marc… I don’t know how it made me feel. That my only purpose was for someone else. Any action I do for my own sake is inherently selfish. And early on everything felt so personal, so deliberate. Marc hurt himself to hurt me, he tried to die to kill me. And then I got mad at Jake for not just letting it happen. For making me suffer with them.’

‘Do you still feel like that?’

‘No... I know we were all hurting. It wasn’t personal.’ Even though sometimes it still feels personal. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Marc was once a child. Jake was once a child. At some point they were all around the same age, all lost and broken and hurt. But he was, they were. And children can’t be expected to keep other safes. ‘Do you… not blame the others anymore?’

‘I do but I don’t give a rat's ass about gender. I know that the stuff happened because they were reckless, not because they’re a man. And our mom wasn’t right in the head, she would have hurt us regardless of our gender.’  

snip-snip-snip.

‘I just don’t know how I feel about femininity… how it relates to me. I hate being in the body and being perceived as an adult man. But sometimes… I think I just present myself as a girl just because it’s the opposite.’

‘There isn’t one way to be a woman. You want to be a woman, be a woman. If you don’t identify with it then who cares. Just be an annoying bird.’  

And as the clumps fell to the ground, like little piles of snow in the spring, the sun reflected off of them, casting a warm protective shine onto them. It feels a couple of inches past her shoulder, nothing too drastic but it certainly feels a lot different. Her hair shines a little brighter, almost like a shimmering silver instead of desaturated white. 

‘Thanks Dani.’ Birdy smiles. 

Chapter Text

They waited a couple of days before doing anything. Marc even texted his therapist for this time, outside of session, asking to talk about this at their next session. By the end of the session, Steven, Jake, and himself agreed that Jake would (slowly) explain their past to Birdy, starting with the truth about their mom, work up to the truth about their dad. 

Marc thinks back to Steven, how his heart shattered like glass when he found out the truth about their mother. Maybe it’d be easier with Birdy–she has a support system after all. A system, a therapist, and Layla. 

Or maybe not–it isn’t as easy to hate their dad like it was their mom. His dad never raised his hand, never raised his voice. That was the problem, wasn’t it? How he prayed day and night that his dad would, just once, raise his voice for his sake. 

Ugh, maybe it would have been easier if everyone had been in the asylum afterlife with them, speed run right through the trauma to catch everyone up. Marc keeps that thought to himself, he can just imagine Steven scolding him with, ‘no Marc, that experience was very traumatic and we should be glad the younger parts did not have to experience it.’

His therapist's words echo in his head as he stares at the number, each digit flashing over and over in his mind. “Communication with alters has to come from a place of compassion and gratitude, it cannot be from a place of resentment. Birdy’s actions did hurt you and you’re allowed to be frustrated but it’s very likely that her motives were to alleviate the pain. There is a part of you that cannot move on from the trauma you experienced in your adolescence. Maybe you can, maybe your pathway to healing requires cutting all contact with your father. But maybe that’s not what Birdy needs, so you’ll have to negotiate that with her.”   

Marc sat with that for a bit. Negotiate with Birdy… He dials the number. 

Ring-ring-click. 

“Hey Birdy, how are–”

“It’s Marc,” he says right away. 

“Marc…?” his dad croaks. 

“I found the messages.”

“Oh.”

“So. What do you think about this?” 

“Do you mean what I think about your disorder? I feel terrible, all the pain and suffering I let happen, and like I owe you a million ap–”

“Cut the bullshit. You think I’m crazy, right? I’m still a pathological liar an–” 

“Of course not, Marc. I’ve never thought that. I know I’m responsible, I know that I hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I am really sorry for going behind your back, I knew it was wrong to get between you and Birdy but I couldn’t just ignore her. I’m still processing everything but… she’s my kid too.” 

“So open minded…” Marc scoffs, listening to all the bullshit spilling out of his mouth. 

“I won’t lie, it was quite a shock. When she told me that she wasn’t the real ‘Marc’ I didn’t know what to make of it. And then slowly it all clicked. Even just speaking with you over the phone, I see how different you two are.

“When she first started calling, before she told me, I thought it was a bit odd that you acted so…young. You acted exactly how I remember you, as if no time had passed.”

“Yeah well, a lot of time has passed. And I’m certainly not the same.”

“I know. And the fact that so much time has passed has been my greatest regret. But I know you had to keep your distance to be safe. I’m glad that you escaped.”

“So what, you have Birdy and you get to pick up right where I left off? She’s around the same age as I was when I left home so it works out great, right?” Deep breaths, Spector. Don’t let your anger show. 

“Of course not. I can’t change the past, no matter how much I wish I could. When… she … died, I realized how much of my life I’ve lived in fear. Really says something when the first emotion I felt when she passed was relief instead of sadness. I was a coward and no matter how many times you tried to tell me it fell on deaf ears. There is nothing I wish more than for us to reconnect, all of you, but I will respect your boundaries. I just ask… if you wish to cut contact again, can you let me say goodbye?” His dad has always been a doormat; a bleeding heart fool.  

Marc sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What exactly did Birdy tell you?”

“Shouldn’t… you ask her?”

“I don’t want to fight. Can you please just tell me?” She was bound to tell Jake eventually, who would tell Steven who would tell Marc would then tell Layla, and somewhere along the way everyone else would find out. The classic lunar system gossip train. 

“She calls me sporadically a couple of times, just asking about how I’ve been and how I’m doing. Then, she asked me if I’d heard of dissociative identity disorder or multiple personalities. Send me some books to read. Thought it was an odd request but I humored it.

"On the fifth call or so she broke down crying, she’s saying she wasn’t ‘Marc’ and her name is ‘Birdy’ and she’s fake and not my real son but she remembers me sitting by her side at the hospital. How the ‘real Marc’ refuses to talk to her about it and she feels so isolated because even her best friend won’t explain.”

“I’m not the real Marc either…” The real Marc died in that cave years ago, holding his brother’s hand. 

“I um… starting seeing a proper therapist. I was seeing a grief counselor but it seemed like the right call. We talk about you. And…taking accountability for what happened. Coming to terms with the fact that in trying to be a pacifist I was actually an enabler. To abstain from violence is a form of violence. I share the blame with her; I hurt you too, I tra-” his voice breaks. Marc hears from crackling in the background before his dad composes himself. “ I traumatized you too. I know my actions aren’t forgivable but… I can’t move on if I’m living in shame. Been processing all of that in therapy.”

“Why now? I don’t need you now, I’ve built my own life without you just fine. I need you back then, why couldn’t you have come to that realization then? When it did matter. You had so many opportunities to change and help us and you didn’t.” Marc doesn’t even feel the tears until they fall down his cheek. 

“I know… And I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuse that will excuse the pain I caused you. I was scared and in denial and– I’m sorry. No words will ever express how heavy my shame is. But that’s not important, you were a child and I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

‘You didn’t,’ he wants to say. But he closes his eyes, thinking back to when he was younger, and how badly he wanted to hear those words come out of his dad's mouth. 

“Birdy told you about herself and the DID, what else did she say?” Marc asks, calmer than before. 

“Not much. She says that Jake shelters her a lot. Mostly just about herself and how she’s doing. She did tell me about all the different alters. Aside from the new one, the business one? She can’t say his name. She said I've probably already met you all already.”

“Aren’t you… scared of us? You’ve seen the movies, aren’t you worried that we have some kind of evil alt–”

“You are my son, you don’t scare me.” That phrase sounds so familiar, sending him back to a darker time. But the tone, the delivery of his father’s voice is completely different; sounding self-assured, confident. 

“So… what now?” Marc asks, after a moment of silence. 

“It’s up to you and your system.” Negotiate with your alters.  

“You’ve been reading, huh? Using all the correct terminology and all that crap.” 

“Birdy says you haven’t. It’s mostly just her and Steven…”

“We have different hobbies.” From reading French poetry to Animal Crossing to protecting the world, different hobbies may be a bit an understatement. “I’ll talk to them. That doesn’t mean you are forgiven but if Birdy was so adamant to talk to you I guess that means some part of me wants it. Steven has been wanting to meet you too… and I’m sure Kid too.  If I can convince Jake and Daniela then I’ll let you know. And Layla too.”

“Thank you.” Stopping for a bit before asking, “Layla…is another part?”

“No, no, she’s my wife. She won’t be happy with me if I take another spontaneous trip to Chicago without talking to her first,” Marc explains, although he doubts his dad will even understand the reference. “And I haven’t agreed to anything yet. We can always say no, you understand that?”

“Yes, of course. I will accept any conditions you and your system set.” 

“You… won’t think it’s…weird? If you meet the others in person… It's a lot easier to pretend Birdy is Birdy over chat or even over the phone but we still… share a body. It’s… embarrassing.”

“Accepting who you are is my own responsibility not your burden. You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide who you are from me anymore. I’m really sorry I ever made you feel unsafe to be yourself.”

“I’ll…let you know,” Marc finally says, voice trailing off. 

“I love you Marc. I didn’t say that enough to you growing up but I do.” His dad states, the voices endless bouncing around his head. “You don’t need to say it back” 

“Bye dad.”

Chapter Text

Marc Spector, former mercenary and first of Khonshu, who sacrifices his whole being to justice and protecting the innocent, who quite literally saved the world, is not a jealous man. That’s ridiculous, what normal person would be jealous of a cat? In fact, Marc has never been jealous of anyone; not of other avatars whose gods aren't bloodthirsty assholes, or anyone who dares to speak to his wife, or even his own alters. Definitely not jealous.

Gatarina is just a bitch who hates him so some reason.

Despite all sharing the same body, the cat does not like him. Steven’s wonderful! He feeds her breakfast and scratches her head. Loves the kids, they both play with her until she flops over on the floor. Jake adores her; sings her praise. Quite literally, Layla has a video on her phone of Jake singing Spanish love songs to her. Daniela recently discovered that they make “cat wine” so now she kicks everyone out of the body to get drunk and gossip with his wife and the cat. The cat even has Mr. Knight under her spell. Mr. Knight, the “CEO of Justice” or some shit. Marc wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Knight tries to teach the cat how to play chess or something. Or got her her own Moon Knight costume. 

“You have to be kidding me, is that cat wearing a designer collar?” Marc asks when he notices the double “GG” pendant hanging off the cat's new pink collar. 

“Cute, right? Daniela just got it,” Layla answers, continuing to scratch Gatarina’s chin as she purrs.

“How much did it cost?”

“I don’t even want to know,” Layla laughs it off.  

“Don’t you dare–no, no, no!” and the cat knocked over the framed picture of Marc and Layla on their wedding day. Great. “See, she does this to spite me.”

‘Marc. She’s a cat. She’s just playing.’ Steven answers, suppressing his laughter. 

‘Marc?’ Jake says, 

‘What?’ Marc groans.

‘Why did Gatarina tell me that you called her spoiled chubby fleabag? You can’t say that kind of thing to her, she’s just a baby.’ Jake scolds him, with arms crossed and equally as crossed facial expression.

‘She’s a cat.’

‘Es mi hija.'

‘Look, I drew us a family picture. Well, Birdy drew it because she’s better at drawing but she let me color it! That’s Jake with his mustache and hat, and Birdy with her new haircut, Steven and his Guses, and Daniela and Mr. Knight and Ms. Layla with Gatarina and that’s you! You’re grumpy because Ms. Layla is giving all her attention to the gatita instead of you.’ Kid says proudly, pointing at the different cartoon figures on the paper stuck onto the fridge. It's a cute drawing, in the style of the game Birdy and Kid like so much. Still…   

‘I’m not grumpy,’ Marc frowns. 

Kid doesn’t reply, instead he just presses his lips together, almost as if to suppress a laugh, and looks off to the side.

“Jake, you can’t be serious, did you get matching hats with your cat?” Marc asks, after catching a glance of Jake and his dumb cat in the rearview mirror.

“Pa’ que te digo que no, si sí.”

“Purrmeow~” Gatarina meows, rubbing up against Mr. Knight’s leg as soon as they walk through the door. 

“Is that right Ms. Gatarina?” Mr. Knight asks, bending down to pet her. 

“Meoow~” she purrs. 

“Interesting proposal. Perhaps we should unionize against Mr. Spector.”

“I hate you,” Marc tells her as the cat licks his hand. “Maybe I’ll forget to close the door and you can disappear,” he says as she butts her head against his hand. Looking up at him with her manipulative blue eyes, demanding him to pet her. Marc slides his hand down her back before she rolls over to show her tummy, folding her little paws over. She’s still purring so he reaches down to her tummy, and in return she grabs his hand with her claws, biting down on his hands with her sharp fangs.

Evil.   

Chapter Text

I’m Moon Knight. AMA.

I’m Moon Knight, ask me anything

Why weren't you in the battle against Thanos?

I was I just run on LST 

Hello! What side were you on in the Avengers' Civil War?

What side was the moon on? I was on the moon. 

Are you british? Why do you sound british in some videos and american in others?

Only of chewsday

I like ur suit it looks so cool!! why doyou have multiple tho?? also do u know DD? one time I met him adn he had a bruise on his face, when I asked him if he was ok, he said and I quote "moon knight just punched me in the face" and then just disappeared, it was wild man

One is the 2024 winter collection and the other is the 2025 spring collection. Daredevil’s alright we kissed and made up

Did you sign the Sokovia Accords?

What?

Hi Moon Knight I love your costume! I was wondering what’s in your utility pouch/bag?

Crystals! I have Obsidian (shield against physical and emotional negativity), Jasper(protect from and absorb negative vibes), Amethyst(healthy choices), Moonstone(encourage inner growth and strength) and a couple more :) also silver bullet in case of werewolves

What is the source of your powers? I’ve been watching videos of how your fighting style has changed throughout the years and I was wondering if there is a particular reason why your fighting style has changed so much?

Redbull and spite. Style depends on my mood.

No but for real, thoughts on the accords?

I thought we’d move past following the aftermath of the Decimation. The accords were nullified in 2019 so my hypothetical support or lack thereof is completely inconsequential. 

Why did Ant-Man say that Dracula owes you money on his podcast? Are you talking about the fictional vampire or do you mean to imply that he’s real and that the vampires exist?

He knows what he did. 

Are you ok??? 

Yes! Thanks for asking :)

Hello!! If you could team up with any hero who would it be?

I am not interested in collaborating with any other hero, it’s too much hassle to coordinate with other enhanced individuals, both on a practical and interpersonal level. If anything, planned “team-ups” are more of a nuance than an aid. If someone happens to be working on the same case as me, I will do whatever I see as necessary to successfully complete the mission. 

What’s your training routine?

I’m vegan. Being vegan just makes you better than most people. 

I’m so fucking sick of these vigilantes are you must be insane to think that your self righteous “ideals” constitute breaking the law. If you were really interested in helping people you joined the police or military or the Avengers and not hide behind some mask. Get a fucking job and go to therapy.

Yeah I get what u mean daredevil is the worse

Are you taking these questions seriously? 

No

How old are you? There are records of Moon Knight dating back to ancient Egypt, are you the same hero or is it a mantle that passes down to the next generation? Love the new suit btw

Actually, I’m just a time traveler

Where are you from?

The moon.

Is Steven Rogers really on the moon?

Yes. Asshole’s always late on his rent.

Who is this? Is she single?

[picture of a woman with golden wings and dark curly hair, posing next to Mr. Knight]

No.

Chapter Text

‘Birdy, do you have your bird flu vaccine?’ Marc asks her in a teasing tone. 

‘Why…?’ Birdy asks suspiciously, slowly glancing up from her game. 

‘Will they let you on a plane without it?’

Birdy groans, rolling her head back in irritation. ‘You’re so annoying, I’m not actually a bird. Where are we even going?’

‘Chicago.’

‘Why Chicago?’

‘You want to see dad again, right?’ She freezes, her pale complexion somehow turning even paler as the blood leaves her face. Slowly, he reaches over to grab her hand, gently taking it as if to let her know he’s not upset. Then, he says, ‘I owe you an apology. For how I’ve treated you. When we were younger, I used to get so frustrated with my dad because he never listened. He tried to help, to be there but he never actually listened to what I needed. It was always what he thought I needed. And I just realized I've been treating you the same way.

‘But you can’t keep secrets like that from us. It hurt me when I found you were messaging him, and I know that I hurt you first by refusing to even have a conversation about him but that doesn’t excuse your actions.’

‘I’m sorry…’ She says softly, tears clouding her eyes. She brings up the hand Marc was holding to wipe her tears. 

‘I can’t tell you everything right now. Maybe one day but right now, talking about the past, it physically hurts me. I feel this hole in my chest and I feel my heart sink–’

‘I understand. I know I joke about it all but when I think about it I get so scared and I’m convinced I’m still there and–’

‘I know.’ He pauses, letting the silence ring in the background. ‘I promise I’ll listen to you and your needs if you promise not to go behind our backs, okay?’

‘Okay. Thank you, Marc,’ and with that, Birdy wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace, resting her head against his chest. Marc hugs back, planting a kiss on the top of her head. 

Marc brings it up in the next system meeting, Birdy, Kid, and Steven vote in favor, Jake and Daniela don’t oppose it as long as they don’t have to talk to their dad, and Mr. Knight couldn’t care less about ‘non-Moon Knight problems.’

It’s Layla’s first time in Chicago, the Lunar system’s first time since they left all those years ago. A landscape of a distant past, part of Marc felt like a ghost haunting a memory as he walks past all the familiar sights. But when he looks at Layla's cheerful face, and when he feels Steven's excitement, Marc focuses on grounding, enjoying the present and leaving the past in a box. They plan fun tourist things for the start of the trip, in case it doesn’t go well with Elias the trip won’t be a total waste. 

Marc takes Layla to the bean, snapping artistic pictures of her beautiful self posing by the statue. And before they’re able to walk away, Marc gets a compulsive urge to slap the bean with his hand as hard as he can, making the whole bean ring. Passive influence strikes again.    

They go for deep dish somewhere nearby; Marc and Jake argue about pizza. 

‘New York slices are fine but one Chicago slice is the equivalent of two meals. You need a whole New York style pie for it to be a meal,’ Marc explains to Jake internally as the waiters sets the piping hot cheesy dedicated deep dish pizza on their table. Marc passes Layla his plate as she serves him a slice. 

‘It’s a casserole , it’s not pizza,’ Jake argues. 

‘Thicker is better,’ Marc shrugs, taking a sip of water. 

‘Yeah, I’m sure your wife agrees with that,’ Jake says casually, catching Marc off guard and causing him to choke on his water. Layla, completely obvious to their internal debate, tilts her head in confusion before passing him a napkin. 

And then they go see a play. 

“Want to go see Hamilton? They have tickets on sale,” Marc asks Layla, showing her the ad on his phone. 

“Hamilton’s such a weird concept, isn’t it? Like I understand trying to reframe and reclaim American history by casting black and brown actors whose stories have historically been erased but it still seems weird to have POC play slave owners and sing hip hop,” Layla says.

“So no?”

“No, I’d love to, I want to see Tomas Jefferson in a Miku binder.”

And they get good Latin food, none of the sweet stuff they have in England. 

“See Steven, this is what a pupusa should be. Not the garbage they have in London.”

“Mhm.” Steven just nods along, stuffing his face with the most delicious vegan bean and ‘cheese’ pupusa. 

Layla even surprises Marc with cub tickets, sliding the tickets toward him as they eat breakfast. 

“Cubs tickets?” Marc asks in disbelief. 

“Yes! I booked them as soon as we agreed to come here. Figured you and Kid would like it,” she smiles with rosy cheeks. 

“Layla, this is so thoughtful, thank you. You don’t have to come, I know you don’t like sports.”

“No but I love you and I want to spend time with you.”

And later they take Kid to the lego store, he struggles to contain his excitement as soon as they enter the store. Squeezing Ms. Layla's hand as he rocks slightly from side to side. 

‘Can I get this?’ Kid asks, holding a new Spider-Man lego set. 

‘Don’t you already have it?’ Jake asks. 

‘No, I have the Spider-Man with the suit he wore in Germany, this one is the suit he wore in the battle against Thanos.’

‘Sure,’ Jakes sighs. 

‘Hey Jake? Did you fight against Thanos?’ Kid asks, as Ms. Layla pays for his present. 

‘Yup. We had to rescue Spider-Man from some aliens.’

And then they take Birdy to a cute ice cream shop where they decorate the ice cream scoop into little animals. 

“What if you get rocky way and kookie monster and I can get mango tango and tuti fruity and then we can share,” Birdy proposes, after intensely staring at the different flavors. 

“Of course, habibti. Just don’t tell Steven,” Layla laughs. “What animal?” 

“They don’t have birds or cats,” Birdy pouts, reading over the menu. “I’ll do bear and koala. How about you?”

“Panda and unicorn.” 

They snap a picture before decapitating the adorable ice cream cuties. 

Daniela demands to go to the zoo and Layla happily obliges. 

“Look Dani, the two little red pandas are snuggling,” Layla points out. 

“We should steal them. Gatarina needs some friends,” Daniela jokes. 

“That would be so cute.” 

Mr. Knight doesn’t even ask for permission, as soon Khonshu lets them know about a criminal in the area they’re already suited up, no time to waste. Layla joins them because someone needs to keep them in check. 

Chapter Text

Elias invites them over for dinner at his home, Marc declines because he isn’t completely comfortable entering that house. Not yet. Steven suggests a neutral place, like a restaurant or cafe, and maybe they can work up the courage for that. 

They meet him at a vegan cafe for lunch. One of those “pay at the counter” types of places in case it gets awkward they wouldn’t have to wait for the bill to bolt. And thankfully, the cafe has beer on tap. 

Almost as soon as they finish placing their order, Marc’s attention is pulled to hunched figure with greying curly hair alone at a table on the outdoor patio. The last time he even saw him it has been through a foggy window, a cloud of grief, and an empty flask of booze but he knew it was him. Elias Spector. World’s best dad for the first 8 years of his life. 

Layla must have also spotted him, despite never having met him before. She squeezes his hand but lets him take the lead. Marc’s not sure if he does, or if Steven or Birdy or someone else is the one forcing the body to take step after step to meet him. 

“Marc,” his dad breathes as soon as he sees him, quick to his feet to greet them. He reaches his hand out, as if to make sure Marc’s not really an illusion, the ghost of a long gone son, but he freezes. Instead, he just stares at him before Layla audibles clears her throat.  

Elias blinks a few times before extending out his hand. “It’s good to see you. And you must be Layla.”

“Mr. Spector, a pleasure.” Layla takes it, a polite smile on her face.

“Elias is fine. Part of me did expect you to actually come.” 

“Yeah well part of me is Steven and he keeps promises.” Elias smiles at that. G-d, this is awkward…

“Is it rude–and by all means, if it is rude you don’t need to answer but can I ask who’s fronting?” Elias asks nervously right after the waiter delivers their food, Marc's already halfway through his pint of beer before answering. 

“It’s me, Marc. Steven and Birdy are right here. Jake’s a little further back but he’s usually always near.” He says, subtly tapping the side of his forehead, avoiding prolonged eye contact and opting to focus on his food instead, trying to take his mind off the reality of the situation. “This is so weird.” 

“I don’t thin–”

“Not only do you know I have other people in my head but you know them all by name.” Not even Frenchie, his best friend, knew all his alters by name, choosing to keep the identities of the two younger parts private. And here he is, sharing a meal with someone who’s essentially a stranger, staring at him with sad eyes, oh so causally talking about his alters.  

“The situation is certainly unique but so are aliens being everyday threats,” his dad says with a slight smile. 

They eat a little more. Marc drinks a little more. He considers getting a second beer before Steven scolds him for his dependency on alcohol. 

“What have you been up to? On your trip I mean,” his dad asks. 

“Lots of things. Layla hasn’t been to Chicago before so we’ve been showing her around,” Marc answers.

“Any favorite spots?” Elias asks, directing his question to Layla.

“The Art Institute in downtown was lovely. I always make Marc take me to art museums whenever we travel.”

“You like art?” His dad asks him with a raised brow. 

“It’s ok. Steven does, he’s more ‘worldly’ than I am. I like Layla’s interpretations of art.” And how she always seemed to be plotting a hypothetical heist. 

And they eat a little more. Layla squeezes his hand for comfort. A brief distraction from reality.

“I um… I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me and my system, for the sappier parts that actually miss you,” Marc says. 

‘Thank you, Marc,’ Birdy whispers. 

“I know.” his dad says, with sad eyes but a smile on his face. 

‘Marc? Can you tell him it’s really nice to see him? Please,’ Birdy pushes.

‘You can tell him,’ Marc says, more than happy to give her the body.

‘But you’re the one in front.’

‘You can front.’ 

‘I don’t want to front in public!’ She cries, insulted by the mere suggestion, her discomfort spreading through the body making his skin crawl.

‘Then I’m not going to tell him, ’ Marc says. 

‘I take all the stuff back about you being ok, you’re still the worse!’

“Marc? Everything still okay?” His dad asks, pulling him right back to the outer world,  

“Yes, Birdy wants me to tell you something but won’t just say it because she refuses to front in public. Layla doesn’t believe me when I say she can be quite a brat sometimes.”

“She’s not,” Layla says defensibly. 

“To you.”  

His dad chucks quietly, bringing up his hand to conceal his amusement. “Do you think it’s funny?” Marc questions him.  

“Sorry, Birdy just reminds me of someone,” he says with a smile, blatantly transparent about who he’s referring to. 

“I was never this melodramatic,” Marc protests. His dad just shrugs before taking another bite of his meal. 

After another couple of painful minutes of silent eating, Steven speaks up. ‘Hey mate, I can take over if you need,’ Steven offers. 

‘It’s fine, I can go through a meal with our father,’ Marc says defensibly. 

‘I know you can but you don’t have to. If you need a break that’s fine.’ Sometimes it frustrates Marc how good Steven is at… this. Always knowing what to say. Having a healthy outlook on life and recognizing limits. Not feeling like everything is his burden and responsibility.  

“Steven… is asking to meet you,” Marc says out loud. Here it is; the real test. 

“I’d love to,” his dad looks up optimistically.  

So Marc lets go, lets go of his gripe of the front, lets go of the illusion of normality, embracing the comfort of space, floating off amongst the stars. 

“Ello dad,” Steven says when he finally gets his eyes to focus. 

“Hi Steven,” he smiles. “Do you still like Egypt?”

Chapter Text

“All the ones with Randall are here if you want to take a look. I made copies in case you’d rather than them home. I’m not sure if you even want these but they have your mother in them,” Dad says, handing Layla the envelope full of the photocopies. He points out the other two different photo albums on the table, stacked on top of his class yearbooks. Steven and Layla were making through one already, foreign past, simultaneously his and not.  

Birthdays, middle school graduations, Hebrew school, class pictures. A little boy with dark curly hair stared back. His smile appeared more forced after each year until it straight up disappeared. There’s only a handful of pictures scattered in a pool of misery where the little boy looks genuinely happy, free from her grief. Not enough. 

A whole section dedicated to his Bar Mitzvah, one of the few memories at felt wholeheartedly his. Although that thought makes Steven’s heartache, just another happy memory he stole from Marc. 

“Thanks, dad.”

“Marlene’s mother gave me those. The only time you ever willingly posed for a picture was with her,” Dad says when they reach the high school era. Pages filled with pictures of his teenage self, his hair a curly disaster, always wearing plain dark colored long sleeves or jackets and an awkward smile. Marlene appeared in some of the pictures, a colorful contrast to their gloom. 

Steven’s almost surprised to see Marlene, up until now he thought he made Marlene up, the sweet girl who moved back to Mexico with her fam– wait, is that what he made up? 

“These are so cute, did you have a teenage dirtbag era?” Layla asks playfully, awing at pictures. 

‘I guess that's one way to say we were extremely depressed,’ Marc jokes bitterly. 

‘I’m still in my teenage dirtbag era,’ Birdy adds on. 

“Marc and Birdy say yes,” Steven translates. 

They flip the next page to a young Marc? Probably Marc, wearing a black suit and light blue tie, with his arm wrapped around his date. Steven’s almost certain this picture is of Marc; despite the smile on his face. The only picture in the album where his eyes look so… alive. Steven’s glad.  

“Awww, was this your prom?” Layla asks. 

“Amnesia sure is brilliant, how did I never realize I was actually a yank if I went to the bloody prom?”

‘Do you remember that day?’ Marc asks. 

“Not really, but it looks familiar.” Almost like a watch movie, familiar but not… personal. 

‘I do, Marlene taught me how to dance,’ Jake chimes in as Layla flips to the last prom picture. It’s them outside, Marlene's shawl wrapped around both of them, their younger self which Steven suspects is Jake making a peace sign. 

‘Wait, did everyone know Marlene?’ Marc asks, taken aback. Jake, Birdy, and Daniela all nod. 

‘I don’t!’ Kid adds on, raising his hand. 

Marc just sighs, ‘thanks Kid.’

“I wonder what she's been up to…” Steven mumbles out loud, dad merely shrugging in response. 

‘She got blipped. Her movie director husband remarried while she was gone. Big scandal because when she blipped back it turned out she was pregnant,’ Daniela answers. 

‘How did you possibly know that?’ Marc asks in disbelief. 

‘That doesn’t concern you,’ Daniela snubs him.

‘Wait, what the hell does that mean?’ 

‘We can talk about this later Marc.’ Jake says directly.  

‘You too!?’ 

“Steven? Still doing ok? Need a break?” Dad asks, must have noticed his blank expression. 

“Yeah, everyone is just chatty at the moment,” Steven nods, giving him a quick thumbs up before continuing to flip through the pages.

‘That’s me. In that picture, I remember that,’ Birdy says suddenly when they come across a picture of their younger self and dad in front of a slice of cake. Must be at some restaurant, judging by the decor in the background. Their arms are wrapped around them, teary eyes despite the small smile.  

“Birdy says this picture is of her? Was this a birthday?” Steven asks dad. 

“Yes, sixteen. We had to celebrate it almost a month later...” Sixteen…? Oh. Right, sixteen. 

‘Do you like it? We can keep it.’ Jake asks softly, uncharacteristically unsure of the right thing to say, as if unsure if she wants to frame it or burn it. It takes her a minute before she nods, the same tearful smile as in the photograph on her face. 

“Oh thank G-d we did graduate,” Steven breathes when he sees the picture of them in a cap and gown, masking a bitter scowl. Steven notices Dad and Layla sharing a confused look at that comment.

‘Did you think I was lying?’ Marc asks. 

“Only a little. I just assumed that we ran away in the middle of the night or something,” Steven answers.

‘No, I’d been planning it for a while… you’re not super far off, I wanted to leave sooner but I kept pushing it off for some reason.’

‘You were scared,’ Steven comforts him, he was only a child at the time after all.  

‘I guess,’ Marc shrugs. 

‘What made you leave in the end?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I did,’ Jake answers to the surprise of everyone. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore, I knew if I didn’t act soon you wouldn’t make it. Sorry, probably another thing I should have told you about.’

‘Thanks, Jake,’ they all say sincerely.   

Chapter Text

#tiktoks

🕊 Birb 🦜[BOT]  

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfWkuSg/

[Alt: Do you guys like sopa de conchas or fideo better? I personally wish I can go back in time and slip a plan b in my moms drink 9 months before my birth but conchas are my fav]

Jake [BOT]

Birdy, that’s a dollar in the jar

😩 [1]

🕊 Birb 🦜[BOT]

@Jake https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfg6PdY/

[Alt: Women with a carrier sling. “Baby? No. Kitten,” The woman says as she relieves a gray cat’s face.]

❤️ [2]    

Daniela [BOT]

@Layla I still don’t understand why you married Marc https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRf7ajHh/

[Alt: Duet chain of people making fun of Arab/Middle Eastern media troupe and the orientalist portrayal. The last user duet with the caption “generic handsome former military white guy who is now an explorer”]

😉 [1]

Layla 

Listen.

Listen.

I was seduced by banana milk.

||and by his mommy milkers 😏||

And i love him very much.

Wonderful husband. 10/10 would marry again 

♥️ [2] 😒 [1] 

This video reminds me of Kid https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfWJpKW/

[Alt: a series of voice messages exchanged between a sister and her little brother. She’s pranking him by saying that she met a lady who makes cheap cakes, asking him to pick one. The boy says he wants the funny-looking minion one until the woman says the flavor is chocolate, vanilla, and cockroaches.]

“To be nice can you give her a little tip” STOPPP 😭😭 

Also how Mr. Knight makes friends https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfncduh/

[Alt: White rabbit with red eyes staring at the camera. The caption reads: "My mom says it's ok if we go commit war crimes if it's ok with your mom."]

😬 [1] 💀 [1]

🕊 Birb 🦜 [BOT]

Me irl https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfn3CnH/

[Alt: Video of a bath with pink water. The caption reads “The thing about me is that I’m not a clean girl, I'm just a very feminine rat. I’ve been dissociating in my bed all day. I just transferred myself to the bath to continue dissociating. The pajamas I live in just happen to be a light pink satin slip. I haven’t done laundry in a month but it’s kind of okay because I don’t leave my apartment much. Strawberry lemon heywell serves the same purpose as monster does; I’m just a different font of a dirtbag. May this find my people.]

Jake [BOT]

The prettiest sewer rat

💕 [1] 🥺 [1]

Hey Layla, did I ever tell you how I found Birdy? https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfW2fbU/

[Alt: Video of a man picking up a pigeon and sticking it in a brown paper bag. The audio says: “Sometimes people are like ‘Why’d you move back to New York’ and I was like ‘I don’t know I just really like the ambiance and there’s such a charm.’”]

🐭 [3]

Layla 

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfn3cfp/

[Alt: Woman holding an elegant teacup with the caption, “stealing isn’t illegal if it’s from the British Museum.” The audio in the background says: “you’re coming home with me.”]

That’s also how I got Steven. 

Jake [BOT]

Gatarina 💔💔💔 https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfWJN9C/

[Alt: Animated white cat dancing to “Tití Me Preguntó” by Bad Bunny.]

💕 [3]

@Marc 😡😤 https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfWNUH1/

[Alt: Woman walking in her cat. She says angrily, “Why did my cat come to tell me you called him fat, and that his shirts don’t fit, and he needs to stop eating because he has a big tummy. You can't do that, Luis. He’s a kitten, he’s little, he’s a baby. Pick on someone your own size. Rude. Don’t talk to him, Chui(the cat). Baldy.]

🖕🏽[1] 💯 [1]

Daniela [BOT]

yeah fuck marc

We cool making jokes about my mom? https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfncGvx/

[Alt: Man holding a ‘bloody’ slipper with audio of a weeping woman translating to: “I’m the one suffering.” The caption reads: “Hispanic moms after they beat the living sh** out of you 🩴”]

🙃 [1]  

Once again I'd like to propose we get rid of Steven https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfW686F/

[Alt: Latino-America saying: "okay, I have a theory but I need you guys to hear me out: have you ever seen a British Latino? No? I have and I was terrified. I think that they're manufactured because one what are you doing there? Spain makes sense, but English? Be for real." In the other the top fake British accent: "oh I just have to spray this bottle of water in my hair" to "mami ya le dije que no quiera comer." Open mouth confused reaction.] 

@Daniela [BOT] is Once again I'd like to propose we get rid of Steven https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfW686F/

Steven🦉 [BOT]

In a way I am kinda manufactured 🙃

🤝 [1] 

@Daniela [BOT] is We cool making jokes about my mom? https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRfncGvx/

Jake [BOT]

One a day seems fair. Not around Steven or Kid 

@Daniela is yeah fuck marc

Jake [BOT]

Also thats two dollar in the jar.  

 😡 [1]

@Steven🦉 is In a way I am kinda manufactured 🙃

Jake [BOT]

you too. one in the jar

Chapter Text

Birdy doesn’t remember their room, if she didn’t know better, it could have been any stranger's room. Impersonal, generic, foreign. Whenever she pictured their childhood bedroom, she imagined something like Steven’s old flat, filled with books and trinkets and personality. With band or sports or hot lady posters or whatever it is that teenage dudes like instead of a nearly blank blue wall. 

There was an old desktop on the corner that she doubts will even turn on. A high school diploma hanging above, Birdy has to assume that her dad was the one to hang it up. An old calendar still displaying May 2004. Scribbles reminders of appointments, work shifts, and finals. Birdy traces her hand over “graduation” written in big letters on May 15th. But other than that there wasn’t much. 

‘Your room is lame. Did you have like any hobbies growing up?’ Birdy asks Marc.

‘I hide everything under my bed or in the closet,’ Marc replies.

‘Why?’ Birdy asks, looking through the stuff in his closet. A binder pull of baseball cards. Another one with pokemon. Some books on Maya mythology, some about Aztec, but mostly books about Egypt.  

‘Used to be really into NASA and space and all that. She used it to belittle me for it. Can’t do that if she doesn’t know what I like.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ she mumbles. 

‘It’s ok. I’m glad you can have your hobbies now.’ Marc says as Birdy pulls out the box of CDs under his bed. Flipping through the collection. A majority of them are burned mixes tapes, song titles and doodles are written on them with sharpies. Lots of Green Day, Nirvana, Fall Out Boy. Mostly American rock and punk pop bands with the occasional appearance of some old British pop song or a Spanish rock classic. One of the only authentic CDs in the collection was Selena’s Amor Prohibido.

‘At least you had a good sense of music.’

‘Dad used to hate it,’ she smiles, imagining a younger Marc blasting his music while her dad sits there with a stoic face, pretending to be interested. 

‘Yeah. But he still knew what bands we liked and bought us some CDs when we were in the hospital, do you remember that?’ Marc shrugs sheepishly. 

He stays silent for a minute before saying, ‘I used to stay up all night listening to all that crap on the highest volume so that I could dissociate in peace.’ 

‘Maybe we’re not so different…’ she says, pulling out another box, an old unassuming shoe box. She pops it open and finds some magazines, a pipe and a raz– oh no. oh no. marc please don’t, stop stop stop. 

that hurts, please. 

i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt you, i’m sorry

‘Hey, hey, hey we’re ok. It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re not hurt, we’re okay,’ Jake repeats, wiping the tears from their face, sliding his hand up and down their other arm to soothe them. ‘We’re safe, don’t worry, it’s just a memory.’ 

“Hey, Dad? We want to try to see the pictures with Randall, is that alright?” Steven asks as they finish kneading the dough for the challah bread, wrapping the plastic around it. 

“You do..? Of course, but are you sure?” Dad says, looking surprised at his request. 

“Kid wants to.”

“Ok.” Dad returns to the table with the other photo album, the one Marc refused to even touch last night, and sits next to them, letting them take the lead. 

‘Do you want to front? I’ll stay here with you,’ Steven gently offers. 

‘Ok…’ Kid says, taking control of the uncomfortably big body with its long limbs and big hands. He takes the album papí hands him, slowly flipping through all the pictures of him and his little brother. The first one is him holding a picture of Roro while he was still in mamí’s tummy. Another one of him meeting Roro for the first time. Other pictures of them wearing matching outfits, both of them with big smiles. 

Kid really missed being an older brother, especially now he had so many older siblings. 

It’s nice! He loves his big sister and brothers. But it’s not the same. Looking down at the pictures of Roro, he really misses having someone to protect, he misses being the smart one, the brave one.    

“Randall was really cute…” Kid whispers. He should be here, he should be looking at these pictures with him, there should be more pictures. 

“You wer– are cute too, Kid,” papí tells him, patting his back.

“Gracias, papí,” Kid smiles. 

‘Kid, if you need a break I’m here,’ Steven reminds him but he’s ok. So he shakes his head and flips to the next page. 

Near the end of the collection is a picture of a birthday party. His birthday. One with cake and hats and a bounce house. He’s blowing out his eight candles and Roro is right there beside him. Roro’s cheering for him in celebration, anxious to catch up to him. But he never will, will he?

Because he let him drown. And that’s why you don’t have anyone to protect. What’s a dead boy going to protect? Mamí asked you to protect him and what did you do? 

I can’t breathe! Someone, please help –

‘Kid, it’s okay. Come here, come here, buddy. Take my hand. It wasn’t your fault. You’ll alright, you’ll alright,’ he hears, feeling his blanket wrapped around him. Steven hugs him tight, running his hands through his hair to soothe him. 

He misses Roro. 

Chapter Text

“Not a lot of stars in the city,” dad says, taking the seat across from him at the picnic table. 

“It’s a shame, innit it,” Steven responds. 

“Hey Steven…” dad pauses, waiting for Steven to look at him. ”I wanted to thank you. For convincing the others to come.”

“Don’t thank me, therapy’s been a lot of help. You know, now Marc’s actually talking. Took him months before he even introduce himself to our therapist. And the bloke mostly just complains about the others to her, but still.” 

“That sounds familiar,” dad chuckles. 

“Whadya mean?”

“I used to bribe you guys with ice cream to talk in therapy.”

“Birdy did tell us about that. The first couple of sessions she fronted, she demanded a ‘treat’ afterward.” Took them several weeks to convince her she can just ask for a treat, she doesn’t need to do something triggering first. 

“I… don’t want to overstep my boundaries but… What’s your goal in therapy?”

“‘Happiness after trauma.’ Working together as a system and integration. Mostly communication at this point. We’re getting better at it though. Not perfect, Daniela did empty our suitcase and replaced it with her stuff because she hates how I dress. But we’ve come a long way considering we didn’t even know we were a system a year ago.”

“Integration? As in integrating into one?” He asks surprised, taken aback slightly. “Which is great if that’s what–” 

“No! No, no,” Steven jumps slightly, aggressively shaking his head and hands. “At least, I don’t want to fuse with anyone, I don’t think the others really want that at the moment either. Integration as in breaking down the amnesia walls and increasing communication. Fusion is when two alters fuse into one.” 

“Sorry, just confused about the terminology. And how are you doing with that?”

“Better. But it’s not like I have any trauma to work through, I just support the others. When we first started going, we thought it was just Marc and me in the body. He wanted nothing to do with therapy but agreed to let me go as long as I didn’t mention anything about him or DID. So I did; talked about mum. Grieving someone I thought I knew, someone who never existed. I couldn’t talk about her with Marc without upsetting him so,” he shrugs. 

“How do you remember her?”

“Kind. Loving. She was always crying but in my memories, always thought they were tears of love or something.”

Dad frowns at that before saying, “I wouldn’t say you don’t have trauma. Your mother was sick, even without the alcohol. She’d go through a period of being… ‘okay’ but even then… she wasn’t. It was love bombing. I’m guessing that’s what you remember of her, just without the abuse context. She’d cry and beg you for forgiveness, promised she’d get help, spend all afternoon cooking your favorite dishes, buy you gifts and CDs. 

“It was also abuse. It was still trauma. It was a method of control, not to show affection,” he says with a tense voice. Dad’s shoulders are rounded, hands are clasped together, visibly uncomfortable. 

“How long did it take you to recognize that?” Steven asks. 

“Not until she died. Not until I started therapy,” dad lets out a hollow laugh. “So you were going to work through your grief and Marc gave you the okay to talk about the DID somewhere along the way?”

“Not quite. Birdy and Daniela worked together to try to sabotage me even going to the sessions. They’d make me miss my bus, or miss my stop, or cancel my appointments. Then the therapist met Birdy by accident when she got triggered to the front. She’s excellent at masking as Marc but bloody awful at imitating my accent. So the ruse was up.

“They asked me if I knew about DID/OSDD and offered me a referral with a specialist. Eventually, the others came around to the idea of therapy.”  

“You didn’t have an accent growing up. Sometimes, your teachers and others would mention that you’d slip into an English accent after particularly bad panic attacks but not regularly. I thought it was like a joke, almost like you were trying to make yourself laugh. When did you… become British?”

“Layla asked the same thing. I think my accent was internal until recently because I always remember being British. I think I just ‘translated’ everything into ‘British’ in my head. Like I don’t remember speaking Spanish at home, in my head we were all English.” A typical English family who ate tostones and frijoles negros instead of beans on toast. “What are you working on in therapy?”

“Grief. Responsibility. Acceptance. Moving on. Forgiveness.” 

“Do you talk about mum?”

“I do. I don't think Marc would care to talk about it.”

“I’m not Marc,” he reminds him. Dad just nods at that. 

“‘Free will is granted to every man. If he desires to incline towards the good way and be righteous, he has the power to do so; and if he desires to incline towards the unrighteous way and be a wicked man, he also has the power to do so. Give no place in your minds to that which is asserted by many of the ignorant: namely that the Holy One, blessed be He, decrees that a man from his birth should be either righteous or wicked,’” dad recites a familiar passage.  

“Maimonides?”

“Good. I was worried you’d forgotten,” he smiles proudly. “I don’t think your mother was a ‘bad person.’ As in, she didn’t come into this world as evil. She was a child who escaped from war, who lost her son, and proceed to take her pain out on you. She’s merely a reflection of her own actions and the damage it caused.

“But if her birthright was not to be ‘bad,’ that also means that she could have been good. She was capable of change. We’re all capable of change. My problem was thinking I was responsible for her change because in the process I hurt you all.”

“You had good intentions.”

“It doesn’t matter. You still had to deal with the consequences and that’s not fair.”

It wasn’t fair. It isn’t fair. And that will forever be his father’s greatest mistake.  

“Marc can’t see it like that. I think he internalized a lot of what mum said. He struggles to not see people as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Like, he’s bad because of what happened, Daniela is bad because she’s cruel, Jake is bad because he’s a liar, I’m good because I have to be.

“Got into an… argument of sorts with some a bit ago. Over the idea of eliminating an evil doer before they get the chance to commit the evil. I argued that in judging someone for a hypothetical crime, they’re in fact judging an innocent person. 

“I don’t think Marc believes people can change, fundamentally. Or at least, he doesn’t think he can change. He thinks he’s destined to bring pain to those around him and for that he must be punished. But he’s not, he’s worthy of forgiveness. He’s made mistakes but they’re that, mistakes.” 

They’re probably more mistakes on earth than grains of sand in the Arabian Desert or stars in the galaxy but are those not the consequences of free will? 

“What do you think? About forgiveness?” Dad asks after a minute of silent reflection. 

“I have to believe it’s possible. Seeing yourself as irredeemable is just defeatist and makes it so that you don’t have to do the hard work to change yourself. I don’t think it’s another person's responsibility to forgive you for your mistakes but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” he says looking up towards the stars. 

They were still at the house for whatever reason. Layla got a work call and excused herself to answer it, leaving them alone in the house until she returns and they can all head back to the hotel. It seems like everyone is exhausted since Jake’s the only one in the body. 

So he goes out to the backyard, leans against the cold brick wall, and removes one of his gloves to light a cigarette. 

“Smoking’s bad for you,” Jake hears as Elias walks towards. He sides and eyes him, taking another puff of his cigarette, the nerve of him to tell them what’s bad for him. “I’m guessing you’re Jake?” he shrugs.

Elias leans against the wall beside him, leaving a good couple of feet between them. Out of courtesy or out of fear, he wonders. There's no way Elias hasn’t figured that he was the bad one, the angry one, who would have screaming matches with him growing up. 

“I never got the chance to thank you… For protecting everyone, for keeping them alive. You’re a good son,” Elias says and Jake’s taken aback. The title of ‘good son’ should only be reserved for Kid, for Steven, for Marc. Certainly not him.  

“Thanks,” is all he says. 

“How long are you in town for?”

“Another week.”

“I’m assuming I never got a chance to take you to temple with me. Do you… want to join me for temple tomorrow?” Elias asks with a polite smile, surely out of some disingenuous fatherly duty. 

Jake nods.

Chapter Text

Marc:

Hey Marlene. It’s Marc.

Spector. Do you have any time soon to chat and catch up?

Marlene:

Sure. Are you still in London? What’s your time zone?

Marc:

Actually, I’m visiting my dad in Chicago until the end of this week

Marlene:

Oh. I’m in Chicago too atm visiting my brother. Want to come over for coffee? 

Marlene’s brother stayed in Chicago and inherited their family home, she tells him when she texts him the address. She had moved to Los Angeles and took her parents with her. The house is a decent size two-story red brick home with a nice backyard. Marc wonders if they still had that swing set in the backyard.  

“Marlene,” he says, instantly recognizing the woman standing in front of him. Years may have passed but he’d recognize those sharp eyes anywhere. Her face got a little slimmer, the dark circle under her eyes a little darker, her long dark hair is tied into a sleek pony, but it’s still Marlene. 

“Hi, Marc. Come inside,” she says, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He follows her lead, passing the living room with family portraits hanging on the wall and floor scattered in toys–a stark contrast to his dad’s lifeless place–and into the dining room.  

“Is your brother home?” Marc asks, surprised at how quiet it is. 

“Nah, the whole family is out shopping for my nephew’s birthday. I didn’t join them because my son takes his nap around this time. Want some coffee? Tea?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having” he says, taking a seat as Marlene preps a pot of coffee. “So ah… I didn’t know that we were still in contact.” Took him a bit (a lot) but he finally got Daniela to confess that she had a tradition of calling Marlene on their near-death anniversary. 

“What do you mean? We have a whole little thing where we call each and the other answers and says, ‘ope! You answered. That means you can’t kill yourself this year.'” She asks, squinting her eyes in confusion. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I joined the military at seventeen, straight out of school. Got kicked out and I fell into a dark place. Really dark. I was going to end it all; I had no future, no family, nothing. I really was, I was going to do it, but then I blacked out. Next thing I know, I’m in some apartment in Washington Heights and a whole year passed. I blacked out for a full year and I had zero memory of what I did during that time. 

“Until then, I always thought it was normal to not remember everything. You know how in TV, characters would cut from one scene to the next, I thought life was supposed to be like that. Obviously, stuff happens in between but it wasn’t important so your brain would just filter it out. So I never really questioned why I didn’t remember going to school, or going to work, or buying groceries or whatever. Just figured it wasn’t ‘important to the plot.’ But a whole year. 

“Come to find out that in that year, we reunited and have been talking semi-regularly since?” He finished, finally noticing the cup of coffee in front of him. Cream and sugar beside him. Marlene just stared at him, perplexed, as if he was a complicated math problem for her to figure out. 

“Really?” is all she says at first. Marc simply nods. She takes a slip of her coffee, opening her mouth as if to say something before closing it again. Marc slips on his drink as she thinks of what to say. 

Finally, she gently asks, “I’m going to ask you something but I need to make sure you’re okay first?” Marc nods. “Have you been to a doctor?” He nods again. “And have you been diagnosed with something that makes sense?” 

“Yeah, dissociative identity disorder.”

“Oh– wait, was it because of your mom?” He doesn’t answer, letting the silence do the talking. Her eyes widened in horror before scrambling, “I am so sorry, I swear I didn’t know. I knew that she had problems but I didn’t realize… You’re dad just seemed so on top of it. And I remember my parents asked you about it once and you always said you were fine…. Whenever you had bruises you told us you got into a fight with the neighborhood punks. Wait, how did none of the doctors or counselors or social workers notice?”

“DID is a survival tactic, I guess my brain decided it would be better if I didn’t know back then. I was also incredibly distrustful of adults so I refused to talk to anyone.”

The air is still, neither of them saying anything. Then, Marlene gets up to get something from the kitchen. The places a box of cookies in front of him, tapping on the circled ‘K’ on the label, giving him an apologetic smile. 

“It’s kosher,” he smiles slightly, appreciating the gesture. They both sip their coffee for a minute, taking a couple of bites of cookies.

“Ok I’m guessing that year in New York you didn’t front and that’s why you don’t remember?” Marlene asks and Marc nods in response. At that, her face relaxes slightly and says, “actually, that makes a lot of sense.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, not expecting her to understand how… easily, quickly. Layla had accused him of acting, why isn’t she? 

“Are you Marc? And you're the host?” he nods for the dozenth time. “When you wanted to be an archeologist, was that a different alter?” he nods. “So when I told you I liked when you were sweet and nice I was actually saying I like your alter more? Wow, I was such a bitch. I am so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, everyone likes Steven more,” he says, pressing his lips together. Steven can talk about his feelings, he knows how to carry a conversation, he has normal hobbies. Everything Marc can’t do.  

“That’s not true, I like all of you. Even if you don’t remember me, you’re still my friend and I care about all of you. Sweet nerdy Steven and brave kind Marc.” She’s lying, he knows. He still smiles because it’s a sweet lie. “So Steven is the archeologist. Is there one that mostly speaks Spanish? Like a tough protective one?”

“That’s Jake.” 

“He was the one in New York?” Marc nods. “But sometimes it was different. Wait just to be clear, you don’t remember anything from New York?” Marc shakes his head. “Ok so basically, I was going through a divorce and you offered me a place to stay while we were settling in court. Real gentleman, you went with me to file a restraining order and to all the lawyer meetings and all of that. I was so impressed because you were so grown up, like duh, you were but grown up in an ‘old-soul’ type of way. But then sometimes, you’d get a little sassy? Like, you’ve always been a little sassy but it was different. Like mean? But in a funny type of way? We’d go out for drinks and you were so good at figuring out guys' insecurities and you’d call them out. I used to joke that you have your tío mode and your bitchy sorority girl mode.”

“You weren’t far off…” He hesitates, not sure how much he wants to reveal. Daniela had already given him the go-ahead to mention her but still… Fuck it, she a part of him too. “Daniela. Her name is Daniela, she’s another part.”

“Marc, Steven, Jake, and Daniela?” She says, tapping her nails against the porcelain coffee cup. “The only one with a Spanish name y es la más tóxica? Marc, that’s some internalized racism,” she says in a condescending tone, shaking her head in disapproval. 

“Oh shut up. Jake’s name used to be Jacobo but he changed it at some point.” Apparently, Birdy started calling him Jake when they first met and he liked it. 

“Don’t be so serious, I’m just messing with you,” She laughs in response. “So what happened? You were in a bad place after the military and Jake and Daniela took over? Then what?”

“A lot of self-reflection. Finally had to come to terms that I wasn’t… normal. Then, I got a job as a contractor. Some security jobs. I didn’t actually know about Jake or Daniela until recently, I thought it was just Steven and Steven made himself a little life in New York for a year. And if I’d blackout, I just thought it was Steven. So I learned all my triggers, avoided them, and suppressed Steven as much as possible. Work out great for a couple of years.” Marlene squints her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe his statement. 

“Then what?” Marlene asks. 

“My mom died. And everything I worked so hard to build came crashing down. Suddenly, Steven has more control and he knows who I am and we’re both losing time. A whole mess.” Plus the whole thing with Harrow and Ammit but that’s not important. 

“Self-discovery is messy,” She smiles somberly, bringing up the cup to her lips. “But you seem like you’re doing better?”

“Yeah. Back in therapy. Not against my will this time,” even if it feels like it sometimes. “Actually dealing with my shit instead of burying them.”

“That’s good. I think it’s one of the hard things about mental illness, having to learn to live with it instead of suppressing it. How have you been otherwise? Mental illness aside?”

“Good. Married an amazing woman who still likes me despite everything. Got a cute dumb cat recently,” he says, pulling out his phone to show Marlene a picture that Steven took of Layla cuddling the fleabag, fraternizing with the enemy. 

“Wow, Marc. Wow. Way to rub it in that all my marriages have failed,” she scoffs, placing her hand on her collarbone. She breaks into laughter as soon as she sees the terrified expression on his face. “I’m joking! She’s very beautiful. The cat’s adorable too. I’m happy for you, you deserve to be loved. What’s her name? Where is she from?” 

“Layla, she’s Egyptian. And thank you.”  

“You guys thinking about having kids?” Marlene asks. Layla’s family asked. His dad had asked. Steven had asked. He gives them all a similar answer.  

“Nah.” 

“Shame. You and your wife would make a cute baby.” Marc has never given it much thought; he never imagines what their hypothetical baby would look like. A little boy with Layla’s soft smile, a little girl with her adorable curls. Nope. Never. 

“Yeah no. I would be a terrible dad.” 

“Why do you say that?” she asks curiously. 

“Be serious, Marlene. People like me shouldn’t–”

“People like you? It’s not like DID is genetic,” she cuts him off.

“It’s not just that, there’s other stuff that–”

“So people with mental illness? Or neurodivergent people? That’s pretty eugenic-y of you.” She sounds upset and this time Marc doesn’t think she’s joking. Fuck, why doesn’t he feel like he’s sixteen again and he forgot about their date?  

“No, it’s just that–”

“What are you trying to imply? Or did you forget I’m bipolar?” Fuck. Shit. Ahh. Steven, please help. Jake? Damn it. 

“No, no, I mean–” he looks away, anxiously gripping his cup with both hands. 

“Then what do you mean?” Her glare is like a magnifying glass, angling the sunbeam directly at him, making his skin burn. 

“I’m scared! That I'll end up like my mother. That my family is cursed to suffer and I can’t do that to a child,” he finally says, stumbling over his words. Marlene’s face softens at that. “My mom used to tell me how good I had it, how my upbringing was nothing compared to hers. Even if I give my kid a better life than I had, who's to say it would be good.”

“Your kids shouldn’t need to know how good they have, it should just be their normal. Having a good and safe home is not something a child needs to be grateful for. And Marc, everyone fears that they won’t be a good parent. I had a ‘good’ upbringing; my dad’s a renowned archeologist, my parents loved me, neither had problems with alcohol or anything, we were solidly middle class and you know how I ended up. I was so scared that I’d never be a good mom because of my shit. 

“But I created a support network, I took parenting classes, I worked on myself in therapy, and I cut everyone out who triggered me. I accepted that my diagnosis will always be a part of me and I need to learn to live with it. I am willing to continuously do the work to be the best mother I can be, to love my son, and to give him the best life.

“If you don’t want children, that’s fine. It’s not everyone. It's not a decision that should be taken lightly. But if deep down you want to be a dad and you’re just holding yourself back because you’re scared, work that out with your wife and in therapy. It is possible to break the cycle of intergenerational trauma.”

“How would I even do it with DID? What happens if I get triggered and someone who isn’t able to take care of baby fronts?” Marc couldn’t trust Daniela with a child. She’s only been hostile to them in the past but who’s to say she won’t see their child as an extension of them? Someone else she needs to punish. Or Mr. Knight? Marc doubts Mr. Knight has a parental bone anywhere beneath his three-piece suit. And Kid, how could he possibly trust a child to take care of another child? 

“That’s something to ask your therapist. Or actually, do you have any friends who are systems? You should see if there’s like a support group for systems. I’m sure some of them are parents, you could talk to them,” she says. “Raising a child when you’re mentally ill is extremely difficult but it is possible. Some dude I used to know used to try to tell me to be grateful for my bipolar and what it’s done for me. I remember telling him to fuck off, but maybe he did have a point. I knew I was suffering from postpartum depression because I’d experienced depression before so I knew how to ask for help. I know how to cope with high stress because I’ve been in therapy for almost two decades. I know I’ll never be perfect but I love my son so I’ll do everything to ensure he’s safe and happy.”

Marc doesn’t doubt a single word Marlene says; it’s something he was always jealous of. Her passion, her fiery loyalty, her refusal to take shit from anyone. 

“When did you get so mature?”

“Baby, I’m not sixteen anymore,” she teases. “But sometime after my second failed marriage and before pushing out a melón out of my concha .”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“No Marc, I won’t have a threeway with you and your wife, I’m a mother. But if you insi–”

“Marlene,” he groans. 

She snorts. “I’ll get you to laugh,” she says.

“Do you think we can be friends?” He did miss her. Her laugh, her drive. The way he could just talk to her without judgment or pity. 

“I hope so. I was already friends with one part of you. I don't see why I can’t be friends with you. Now that we’re both old and mentally stable,” Marlene jokes. 

“Mostly,” Marc says, crinkling his nose. Mental stability is on the incline but who’s the judge. And is she referring to his mental stability or are they being judged as a group? Because Marc doesn’t really know if that would up or decrease his score. 

They finish the coffee just before Marlene gets a notification on her phone. “Do you want to meet my son? He just woke up from his nap,” she asks. 

“Sure.”

After a few minutes, Marlene walks back down the stairs following the little boy with chubby little cheeks dotted with little dimples and the biggest chocolate brown eyes carrying a stuffed bear.

‘Awww a little baby. He’s precious,’ Steven coos, finally deciding to make his appearance. 

“Marc, this is Óscar. Saluda a tu tío Marc,” the little boy waves. 

“Hola chaparro ¿qué tal?” Marc asks him, crouching down to greet him. Baby Óscar just hands him the bear in response and Marlene laughs. 

Chapter Text

“Jake?” Layla asks when she returns to their hotel room, holding a brightly decorated gift bag. 

“Yup, sorry to disappoint. Marc and Steven asked me to take over,” he answers. It had been an odd day. Layla left to do some shopping while Birdy and Kid joined their dad for lunch, Jake had assumed that either Marc or Steven would take the body back afterward but they both insisted that Jake fronted, dodging and dismissing any questions Jake had over their suspicious behavior.   

“You know I’m very disappointed when you’re out, I love all parts of you,” Layla says. She placing the bag on the table in front of him before giving him a quick peck on the head. “Actually, I have a present for you and Daniela. For being such good sports. I know this trip was hard for you two.”

“Yeah?” he says with a bit of wariness, slowly pulling the bag toward himself. He tosses the tissue paper as the paper, slowly reaches into the bag. He feels like Gatarina when she’s trying to sneak a treat without anyone noticing. Jake’s never received a gift before, not completely sure of the social expectation of receiving a present.

“A shirt? Jewelry?” He asks, pulling out two orange short sleeve button down with a floral print, bringing the larger one up towards his chest. He assumes it's a matching set for them since Layla mirrors him, bringing the small shirt up to her chest. He likes it, although the style would be more suitable for the beach. 

“Keep going,” she smiles as Jake reaches back into the bag, pulling out two tickets from the bottom of the bag, ‘Bad Bunny at United Center’ written in bold text. 

Jake’s jaw drops in disbelief, surely this can’t be real. Must be some twisted attempt at a prank. Tickets were sold out within seconds–he knows, he tried. He even joked about trying to sneak in, catching the show from one of the support beams. He had the suit after all, using it a little selfishly wouldn’t have been the end of the world.  

“No way. Is this a prank?” He asks, still trying to process everything, struggling to vocalize a coherent thought. 

“Of course not.”

“How did you get tickets?”

“I have my ways,” she smirks innocently. 

“You are the best platonic wife,” Jake gasps with excitement, wrapping Layla up in a tight squeeze, kissing her face repeatedly. 

“You’re the sweetest platonic husband. Now, get dressed.” 

It doesn't take long for Daniela to pop in. She’s almost as ecstatic as Jake when she finds out about the concert, demanding Jake hand over the body so that she can clean it to her standards. 

‘I want to front during the show,’ Daniela says as soon as she finishes styling their hair.  

‘Layla gave me the tickets,’ Jake argues.

‘You said she said ‘present for you and Daniela.’ I’m not asking for permission, I’m fronting.’

‘Concerts are loud and sweaty and there are lots of lights. Are you up for that?’ He asks sincerely. 

‘Fuck you, I know my limits,’ she rolls her eyes, making a show of putting their stress ball, sensory-friendly rose-colored glasses, and new pair of earplugs in Layla’s purse.  

‘Just looking out for you, no need to be so snappy. Why don’t we try to be co-con for it? That way we can both enjoy it?’

‘Fine.’

As the concert plays, the stage’s lights turn purple before the next song begins, the spotlight shining on Bad Bunny as he walks across the catwalk. 

“Como si ser mujer fuera un pecado. La demonia ha despertado, ey, una guerrera,” Daniela sings along, screaming with the rest of the crowd. 

After the last note plays and they shuffle outside of the concert venue, Layla wraps her arms around Daniela's waist from behind. Layla’s teeth shatter slightly as the cold breeze blows through them, hiding her face in Dani’s shirt as they wait for their taxi.  

“Did you guys like it?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Jake really like ‘Despues De La Playa’ and ‘Me Porto Bonito.’ Although, he was pretty jealous that Benito kissed one of the dancers, he said it should have been him. What did you think?” Daniela asks. 

“I liked it. Isn’t Jake super ace, why does he want to kiss him,” Layla laughs. 

“He said a bit ago his two expectations are Bad Bunny and Selena,” Daniela shrugs, although she can't judge.  

 I liked Bad Bunny’s skirt, he looked good.” 

“I like that too. Middle finger to machismo, está cool.”

“Dani, do you want a skirt? I think you could pull it off.”

“Maybe,” she whispers. 

Chapter Text

“So what are your mommy issues?” Daniela leans in, resting her chin on her hand, fluttering her eyes. 

“That obvious?” Matt chuckles, giving her his signature striking Murdock smile. “Never knew her. Left before I was a year old.”

“Daddy issues too?”

“Yeah, he was killed. I was nine,” he says casually, taking another sip of his beer. 

“Damn. Double abandonment issues. Was that before or after you lost your vision?” 

“Bit after. Guess I really couldn’t see a world without my dad,” Daniela snorts in response, shaking her head at the terrible joke. “You know most people say they’re sorry right about now,” Matt adds on in a teasing tone. 

“Haven’t you been pitied enough? Orphan, blind, and catholic,” Daniela says, sliding in a little closer on the booth. Sitting side by side, with the only person who in the whole bar that matters.   

“So what about you? What are your mommy and daddy issues?”

“Yeah you know, my mom liked to drink. I don’t really remember my dad, always working or praying. Typically family crap, just swap the gender roles,” she shrugs. 

“I’m sor–” Matt's tone changes, the light teasing turns heavy, sincerely sympathizing for her homelife despite him coming from nothing. Nice guys are a buzzkill.   

“Don’t be. I don’t need your pity,” she answers bitterly, finishing off her drink. Despite her comment, Matt brings her in, guiding her head to his shoulder. He rests his head on her, and the booze on his breath gives her an uneasy sense of comfort and familiarity.   

“Are you angry?” Matt asks softly. 

“Yes.”

“At your parents?” 

“No. At myself. Well, parts of myself.” The bad parts of herself. The parts that won’t listen.

“I understand that.” No, he doesn’t. But still, he takes her hand, and feels nice between his fingers. Everything with Matt felt nice. The way the pulls her in for a kiss, how he holds her face, how he makes her head spin, how despite everything she knows she has all the control.  

“My friend told me I need to stop doing this,” he breaks off, still smiling.  

“Doing what?” Daniela asks innocently. 

“Oversharing and bonding over trauma with people I just met,” he laughs. 

“Technically, we’ve known each other for a couple of weeks. Not total strangers. But how come?”

“False perception of closeness. Make you think you have a deeper bond than in reality.” 

“That’s probably smart. You should keep that in mind for your next relationship. You in therapy?”

“I was after the accident. Now… does confession count?”

“Pssh no. You should look into it again. Find a healthy outlet for your anger instead of punching sandbags until your knuckles bleed.” Even with the bar's dim lighting, the bruises on his skin glow, radiating the rage he so clearly felt behind the charming smile.  

“Can’t really look into anything, can I? How about you?”

“Nah, that’s for white people,” she says, thinking back to the one someone told their therapist that their mom spanked them and he asked them if it was a cultural practice. They all collectively refused to say another word to them afterward. “Joking, mostly. I got medical trauma now, not doing that again. Anyways, wanna get out of here?”

“Lead the way.” So Daniela takes his hand. Even if it's just for the night, it almost doesn't feel like a lie. 

Chapter Text

Marc has been anticipating this would happen soon; scrolling through Twitter in the last few days some sources reported that the Queen was feeling unwell. Then, news broke out that she canceled a royal appearance. To be honest, Marc could care less about where the Queen lived or died, to him he was just another rich elite who uses her power to exploit others.

Steven, however, is another story. Until now, Steven hadn't indicated any negative or positive opinion toward the monarchy. Although Steven is not known for shying away from expressing his general disapproval and disgust of far-right policies, so by all accounts they’d all just assume that he wasn’t a fan. But to everyone’s surprise, Steven has been anxious all week, dropping consent comments about how he hopes the Queen’s alright and that she’ll pull through. In all likeliness, Steven is compassionate to the person who hates seeing anyone suffer, politics aside. Whatever the reason, Marc knows Steven will be devastated, and even if he doesn’t understand the loyalty, the least he can do is be respectful of Steven’s feelings. 

Now the problem: Layla hates the queen and everything she represents. Rightfully so, all things considered. Luckily for him, she’s currently out of the country and won’t be home until this evening. Marc can deal with that by texting Layla a quick message. “Happy The Witch is Dead Day!  I will party with you but can you please be sensitive around Steven, he likes her for some reason?”

Then there’s the other problem: everyone else in the system. 

“Emergency meeting without the worm? Nice,” Daniela says as she enters the conference room, pulling on her chair. 

Marc lets everyone else shuffle in before he starts. Patiently waiting as Jake and Birdy push her and Kid’s chair together so they can snuggle in case they get stressed. They really should just get a double chair or couch for them–complain to HR. Maybe get an inner world HR first. 

When everyone takes their seat, Marc takes the center of the room, across from everyone at the crescent table, before announcing, “the Queen died this morning.”

“Marc, I can’t believe you would bring this up so soon, you know I’m still mourning my queen. Descansa en paz, Selena,” Jake gasps, tilting his hat down to cover his eyes as if legitimately sad. 

“I always spoke with Layla about this but basically, even though I know that most of us hate the bourgeoisie, Steven really liked her for some reason and I think we should try to be respectful of his feelings.”

“Sounds fair but I think we should all be allowed one joke,” Jake says. 

“Yeah, seems fair. Go ahead.”

“Do you think Ammit will enjoy eating her heart o como que le falta sazón?” Daniela cuts straight into it with a devilish smirk. 

“Damn, Liz’s really about to colonize the afterlife now,” Jake says in a disappointed voice. 

“Do yo–do you guys think that the corgis are going to end up at the pound now that they don’t have an owner? If so, I think that we should make the sacrifice and take one of them and give them a nice home. And then the corgi and Gatarina can be best friends,” Kid rambles on hopefully. Not really a joke, seeing as he clenched his fist and wiggled in his chair slightly over the possibility that they’ll get him a puppy. 

“I heard the monarchy buries their pet with their owner,” Daniela teases. 

Kid's face drops instantly–as if Daniela told him that she just killed his puppy–which she sorta did–and anxious cries out, “what! No! Jake, plea–”

“Daniela, don’t be mean. Apologize,” Jake scolds her but she shrugs it off. 

“If the queen gets reincarnated as Trisha Paytas’s baby, does that mean the queen’s going to celebrate Hanukkah with us this year?” Birdy says, presumably referencing some celebrity or internet personality. 

“Who?” Daniela asks.

“The lady from the ‘I Love You, Moses’ video,” they all collectively groan. 

“I’m going to need to find someone else to outlive,” Marc says as Birdy nods along in approval. 

“Hey Marc, hear me out. I know it’s crazy but what if we just didn’t make jokes about killing ourselves,” Jake suggests. 

“Don’t take away my coping mechanism.”

“Jokes aside, I wonder if the Queen’s death will be weaponized to recruit young people down the alt-right pipeline in the same vein as other national tragedies have. I will be frank, and please excuse my language children, but fuck the Queen. I have no sympathy for someone who is directly linked to the exploitation, colonization, oppression, and suffering of millions of people. 

“I guess that’s more of a comment than a joke. Um… the new season of the Crown will be… ‘fire,’” Mr. Knight concludes. 

“Hey, buddy, nice of you to join us,” Marc says softly when Steven finally opens in. 

“Hey, Marc? Why are you being weird?” Steven asks suspiciously. 

“No reason. So your job emailed you, I didn’t open it because it’s your thing but the subject said that the museum is closed today.”

“What? Seriously, why?” Steven asked, pressing his lips together in confusion. “Maybe they’re finally calling an exterminator over the ants in the break room.”

“Before you open the email, remember that I’m here for you,” Marc says sincerely. 

“Yeah alright…” he mumbles, unlocking his phone and opening up the email. Marc tenses up as he feels Steven's eyes trail across the words, “British Museum Closed In Observes of the Death of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II,” dreading what's to come.  

“Oh no!” Steven cries out, hiding his face in his hands. 

“It’s okay buddy! Don’t be sad, we ca–”

“I lost the bet! Damn it! I bet one of my co-workers a hundred pounds that the Queen would make it hundred years and I was so close! Why couldn’t she have waited another month to kick the bucket, we were so close!”

Chapter Text

#confessions

Pinned Messages

Jake [BOT]

Keep it light-hearted. Anything serious Steven will use against you and force you to talk about in therapy. Yes, this is a threat.

Marc [BOT]

Whenever I make tea for Steven I microwave the water

Steven 🦉[BOT]

Marc… I trusted you 😭

🐻Kid! ⚾️🧢[BOT]

I ate a cheeseburger on accident im really sorry!! 😔

Jake [BOT]

Oh.

Fuck were we supposed to keep kosher?

🕊 Birb 🦜[BOT]

!!!!!!!!!

YES!?

Wait, are we not?? D:

Jake [BOT]

I have a confession

I thought we were catholic until we were like 14

Like i always knew my dad was super religious but 

Steven 🦉[BOT]

How??? Why??? We went to Hebrew school, we had a bar mitzvah

The body's last name is Spector??

Jake [BOT]

You had a bat mitzvah, you went to Hebrew school. 

I just never put two and two together

In my defense, growing up I only fronted when I had to 

Or in Spanish class

Daniela [BOT]

No kids or birds ||I want to sleep with Layla||

Marc [BOT]

No.

Also that’s not a confession, we all know this already

Steven 🦉[BOT]

Thanks for telling us, Daniela. Maybe we can work towards that conversation with Layla and discuss boundaries and what we’re all comfortable with

Marc [BOT]

What no, absolutely not.

Daniela doesn’t get to be an antagonist jerk to us and snuggle with our wife

Steven 🦉[BOT]

Mate, I don’t want to repeat the 2025 fight we had. Remember, we are not competing over Layla’s love, she still loves you. If Daniela loves Layla romantically as well we need to discuss this, she deserve to at least have this conversation

Daniela [BOT]

Stop talking about me like I can’t read the chat 

Also Steven stfu I dont need you to white knight for me

All this talks about “open conversation” and “working together as a system” just you’re too much of a coward to talk to me. 

Marc [BOT]

message removed

No. Daniela didn’t even want us to date Layla in the first place, she kept telling me that I’m worthless and I’ll never be enough for her. And she did anything possible to sabotage our relationship by making me late/miss dates, deleting texts from Layla, lashing out at her

Daniela [BOT]

You didn’t deserve Layla, you still don’t. She’s still too good for you, murderer

I was doing that for her sake, maybe she’d wised up than to be with someone like you.

You nearly got her killed

It would have all been your fault

Marc [BOT]

Message removed

Daniela [BOT]

Stop deleting your messages, this is so childish.

Marc [BOT]

You’ve never even apologized for the years of torment. I know you’re different with Layla but seriously, you want me to be ok with this when you won’t even say you’re sorry for being a bully for all our life!?

Daniela [BOT]

Apologize!? ME!? What about you? When I BEGGED you to leave the army 

That was literally the worst time of my life and you never cared

I was FINALLY happy for the first time in my life after when we got out, without you. Without Steven. 

BUT despite everything I did and how much I begged, you went right back to work with ||Bushman||  

You NEVER apologize to me yet you want me to apologize to you

Come mierda

Jake [BOT]

We are not having this conversation over discord. Both of you, stop it.

@Jake is Keep it light-hearted. Anything serious Steven will use against you and force you to talk about in therapy. Yes, this is a threat.

Steven 🦉[BOT]

Both you better front during today’s session, I already texted Carol 

(the cooler) Mr. Knight [BOT]

I’m banned from 13 countries and there is an active warrant for our arrest in Texas

Also, who changed my username? 

Text message to Carol (Psychologist)

Lunar Sys

Hey Carol it’s Steven. Daniela just told us that she wants a physical relationship with our wife. To be honest, I’m really gutted over this. Marc got upset and went off on her in the chat long but to be honest, I think Marc has a point. It’s very unfair that Daniela has done the bare minimum to cooperate and be kind to the system yet still wants to be with our wife.

I know Daniela is hurting and just wants to be loved but still. 

I tried to be neutral and compromise and hear her out but now Marc is gone and I can’t reach him. Can we please talk about that today?

Carol (Psychologist)

Of course. See you this afternoon!

Chapter Text

“I packed you a cooler with some food and snacks Marc says you guys can’t get in England. Steven mentioned that Daniela likes cooking, I packed in your Abuela Rita’s recipe book. Good luck trying to figure out any proportions for the ingredients. And some of the stuff that the kids wanted from your old room. Plus, all the pictures,” Dad says, pushing down the handle of the suitcase. Dad asked Marc to leave one of their suitcases at the house so that he could fill it up with sentimental crap of a buried past. 

“Thanks,” Jake mumbles, digging his hand deep into his pockets, and staring down at the suitcase.  

“There’s a couple of more things I have for you guys. I don’t know if you’ll be able to take it on the plane though. Marc mentioned having to stop by New York for a job before heading back home. Maybe I could ship it to you? Or–”

“Dad,” Jake interrupts him, knowing overwise that his dad would likely go on in circles. 

“Sorry. I’ll be back, just–” he shuffles off upstairs. Jake just looks over at Layla and shrugs. Layla gives him a sympathetic smile before going back to her laptop, finalizing their last-minute accommodation in New York. 

When his dad returns, he’s carrying a hard guitar case in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other. He set the case down on the couch, unlocking the latches to reveal a light orange-colored acoustic guitar, with a decorative ring around the soundhole. The glossy shine masked behind a layer of dust of years of unuse. “It was your grandfather. It was the first big splurge he bought when he arrived to Miami. He told me that he had a similar one back in Cuba that his older brother gave him. But he was only allowed to take one suitcase with him so he had to leave the guitar behind. 

"So when he got here, he’d save a little from each paycheck. Hid a dollar under his bed until he finally had enough to buy another guitar. He used to take me to the beach and he’d play for us.”

“Why the beach?”

“He said he hoped the waves carried his song so his brother could hear him play. His brother chose to stay back in Havana.”

“Did you ever play?” Jake asks, sliding his finger down the cords, trying to feel the vibration of a lost song. That of longing and loneliness. Of a family divided by the harsh water, drowning anyone who tries to swim across. 

“I did. I used to at least. I stopped when Randall passed, I just couldn’t. I always wanted you to have it but it never felt like the right time. Hopefully, it is now. Maybe you can carry the tradition and play for Randall.”

“I don’t remember him,” Jake says flatly. 

“Then play it for yourself and your other parts.”

“Thanks.”

“I… have something else but I am not sure you’ll want it,” dad says, looking towards the bag. 

“What is it?” Dad lets Jake pull the item out of the bag, a thick woven blanket, alternating between different colored stripes with different geometric figures to create an elegant tapestry.  

“I was hoping to speak with Daniela and ask if she would want this blanket. But I understand that she wasn’t comfortable yet. Still, can you give this to her? If she doesn’t want it, you can mail it back or toss it or…” he stops when he notices Jake’s expression, picking up on Jake’s silently request to get to the point. 

“Your grandmother made this for your mother before she left. She was worried that she’d get cold traveling in the desert. It took up half the space in her backpack. She said she was too scared even to use it, that they’d know she’s Guatemalan and she’d get harassed for it. 

“And these Muñeca quitapena they were also your mothers. According to the myths–”

“‘The sun god granted the Mayan princess an extraordinary gift that can solve any human problem.’” Jake recalls, taking the little dolls in his hand. 

“You used to have your own, I don’t know if you remember.”  

“Yeah, I remember.” At some point in their upbringing, Marc stopped talking to his dolls; it was pointless and childish after all. But he always talked to Jake about all his worries, his pain, his fears. And Jake listened, even if Marc wasn’t aware.

“I know your mother hurt you and hope you don’t interpret this as a request for you to forgive her, I will never ask that from you. I guess I see this as an extension of that side of your family and heritage, separate from her. I think Kid would like the dolls, at least.”

“Ok.”

“I know I wasn’t a good father to you growing up but I want all of you to know I regret all past actions. But I want you to know I’m here for all of you. If you guys have any questions or concerns, or if you want to talk about anything, I’m here.” Dad says, gently patting Jake on the side of his arm. 

“We’ll keep in touch. Part of us, at least.”

“Thank you, hijo. Oh and before you go, I pack you and Layla a snack. Make sure to eat it before you get to TSA.” Elias hands them a tupperware with mixed cut fruit, diced up into small chunks. Papaya, pineapple, mango, and strawberries, all mixed in for a sweet treat. Two sets of plastic forks wrapped around a napkin placed on top of the container. And from his side, Jake hears Layla trying to suppress her laughter, bringing her hand to cover her giggle. 

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just that Marc always cuts fruit for me. I had always thought it was an Arab thing but Marc's been feeding me fruit since we start dating. It’s sweet.”

The act is sweet; just like the fruit. Not artificial, natural. 

But a seed doesn’t bloom into a fruit tree overnight, or over the course of a trip. It needs constant work, constant care. 

Maybe one day Jake can have natural peace with his father. Maybe someday. 

Chapter Text

‘After last week's situation with the DODC which resulted in us getting jailed for the night, I’m hosting a seminar on proper behavior when questioned or detained by a governmental official. Ms. Daniela, sit down.’ Mr. Knight says, standing in front of the projector screen, glaring down at Daniela who had gotten up as soon as Mr. Knight mentioned ‘seminar.’ 

‘This is stupid, I’m fine at talking to the pigs. I’m great with animals,’ Daniela with a deep-set frown and an irritated expression, arms crossed against her chest. 

‘Ms. Daniela, may I remind you are responsible for this situation? All you had to do was inform the agents that you were assisting Captain America on a case and you stayed behind to offer first aid to the victims. Instead, you were extremely aggressive and verbally assaulted the agent.’

‘All I did was tell my truth, I don’t see what I did wrong.’

‘You got us arrested. Luckily, we were in New York, and therefore Mr. Murdock and Mr. Wilson were able to assist us.’

‘So problem solved.’

‘Had it been anywhere else, who knows how complicated the situation would have been.’

‘Why would I take advice from a love child of James Bond and the Punisher with the emotional grace and awareness of an absent father?’

‘Ms. Daniela, this is for the safety of the system. If you want to keep the system safe, sit down and listen.’ And with a deep sigh, she drops back down to her chair. Face with scowling at Mr. Knight, plotting all the different ways she can enact her revenge. 

Before Mr. Knight continues, Steven raises his hand to ask, ‘Mr. Knight? I love the idea for this seminar, but may I ask why are we here?’ Pointing at Marc, Jake, and himself. 

‘Unlike Ms. Daniela, I’m not concerned about your aggression but your inability to shut up, Mr. Grant. I need you to understand that under no circumstances are the police or any government agents your friends and anything you say can be held against you. Unlike the Avengers, we are not offered any legal sanctuary. The United States Department of Damage Control has been particularly aggressive towards all enhanced individuals recently and therefore we must take extra precautions,’ Mr. Knight explains. 

‘Yeah, all right. Fair enough,’ Steven grumbles, dropping his face onto his hand, slouching down on his chair. 

‘Ms. Bird, Mr. Kid, I sincerely hope that you two will never be involved in a situation like this. Since everyone is here, I would also like to suggest we start implementing ‘fire drills’ practice and create a safe space for the children to hide in case of a triggering or unsafe situation. Essential practicing raising some dissociative barriers for your safety.’

‘I’ve been doing that since we were in the military and all through the mercenary/Moon Knight years. Whenever we were in a scary situation, I’d lock Birdy up in her room. Starting doing the same with Kid after I found him,’ Jake adds on. 

'I don't know about Kid but Birdy has definitely slipped through a couple of times. She's too noisy, it's not safe,' Marc says.

‘Hey!’ Birdy exclaims, with lips curling inwards. 

‘Palomita, you know what happens,’ Jake shakes his head.   

‘Her arms were cut off, her legs were cut off…’ Birdy mutters, quoting that one TikTok that had Layla laughing so much her face turned red. 

‘I appreciate that Mr. Lockley but I think we should grate the children more autonomy and let them evacuate without you. We can discuss the details at a later date, but I think Ms. Bird should be in charge of it. However, if all of the adults are incapacitated and unable to assist and one of you is in the front, we need you two to be aware of how to behave properly when it comes to cops.’

‘Act like Marc and run away, got it!’ Birdy says proudly, getting Kid’s nod of approval. 

‘No, no, don’t do that. They have guns. Although, Ms. Daniela, I do want to thank you for masking as Marc. Please continue to do that when dealing with the authorities.’

‘Why? Is my regular accent too ethnic for you? Do I sound too much like a paisa campesina? That’s fucking racist,’ she growls, seemly making her accent even heavier just to get her point across. 

‘Yes Ms. Daniela, that’s the point. The police are racist and ableist and it’s safer for all of us if they perceive us as an American singlet who sometimes has a British accent.’  

‘Mr. Knight, I don’t understand any of this. The police are there to protect us, my parents and teacher told me that we should call the police if we need help,’ Kid says. 

‘I admire your optimistic naïveté,’ Mr. Knight says, giving Kid a gentle pat on the top of his head. 

‘Anyways, now let’s ‘roleplay,’’ Mr. Knight says, making air quotes around the word. ‘The police, DODC or SWORD detains you, they offer you a snack, what do you do?’

‘Thank them…?’ Steven says, pitch getting slightly higher towards the end. 

‘No. Ms. Bird?’

‘I want a lawyer.’ 

‘Good. They reply: ‘why do you want a lawyer if you have nothing to hide? Unless you’re actually guilty.’ Ms. Daniela, how do you answer?’

‘Thank you for your insight, smartass. Call my damn lawyer,’ Mr. Knight covers their face with both hands in frustration. 

‘This is going to be a long night,’ Mr. Knight mutters under his breath, taking an exacerbated sigh.  ‘Mr. Grant, an officer asks you why you referred to yourself as ‘we,’ what do you say?’

‘I’m talking on an earpiece.’

‘No, try again.’

‘I… want an attorney?’ 

‘Correct.’

Chapter Text

Steven Grant has a secret; several actually. Like how he replaces Marc’s protein powder with a vegan alternative and how he bribes Carol with fancy tea in hopes of being her favorite patient, or at least her favorite Lunar System alter. This particular secret Steven was silently hoping would just fix itself over. Ideally something that would just stay a secret and no one would ever find out. Hoping that as their communication skills increase and the amnesia barriers decrease, Steven will eventually just regain the skill. Because Steven's deep embarrassing secret is... he doesn't know Spanish. 

It truly did not make any sense; it was the brain’s first language. Marc knows it, the littles know it, and it's Jake and Daniela's preferred language. By all accounts, Steven should be able to understand it, but it’s all gibberish to him.  

So when Steven walks into the center room, he instantly feels the stress pouring down his forehead. That same nightmare of walking into the wrong class and the professor handing him an exam on a subject he never even heard of. Expect it is the right class, making it all the more embarrassing. 

Daniela and Jake are deep in discussion, and for once it doesn’t sound like they’re fighting(did realize they could do that). Something something something about research? TID? He looks over to Marc as he takes his seat, who merely shrugs in response. The littles also offer little information, both completely checked out of the conversation, Birdy with her switch and Kid with his coloring book. 

Daniela stops her monologue briefly when she sees Steven take his seat, shooting him an irritated glare, before continuing with, ‘No pues es que yo estaba debajo de la impresión de que la prevalencia de TID era mucho más baja. Yo nunca he conocido otro sistema, por lo menos de lo que yo sepa. Pero si en verdad es alrededor de un porciento de la población, no esta tan raro como lo pensaba.’

‘Pero también se tiene que tener en cuenta que el artículo que leímos condujo los estudios en los EEUU. Entonces, me pregunto si ese dato en verdad es correcto en términos mundiales porque si teoría de disociación estructural dice que TID es causado cuando los estado del yo no se integran al terminar la infancia por resultado de trauma intensa y repetitiva, yo pensaría que en lugares como Latinoamérica donde la corruptions, la pobreza, la violencia y la constante guerra ha traumatizaron millones de niños, estuviera más alto que en los EEUU. Y no solo Latinoamérica pero todos los países del sur global.’ Jake adds on as Daniela and Mr. Knight nod along. 

‘Si me permiten agregar un punto, también se tiene que considerar los obstáculos sociales, económicos, regionales, y raciales del tratamiento de la salud mental. La gente pobre, que estadísticamente es más vulnerable a eventos traumáticos, muchas veces no tienen las oportunidades de recibir ayuda médica o la educación para reconocer que sus problemas son conectados al TID–’ Mr. Knight argues, his typically professionalism translating perfectly to Spanish. Steven winces a little, hoping Mr. Knight also did know Spanish. Why would they even need to know Spanish to do Khonshu’s dirt work? 

Steven knows he could always ask Marc for a summary afterward, Steven had already let it slip to Marc that he wasn’t totally fluent and simply skating by on his French skills. However, it might be time to just fess up. He really didn’t feel like getting scolded by Mr. Knight and their therapist again for only really talking to Marc. 

So with a begrudging sigh, dredging the teasing he knows will come, Steven says, ‘guys. Can we please have this conversation in English? I don’t know all the terminology in Spanish. Also, Mr. Knight, since when do you know Spanish?’

‘I’ve always known Spanish, Mr. Grant. It’s good for community outreach. 13.5% of the US population speaks Spanish and I need to be able to communicate effectively with Spanish speakers in case of a crisis,’ they say, reverting back to English. 

Daniela, on the other hand, rolls her eyes. ‘No. Ahora tu sabes como nos sentimos cuando ustedes hablan sus pendejadas en inglés. Como te estaba diciendo Jacobo–’

‘Daniela, I do understand ’pendejadas’ and I don't appreciate it,’ Steven says, peeved. 

‘Aprende español pues, Sherlock. ¿Cómo vas a dejar que los chamacos mocosos hablen mejor que tú? Patajo, Palomita, ¿ustedes si nos entiendes?’ Daniela asks the kids, both who jolt up the second she says their names. 

‘Si!’ Kid nods along excitedly. 

‘De qué hablamos?’ 

‘No sé!’ Kid shrugs, bringing his hands up, and gives an innocent smile. Daniela just shakes her head before looking over at Birdy. 

‘Siendo honesta, I’m lost. I was not paying attention. You guys are talking about the prevalence of mental illness in Latin America? Does TID mean DID? I only really know Spanish in the context of Neon Genesis Evangelion and to talk to that one really nice Dominican nurse. She used to call me mijo and bring me jello when I couldn’t eat, she was my favorite. And then she retired and left me,’ Birdy sighs dramatically, falling back into her chair. 

‘You liked EVA?’  Steven asks her, giving her a high five. 

‘Yeah! Papi bought us a pirated copy from some guy selling DVDs outside of the Latin Supermarket, remember? It was my comfort show.’ As soon as she says that, the gears in Steven’s head spin. Birdy’s pale complexion, her white hair, the bandages…

‘Wait a minute, are you an introject of Rei?’ He asks, only to receive an unconvincing head shake in response. 

‘Don’t switch the topic. Steven, do you actually not know Spanish? I thought you were joking?’ Jake asks, back in English. 

‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ he mumbles, crossing his arms and looking away. Catching Marc holding in a grin from the sidelines, trying his best not to laugh. Steven knows it’s going to be exactly like last time when they’d all teased him mercilessly for forgetting they were latine; calling him a conquistador , a colonizer. It didn’t help that Layla also played along, offering kisses only in exchange for permission to burglarize the British Museum. 

‘Steven can’t speak it! He sounds like Roro and me when we used to play Tomb Buster in Spanish,’ Kid exclaims, proud he finally had something to share. 

‘Kid! Don’t expose me! They’ll gang up on me again.’ That little punk, how did he know? 

‘That doesn’t make sense, you spoke Spanish when we were younger? Dad confirmed it,’ Jake asks, staring at him, dumbfoundedly. 

‘Maybe the Bri’ishness canceled it out?’ Birdy jokes, smugly.

‘Can you guys please stop looking at me like this? I don’t actually understand our brain.’

Chapter Text

The first thing they notice is the wretched smell-that of old fish and cheese, filling their nostrils and leaving an acidic taste in their mouth. Then they feel their head, switch felt heavier than lead, hanging over a bucket. They try to push it away-not realizing that the bin is the only thing keeping their head up-before fully collapsing onto the ground. 

“Why are we on the floor? Who was it?” they mumble, in an unfamiliar accent. 

“Birdy. We did trauma work,” they hear their therapist say. Still struggling to focus their vision, fighting off the splitting headache forming on the horizon. 

“Ugh, did she vomit?” A redundant question, as if the bitter taste in their mouth didn’t answer that. “At least she got it out.”

“Daniela, you do know that most people don’t have a secret agenda and aren’t trying to manipulate you?”

“Yeah, ok,” Daniela says with a scoff. 

“-and then Gatarina made big body at me as if I were Marc. We left her alone for three weeks and she forgot all about me–”

“Jake, why don’t we talk about your trip to see your father?”

“No. Anyways, then Gatarina–”

“Marc, let's go back to that. Do you still think you’re undeserving of love?”

“Or we could not,” Marc grumbles. 

“Jake got me a new game, it’s called Fire Emblem and you can play as this like mercenary turned professor and you can pick like a group of students to be on your team. I picked the yellow ones because the guy was funny but look at this girl. Her name is Lythesia and she’s my favorite. She even kinda looks like me in the inner world, we have the same hair. Her whole thing is that she had a bunch of older siblings until they all got kidnaped for some blood experiment. All of her siblings died except for her so now she has two crescents and is extra powerful. But, because of the experiments, her lifespan is shortened. So since she knows she going to die young, she’s super motivated to make the most of it to save her family and country,” Birdy rambles, showing Carol a picture of the character on her phone. 

“Do you think you like her because you also see yourself as an experiment and you feel like you have to serve your system in order to have meaning?”

“You don’t need to psychoanalysis everything I say, I just think she’s cute…” Birdy pouts, sinking back into the couch. 

“Got a tattoo today; it's the moon. Layla has a tattoo of an ocean wave so it's push and pull,” Marc says, showing Carol the simple crescent moon on his wrist. 

“Cute. Did you consult everyone in the system first?” Carol just had to remind him that it’s not his body, didn’t she? “Marc?” 

“Yes, it was a group decision,” he groans, crossing his arms. 

“I may have had a small freak out this past week. Layla’s friend was in town and Layla was going to meet up with her for drinks. I dunno I guess I just assumed that I was also invited so she started leaving without me… I might have overreacted. Some part of me was so sure that she was sick of me and hated me and that's why she didn't want me to come. I didn’t even recognize myself…” Steven says, avoiding Carol’s eyes, choosing to stare at his hands instead. 

“Fear of abandonment is common with those with BPD–”

“What? I don’t have BPD, what are you talking about?” He interrupts, shaking his head. 

“The PowerPoint Birdy made said that you were diagnosed with BPD when the body was sixteen,” she says. 

“Yeah but that’s because we were misdiagnosed, they didn’t realize we were a system. You don’t think–” He stops himself, feeling his heart sink in realization. “Oh.” Is all he says, trying to catch up to all his thoughts. “But if anyone has BPD, it’s probably just Marc.” He’s the one with extreme jealousy and abandonment issues. “And Daniela.” The one who can go from zero to a hundred in a blink of an eye. “And maybe Birdy. Oh.” Fuck.

“Alters can have different presentation BPD. Even if you individually don’t have all the symptoms to meet a full diagnosis, there may still be some passive influence from the others. We can come back to this at another session. For now, why don’t we talk about how you felt when you thought Layla was leaving you? Does that sound alright?”

“Yeah, all right…”

“Birdy told me that you haven’t wanted to play with her recently. Can you tell me about that?” Carol asks Kid, passing him the box of coloring pencils.

“Well I would invite her to play with us but Birdy doesn’t like to get dirty. She wouldn’t have fun,” he tells her.

“Us?”

“Yeah! Me and my friend!” He says, continuing on his drawing, what appears to be two boys. 

“What friend?”

“He’s a secret.” Kid says quietly, as he picked up the brown colored pencil to draw curly hair on of the boys and straight hair on the other. 

Chapter Text

“Do you ever miss how it was before?” She asks. He blinks. 

“Before what?” 

“You mentioned before that you kept a wall up between yourself and your other alters. But after your mother’s passing the walls started to crumble down. Do you wish you could have kept the walls up?”

“I guess… Sometimes,” Marc mumbles, running his thumbnail up and down the teeth of the jacket’s zipper. Focusing on the vibration running through his hand instead of how fast his heart was beating. 

“Sometimes what?” she asks. 

“I guess I miss pretending I don’t have DID. Pretending I was…normal. Not having to consult six other people before making a decision,” Marc says. “But I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for them. No, I know I wouldn’t be here without them.

“My feelings wer–are complicated. Still. When I first met Jake I hated him. Steven–the peacekeeper–kept insisting that he hear him out, that we keep it civil. 

“He told us that his role is the 'getaway driver.' Anytime we were in a dangerous situation, his job was to get us out. Keep us safe. So I put the pieces together and realize he’s the reason why we’re still breathing even when…” the air was suffocating him. Burning his lungs with every minute he tried to resist, leaving him covered in scars.

When he felt so isolated, an entire galaxy between him and everyone else.

When his screams and cries for help were muffled by his own hand. 

“Marc?” She says, pulling Marc back to earth, back to reality. 

So with a deep breath and hollow voice, Marc admits, “even when I didn’t want to.”

She doesn’t reply, allowing Marc time to navigate his thoughts, steering through the fog of sweet denial. 

“I should probably thank him, huh? For saving me from me . It’s just… I always thought Steven had saved me. He was always so optimistic and happy and good . Some part of me knew I needed to protect him and stay strong for him. He was my superpower. 

“But I guess Jake is also my superpower… Everyone is. We all have each other’s back, we all take care of each other…”

“How – you ---- now?” Marc sees he move her lips, squinting his glance to focus on the words as the static in his brain dialed up.

“-- —feel grateful?” Grateful? Did she just ask him if he feels grateful?  

“Why would I be grateful that my mom abuse me to the point my brain split into fragments?” He snaps, gripping his jacket tight, bringing his fist up towards his chest. His nail would most certainly have cut the palms of his hands if it weren’t for the layer of fabric between them. 

Fucking shrinks, fuck her. How dare she? Always full of shit, fucking bullshit– No. Stop. She’s trying to help, she’s not trying to hurt you. Breathe. 

Fuck.

“They used to say that to me, ‘Marc, you’re so strong. You could have died but you didn’t.’ I didn’t want to be strong, I just wanted my brother,” Marc chokes out, fighting through the feelings of guilt and pain that consumed him, manifesting itself as sweat pouring down his forehead and cramps in his stomach. 

“I’d like to end the session.” Boundaries. 

“Ok.”

He’s only vaguely aware of the rest of the day thanks to Steven. Jake drove them home, Birdy took over for a stress nap, and then Steven and Layla had a lovely dinner.

Marc just… exists. Sort of. 

Reflecting. 

Text message to Carol (Psychologist)

Lunar sys

I thought about it.

I will never be grateful for my past. That is something no child should ever go through

But I am grateful that my brain found a way to survive

Carol (Psychologist)

I’m glad to hear that. 

We can talk more about it in our next session.

Chapter Text

[ID: Journey entry was written by Birdy as she listens and makes comments to all the songs from Taylor Swift’s new album “Midnights.” The paged resembles a lined notebook with a strip navy blue washi tape decorating the left side. 

First page has “Midnights” with a star doodle as the title. 

Below that, it’s each song title followed by a comment. 

“Lavender Haze. Not my favorite, it sounds like a song off of 1987 or Lover."

"Maroon. I already like the beat of this song a lot more, still very pop but I like the up and downs in “your roommate's cheap-ass screw top rosé” Note: Ask Jake Marc if I can try rosé.” “Jake” is struck out. 

A segment of Anti-Hero lyrics was printed out, cut, and taped into the notebook. On the right side, Birdy wrote some handwritten notes. 

“I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser” is highlighted in yellow with the note to the right “Me too sigh.”

Midnights become my afternoons

When my depression works the graveyard shift

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

“I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis” is highlighted in green with the note “Marc.”

(Tale as old as time)

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

'Cause you got tired of my scheming

(For the last time)

It's me

Hi

“I'm the problem, it's me” is underlined with a red pen

At teatime

Everybody agrees

“I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror” is highlighted yellow with the note “gender dysphoria vibes”

“It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero” is highlighted in green. 

Below that, Birdy wrote: “really good!!! ow I'm also the problem. I don't want to be the bad guy I just don't want to be alone. Note Make Marc listen to this.”

End of page one. 

The next image is the next page, same format. “Midnights” is the title with a music note doodle. 

“Snow on the Beach. vibey I like it. I like Lana's vocals. "Life is emotionally abusive" haha yeah…”

On the right side, Birdy wrote: “new tattoo idea even though i know the guys will say no.” Her tattoo idea is a circle formed by a crescent moon with stars and the lyric “Stars by the pocketful” in gold ink. 

A segment of the lyrics for “You’re On Your Own, Kid” was printed out, cut, and taped into the notebook. On the right side, Birdy wrote some handwritten notes.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

I gave my “blood, sweat, and tears for this” which is underlined with red with the note “me.”

I hosted parties and “starved my body” is crossed out with red. 

Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss

The jokes weren't funny, I took the money

My friends from home don't know what to say

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

And I saw something they can't take away

“'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned

Everything you lose is a step you take

So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it

You've got no reason to be afraid

You're on your own, kid

Yeah, you can face this

You're on your own, kid

You always have been” is highlighted in yellow. On the right, Birdy wrote: “I remember meeting Jake for the first time and he told me that I shouldn't be afraid because he'll protect me. I think I know how he was also afraid.” Tears stain the page. 

Below, Birdy writes: “This song made me cry. I know I (part) haven't been alone since I've always had Jake but I (collective) was alone. I don't remember being Kid's age or being younger but I was and I don't understand why so many people hurt us.” Tear stain the page. 

“Midnight Rain. It's hard to follow the last song. Good vibes.”

End of page two.

The last image is the next page, same format. “Midnights” is the title with a decorative arc above it.

“Question...? Not my favorite. No one has ever kissed me, I can't relate.” 

“Vigilante Shit. Dani's energy. Sounds like something from Reputation. Note: Add to Daniela's playlist”

“Bejeweled. When the euphoria hits and you're hot shit-vibes. Probably won't add to any playlists but it's fun.”

“Labyrinth. Ok, not my favorite.”

“Karma. ‘Karma is a cat, purring in my lap 'cause it loves me.’

Gatarina likes it, she's purring up next to me meow meow.” 

Next to the comment for Karma, there’s a sticker of one of Taylor Swift’s catd stretching out her leg.

“Sweet Nothings”

Indent is: “And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Below that, Birdy wrote: “Oh no this made me cry again. Damn it why am I being called out like this. I don't want to be soft, I want to be like the others. Being soft is a burden. I want to protect Kid and I want to help the system Note: Make Steven listen to it.”

“Mastermind.”

A segment of the lyrics for “Mastermind” was printed out, cut, and taped into the notebook. On the right side, Birdy wrote some handwritten notes.

“No One Wanted To Play With Me As A Little Kid

So I’ve Been Scheming Like A Criminal Ever Since

To Make Them Love Me And Make It Seem Effortless” is highlighted in yellow. 

Is This The First Time I Feel The Need To Confess?

And I Swear, I’m Only Cryptic In My Gear Of Valley ’cause I Can

On the right Birdy wrote: “Damn not again! AHHHH. You didn’t need to say it like that. Fuck.”

End of page. End of ID/]