Chapter Text
Jake had never seen anything like that before.
What kind of magic did this guy have in his big, brown eyes that endeared people to him so fucking easily?
The three of them were sitting silently on the sandskiff, Steven wedged between the two brothers. The youngest was staring out into the streets, pointedly ignoring the gaping stares of the other passengers.
Jake couldn’t help the sharp grin that rose to his face. The idiots probably thought they were threatening him. Or perhaps they had taken him as a hostage and were planning to torture him. Stupid. Immediately, he felt the familiar urge to start something. Maybe he could throw his pocketknife into the crowd. Embed the blade just an inch from someone’s face, and watch them scatter like the little rats they were.
It would be so easy. Marc couldn’t—wouldn’t—even hit him with Steven in the way.
He paused, glancing at the young man next to him. Mierda, he was close. At this angle, he had a front row seat to the other’s gentle face, seemingly deep in thought. He reluctantly realized that physically threatening the other passengers would probably put a frown on that face. And in an instant, the normally irresistible idea seemed a bit less appealing.
It was unusual— the way his urge to attack suddenly faltered. The way the sharp tongued insults on his tongue shriveled into silence. Here he was, trying his best not to scare off the person who had already said, in that impossibly earnest voice of his, ‘They don’t need to be afraid of you.’
But it seems Steven really was just an endless fountain of unusual things.
Because until today, never in his life had any of the people of Heliopolis ever apologized to them.
It had been incredibly disorienting. Jake had stood there frozen, jaw tight, wordlessly looking away from the man. Even Marc had gone stiff beside him, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to draw his blade or not. Because what were they supposed to do with that? You couldn’t stab kindness in the throat. You couldn’t shut it up with a fist or drown it in venom.
A small sigh beside him caught his attention. Steven shifted in his seat, and his left hand—long fingers, soft skin—fell toward Jake’s unknowingly. Not to hold it. Not even touching. Just close enough for the warmth to seep across the space between them. And Jake, against every instinct in his body, didn’t pull away.
Jake stared. All at once, the silence seemed deafening. He was overcome with a crazed wish for the sandskiff to crash, or catch on fire, anything to end this unbearable moment. Jake just watched their hands. Neither had moved.
He had to distract himself— had to cause some kind of chaos. It was his usual method of dealing with shit he didn’t understand. He could flash his knife and make the onlookers flinch. He could not-so-subtly crack his knuckles, watch the color drain from their faces.
He could…
He could see what would happen if he moved his hand to the right. He could see whether or not those cheeks would turn that strangely addicting shade of red.
Jake turned his head away, jaw clenching. He swallowed back whatever annoying thing was clawing up his insides.
He glanced across Steven to Marc, half-expecting his brother to be just as unnerved. But Marc wasn’t watching Steven— he was watching him. Careful. Measuring. There was always something observant in Marc’s gaze, like he knew exactly what Jake was thinking.
Normally, their strong connection served them well. They killed like a pair of perfectly tuned weapons, each an extension of the other. In fact, it was Khonshu’s favorite thing about them— the way they could effortlessly anticipate and respond to each other's thoughts and movements in tandem. It allowed them to maneuver almost perfectly in combat. Two deadly forces, dangerously in sync.
But today, it just made Jake want to punch him. He held his brother’s gaze, expression flat, but his heart gave a tight, annoyed thud in his chest.
Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.
His brother didn’t say a word. Just looked at him a second longer, then faced forward again.
Jake let out a silent breath, the storm in his brain settling. He grit his teeth and looked forward, determined not to stare at that damned hand next to his any longer. This would be much easier if Steven wasn’t so… Steven. If he wasn’t so different. So goddamn caring. Able to calm others with a few soft words. Fuck, he probably didn’t even know how to hold a blade, much less a gun. Khonshu would call it weak. Jake wasn’t so sure.
“You alright?” Steven murmured suddenly, glancing at Jake with worried eyes. He blinked, startled.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You look like you’re about to throw someone overboard.”
His usual smirk found its way to his lips. “Don’t tempt me, precioso.”
Steven just shook his head, an exasperated smile on his lips as he fell silent again. Jake stared at him from the corner of his eye, his heart still beating an angry rhythm in his chest.
Carefully, he looked down at his own hand, and his eyes caught onto his calloused knuckles. There was a lifetime of training etched into his fingertips, and none of it involved gentleness. He looked at Steven’s hand—skin unbearably soft—and realized that if he moved even a centimeter, their pinkies would brush.
He didn’t move.
“We’re gonna have to get you a different outfit.” Marc said idly.
As the three of them walked into the great pyramid, Steven trailed behind them nervously. “People on earth aren’t big on robes?” He joked, glancing down self-consciously.
Jake chuckled. “Nueva York is filled with enough locos for him to blend in. Se parecerá a uno de esos personajes que ves en Times Square.” The gloved twin gave him a mischievous look.
“The tourists might even ask for a picture with you. Heh— make sure to charge them a lot. Bleed 'em dry. Ellos son idiotas completos.”
Marc shoved Jake, frowning. “Stop trying to get him to scam strangers, dumbass. You want him to get kidnapped?” He scolded. At that, Jake seemed to still. He glanced at Steven, eyes darkening slightly.
“…Olvidalo.”
As they entered the portal room, Steven had a brief moment to wonder how any of this would work. How could they even control where it would open? The twins approached the sand circle with a practiced confidence, and Steven realized he had no idea how to really use it. After all, he had only gone through it twice.
“We’ll go to the safehouse first, we have some old clothes in there that might fit you.” Marc said as he crouched down, hands extended toward the portal. He dipped his fingers in the sand, eyes narrowing in concentration.
The grains began to shift, then swirl.
Steven’s brows furrowed as Marc stood, turning towards the other two expectantly. “How did you do that?” Jake grinned, motioning him forward. “All about focus. Vamos, we’ll have plenty of chances to teach you later.”
Steven noted the implication that they would be doing this a lot more often, and stepped forward hesitantly. This part wasn’t exactly his favorite. Whoever created this thing must not have cared much about how it made your lungs feel. Jake put a hand on his shoulder. “It helps if you hold your breath.”
“Careful, princess. He loves shoving people through like a little bitch.”
Jake laughed heartily. “Nah. That’s just for you, hermano.” Marc narrowed his eyes, muttering something indecipherable.
Steven rolled his eyes at the two. But even as his lips softly curled into a smile, there was a quiet nervousness in the back of his head. This was it. Last chance to turn back.
He wondered what Earth really looked like, beyond the isolated rooms that he had been exposed to. Would it be beautiful? Would it be dangerous? A low voice that sounded oddly like an angry jackal god began whispering in his conscience. Telling him to come back home. Don’t trust them.
The gloved hand on his shoulder squeezed, and he turned his head, their eyes locking. There was a bit of worry in Jake’s expression. “Hey, the idiota was only joking. I won’t push you.” He said softly.
His voice was filled with a comforting tone that any normal person would never expect to come out of someone who looked like Jake. Steven smiled, his heart warmed, and the hand on his shoulder suddenly felt a bit heavy. His eyes flitted between the two brothers, then back at the portal. A small, adventurous spark grew in his chest.
He took a deep breath and held it.
Huh. They were right. That really did make it easier.
As he emerged on the other side, he barely even felt any tightness in his lungs. He let out the breath he had been holding as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings.
He was in the Pyramid of Giza. A doorway in front of him slid open. From what he could see, it looked to lead to some kind of living room.
Steven yelped as something big knocked into him from behind, causing him to fall to the ground. A large body toppled harshly onto him with a grunt.
“—Argh! Hijo de puta! Qué demonios?! Cabrón! Eres un pequeño pedazo de mierda…” Jake had fallen on top of him, groaning as he spat venomously.
Marc emerged from the portal with a smug grin on his face. “And now we’re even.”
Steven’s eyes were wide. Jake was still on top of him, far too pissed to notice the flushed expression on his face. He could practically feel the irritation emanating from the other, almost as much as he could feel his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears. Jake's arms were caging him in, and his back couldn’t possibly be pressed any harder into the floor. The other’s dark hair was tousled, his hat thrown to the side during the fall.
Why was his heart so loud?
Jake rolled off of Steven unceremoniously, glaring daggers at his brother. A gloved finger pointed towards the younger teen. “¿Estás feliz ahora? Your pettiness ended up hurting Steven.” He stood, offering a hand to the flustered mess still on the floor.
Steven took it, stammering through a nervous laugh. “I-I’m alright!” Marc looked a bit regretful, his smirk faltering just slightly. Steven sent him a reassuring smile, dusting himself off. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, shoving his hat back on his head with a click of his tongue. Steven’s eyes lingered a bit on the softness of his hair, before he cleared his throat, deciding to instead focus his eyes on the doorway in front of them. “So that’s your safehouse?”
“Yep. Got everything you could ever need in there.” Marc said, walking forward with Steven and Jake trailing behind.
The first thing he noticed as he stepped through was the faint scent of metal and oil, and a rush of cold air. Marc sighed, shrugging off his jacket and making a beeline down the hallway. “Make yourself at home. I’ll try to find something that’ll make you look a little more normal.”
Steven blinked against the dimness of the room, turning in a circle as he took in his surroundings. The place felt cramped but purposeful, maps tacked onto the walls with red circles and X’s in certain locations, open toolboxes, and weapons scattered around the room.
Steven took a shaky breath. There were a lot of weapons.
On one side of the room, rows of gleaming knives lined the wall, sharpened and polished with precision. The larger ones bordered on short swords. Beside them were mounted a multitude of guns, all different shapes and types that he couldn’t even begin to name. Some of them looked way too heavy for a normal human, and Steven doubted that he could lift one of those without toppling over.
Lying haphazardly around the room were several smaller guns, along with open boxes filled to the brim with brass colored bullets, some of which had spilled on the floor. Stacked in a neat pile by the front door, as if for easy access, was an array of blunt handheld weapons: clubs, sledgehammers, and various other heavy things with sharp edges.
But… there were also softer things about the place, less present but still there nonetheless. A worn couch with a blanket that looked unbelievably fluffy. A couple of books that seemed old but still well taken care of. Two mismatched ceramic cups, side-by-side on the table. One was dark blue with ‘NY Yankees’ engraved in white. The other was a bright red, and Steven almost choked at the words ‘Kindly, Fuck Off’ written in an ironically delicate cursive.
Steven ventured further, and paused when he caught sight of the photographs, faded and small, tucked into the corner of a mirror hanging in the hallway. Two identical boys, squinting in the sun in front of a forest landscape, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders with matching grins. In the photo next to it, a boy no older than ten was rolling his eyes in exasperation. Marc. In another, a boy barely in his teens was climbing a tree, grinning a wild, reckless smirk that Steven recognized as Jake’s.
“Want a drink?”
Steven startled as Jake appeared behind him. Gods, that guy could be really silent when he wanted to. He held up a brightly colored bottle to Steven’s hand. “Sure!” It felt cold as Jake handed it to him, and he stiffened as it emitted odd little popping sounds. Steven raised an eyebrow. “Thanks. Um, what is it?”
Jake’s lips quirked, and he took a sip from his own bottle. “Just soda. Figured you’d like sugar, tú también eres dulce.” His tone was laced with humor, and Steven wondered if Jake even cared that he didn’t understand the joke. He brought the brown liquid to his lips—
—and promptly began coughing furiously. The other patted his back, snickering. Steven pulled the bottle back, looking at it with wide eyes. “It hurt me!” He whined. Jake’s soft snickers turned into full-on laughter.
Steven just pouted. Did people on Earth always drink this kind of stuff? Why? The other just grinned, leaning his shoulder lazily against the wall. “You’re adorable.” He murmured under his breath, so softly that Steven wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant for it to be heard. Instead of commenting on it, Steven decided to take another sip. This time the sting in his throat was a welcome distraction from the fluttery feeling in his stomach.
“Seriously? You’re poisoning him already?” Marc emerged from the side room, a bundle of clothes in his arms, and an amused smile on his lips. Jake just scoffed. He leaned in, putting a hand in front of his mouth and loudly whispered. “Don’t listen to him. El gilipollas only drinks gym-bro healthy shit and black coffee.”
Marc scowled, walking towards the pair carrying a soft-looking white sweater, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He leveled a look at his brother. “Still better than the crap you put in your body. I’m not the one with a smoking problem before my twenties.” His eyes turned to Steven, quickly softening.
“Put these on. They’re old but they should fit.”
Steven nodded, smiling as his hands found the fluffy material. He walked down the hall in the direction of the side room, fingers gently smoothing down the fabric. He had a hard time believing either of the twins would have ever worn something like this. But, it also seemed like he was constantly learning new things about the two of them. As he walked in and closed the door, his ears just barely registered a tired grumble from Marc.
“…If you start getting him hooked on cigs, I'm keying your Harley.”
He shut the door with a soft click, muffling the beginnings of twin bickering. Steven let out a short sigh, closing his eyes. Sure, he had never had a brother himself. But he had read countless novels with brothers in them, and he didn’t think they were supposed to be this argumentative.
Still, there was something quietly caring in the way they violently jabbed at each other. It was strange. Beneath the mocking words there was always that familial bond, a brotherly warmth. From what he had learned about their past, it seemed to be a bond forged in fire. And fire was like that, equally as comforting as it is destructive.
He looked down at the sweater, studying it closer. On the inside, a small white tag bore a series of messy scribbles, letters scrawled and struck through: a black “M” crossed out, then a “J,” then another “M,” and another “J,” each replaced by the next, until finally a bold, deliberate “M” stood alone.
He snorted. So the stubborn competitiveness has always been a thing between them, huh?
As he changed, he was quickly enamored with how wonderfully comfortable the material was. It had that kind of softness that a fabric only gets after years of use, time and countless wears weathering it down to its softest point. The bottoms fit well, but the sweater was a bit too big on him. Its sleeves draped a bit over his fingers, and the neckline made his shoulder peek out slightly more than he was used to. The bottom hem hung low, just above his upper thigh. It sort of felt like being swallowed by a big white cloud. It was nice.
Steven grinned.
He carefully set down his folded robes on a nearby chair, opened the door, and stepped out of the room. The twins were sitting on the couch, eyes locked as if in some sort of contest.
“…I’ll burn your jersey collection.”
“And I’ll burn your telenovela collection.”
“I’ll mix arsenic in your protein powder.”
“Not before I lace your Marlboro Reds with rat poison.”
Steven blinked. “Please no murdering each other, okay?”
Marc turned his head, took one look at him, and froze. Jake did a double-take, his mouth opening slightly and closing. He looked like he was caught somewhere between trying to whistle and forgetting how to breathe. “Mierda…”
“What?” Steven asked worriedly. “Oh, did I not put it on right?” He chewed on his lip. There were a lot of weird parts on this stuff, but he thought he had figured out the shoe laces and the metal bits pretty easily. Shit, was it on backwards?
“No. It—” Marc cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “It just… fits you.”
Steven chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He mumbled with a lift of his arms, the soft, white sleeves drooping over his fingertips. “But at least it’s comfy.”
Jake rubbed his temple with a sigh. “No. He means it fits you.” Jake looked him up and down, eyes flicking briefly to Marc as he muttered. “Parece un corderito.”
“No whispering about me in a language I can’t understand.” Steven grumbled. He bunched up his sleeves, shoving them up his elbows as best he could so he could cross his arms. “Not my fault you two are built like the Colossi of Memnon.”
“The what?” Jake said, confused. Steven's brows furrowed.
“...What kind of schooling did Khonshu even give you guys?”
Jake snorted. “The kind where you throw a knife at a target until the bullseye caves in. O la hoja se rompe.”
Marc just tilted his head. “So you’re an expert in Ancient Egyptian history, but you don’t know what New York is?”
“I’m also fluent in Coptic.”
They stared at him blankly.
Steven frowned. His education had been incredibly extensive, but Anubis always preferred not to dwell on anything he didn’t deem useful. It was the primary reason Steven was well-versed in healing magic, but knew very few offensive charms. He supposed Khonshu was like that too.
A flicker of that familiar sympathy struck him. It was hard to imagine a childhood without Anubis reading stories to him in the moonlight, or going over history or magic lessons while they ate dinner. To think that neither of them had that…
“Well, even with that limited knowledge you could recognize it was Egyptian. That’s still pretty impressive.” He said to Marc, grinning.
Marc stiffened a bit at that, a sudden uncomfortable look on his face as he avoided eye contact.
Weird.
“Tch. Empollón.”
Marc roughly shoved the other off the couch. Jake grunted, easily catching himself before he hit the floor. He flicked open his switchblade with a sharp grin, and Steven frantically held his hands up in an attempt to stop him. “Gods, what will it take for you two to stop fighting?” The youngest groaned.
“Death.” Marc said casually, and Steven wanted to throw his hands up in frustration— because the idiot was smiling. Jake retracted his knife with a lazy flick, nodding in agreement. “Or maybe an apocalypse.”
“Lovely. End of the world it is then. I’ll bring tea.” He said flatly. The twins let out matching chuckles, because tormenting him with their needlessly aggressive behavior was apparently hilarious.
Marc stood, stretching his shoulders. “Come on. New York has something a lot better than tea. And we need to feed you before you faint from starvation.” Steven looked away, a defensive frown forming on his lips. “I won’t faint.” They both shot him disbelieving looks. Marc was already shrugging on his jacket, and after a moment of deliberation, slipped a small pistol from the table securely under his belt. Jake did the same.
Steven’s nose crinkled, eyes narrowing in disapproval. “Seriously? Is that really necessary?” He trailed behind nervously as the twins headed for the front door. “We’re just being careful, precioso. You look like trouble.”
“Trouble? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marc gave him a knowing look. “Not for us.” He led them out, the doorway leading down a hallway and staircase. “Just stick close. Don’t wander. We’re not going far.”
The air shifted as Marc opened the large door at the bottom of the staircase.
Bright. Loud. Overwhelming.
Steven blinked hard, his breath catching as his eyes adjusted to the sudden barrage of lights and sounds. They were standing in the middle of a narrow street, hemmed in by towering buildings of metal and glass.
The smell hit him first, something smoky and metallic from the cars speeding past, mixed with faint scents coming from the food stalls nearby. Colors moved everywhere, flashing lights from the windows, vivid signs with languages he didn’t recognize, people in clothes of every style brushing past like an ocean. There was booming music coming from every corner, and the sound of shoes on the ground was a percussion that played a beat to the overlapping murmur of a hundred different voices somehow having their own conversations.
The place felt alive.
Jake stepped up from behind him, his eyes studying him in a way that felt almost intimate. “So? Not bad, eh?” Steven just turned in a circle, taking everything in. “It’s… loud. And different. And… it’s beautiful.”
Marc’s lips quirked up. The brothers shared a look, wordlessly falling into a formation as the trio made their way down the street, Marc taking the lead with Jake at the rear. Steven noticed the way they walked, moving fluidly as if they were tied by some invisible string. He wondered if they even knew they did that.
They crossed a busy street, the traffic lights blinking in succession. Steven was staring idly at the red, yellow, and green circles as they walked, Jake scanning the crowd with a sharp gaze, and Marc walking forward with a bored ease that didn’t quite hide the way he subtly angled his stride to keep strangers from brushing up against Steven.
A street performer who was standing almost unnaturally still caught his attention. Completely covered in gold, with a single monocle. Steven unintentionally slowed, unsure if the man was a statue or not. Jake noticed, pulled a few crisp bills from his pocket, and dropped them into the man’s hat without breaking stride.
Steven looked back at him, eyes wide. “That was awfully kind of you.”
Jake just shrugged. "No es gran cosa. Swiped ’em from the merluzo in a suit we passed two blocks back." The younger’s head whipped around. "What? You stole—"
“He won’t miss the cash. Confía en mí. This place is crawling with greedy Wall Street idiotas.” Jake drawled. The other just stared, not quite understanding what that meant. “Now, the difficult part isn't stealing, it’s being subtle. Don’t be too obvious—“
“Quit teaching him how to pickpocket.” Marc said gruffly.
“Come on.” Jake’s grin was positively wolfish. “Parece tan inocente, nadie sospecharía nada—”
“No.” Marc grunted, not looking back.
Jake scoffed, leveling Steven with a pinched look that seemed to say: ‘Can you believe him?’
Steven didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or scold them. He wasn’t sure what a ‘Wall Street idiota’ was, but stealing from people didn’t sound like a great idea. Still, the little smile that the golden man-statue gave was so genuine that he couldn’t find it in himself to be that angry. “Well… he gave the money away to make someone happy. That’s not so bad.” He murmured. Jake let out a triumphant laugh, and threw his arm over the younger teen’s shoulder. Marc was looking at Steven like he had grown horns.
“Nope. He’s not corrupting you this fast, princess.” He grabbed Steven’s wrist, pulling him away from Jake with a swift tug. “I don’t have the strength to look after two chaos-junkies.”
The other twin snorted, glancing at Steven with an unimpressed expression. “He has a ‘responsible big brother’ complex. Bienvenido, you are officially a part of it now.”
“It’s called being mature.”
“It’s called being a buzzkill. ¡Y nosotros tenemos la misma edad!”
“So act like it.” Marc said simply, then let go of Steven’s hand. The younger immediately felt a warmth creep into his chest. Jake, meanwhile, muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything further.
After that, the gloved teen begrudgingly left Steven out of his less-than-legal activities, but it didn’t stop the younger from looking back every so often to watch.
Jake moved like a shadow, hands darting out to grab bills from the pockets of well-dressed men, or even an extra snack from the street vendors as they passed. But whatever he took would never stay long, always inevitably ending up in the hands of one of the many unhappy looking people sitting on tattered mats in the street.
And they would smile softly.
Steven observed with interest. It was strange, seeing a side of the young man that didn’t leave Steven a flustered and blushing mess. He suddenly felt more real, the cocky persona almost completely gone, replaced with something else. Something human. There wasn’t a smirk on his face, no sharp words or violent threats. No teasing remarks. It was just… Jake.
He felt something unusual in his chest, and Steven took a deep breath, focusing his eyes forward.
Eventually, they turned down a narrow pathway, and immediately the air felt different. No, it smelled different. The crowds were a lot thinner, and neon lights shifted into hand-painted signs. The booming noise of cars and conversation gave way to faint music, low and calming.
Steven perked up. Whatever that was, it smelled delicious.
The twins seemed to catch on to his reaction, their matching chuckles making him bristle in embarrassment. “Hey, stop laughing! I haven’t eaten all day!” Their grins just widened.
They stopped in front of a large sign that read ‘Rosetta’s’ in green and red letters. Jake nudged him gently.
“Come on, precioso. I know it smells great, but the real magic is inside.”