Chapter Text
The portal opens onto an unremarkable mostly-empty parking lot, sloping upward to an overpass on one side, and down into the harbor of a massive lake on the other.
Marc and Layla step through from the London Sanctum, accompanied by half a dozen sorcerers, and Marc tries to clock which cities the other portals are opening from.
New York is obvious: that's the group that includes Dr. Strange, Barnes and Wilson, Belova with Kid Hawkeye, Daredevil...and a couple non-costumed folks even Steven doesn't recognize, a black guy built like a brick wall and a dark-haired white woman who looks like she would stab as a warning.
The group with both Hulks must be from Los Angeles. There's some battle armor they recognize as Wakandan, and some in the style of New Asgard. The massive bloc of sorcerers with Wong in the lead is probably straight from Kamar-Taj.
Not sure about the portal that ushers in Hawkeye Original Flavor, or two people in weird buggy suits that Steven identifies as Ant-Man and the Wasp...
One extra-large portal opens in midair, and a whole goddamn space shuttle soars through to park itself on the overpass, bay doors opening to discharge some Guardians of the Galaxy.
"Where are we, anyway?" asks Barnes to nobody in particular. "I'm getting serious deja vu, but..."
"Probably Vancouver!" chirps Deadpool. Marc braces himself for some totally incomprehensible reason behind this guess, and sure enough: "For tax reasons, most cities are Vancouver."
"Climate is consistent with the Great Lakes region," muses Belova, scanning the air. (Bishop, next to her, is just pulling out a phone to check the GPS.) "Signage is monolingual in English..."
Marc clears his throat. "Cleveland! This is Cleveland."
"Cool!" says Kid Hawkeye. "Did your guy in the chair look it up?"
"What? No." Marc gestures to the largest building on the waterfront: a giant stadium, accessorized with posters in team-branded colors. "That's where the Browns play. I just...knew that."
"Guy in the chair?" repeats Daredevil under his breath.
Kid Hawkeye starts whispering an explanation, which Marc is distracted from by the next portal opening. Must be from San Francisco -- this handful of sorcerers is in the company of Shang-Chi, and Katy Chen, and...
A hushed murmur runs through the crowd.
"Ooh, right," whispers Jen over her shoulder to the readers. "One of the bonus fics steered her out of the influence of the Darkhold. And, more importantly, out of the influence of the Multiverse of Madness writers."
"Is that Wanda Maximoff?" whispers Layla.
"Sure is," says Marc. A bit of Steven bleeds through as he adds, "She looks amazing."
Layla raises an eyebrow.
"I'm not checking her out!" hisses Marc. "I just mean, last time I saw her, she was dressed depression casual. Hoodie and pajama pants, in the middle of the day. And now look."
Wanda is wearing a long-sleeved, form-hugging, crimson top, trailing behind her in the back like a subtle cape, or a goth wedding dress. It comes with black leggings, knee-high boots, and a red crown-tiara-headpiece-thing, setting off a head of perfect red beachy waves.
Almost everyone in Kamar-Taj robes shies away from her -- some subtly, others not.
("...not a radio, I would've heard...")
Marc wonders if they should go say hi. If a show of support would be appreciated. Or if the Moon Knights are still on the fringe of this group themselves, so association with them wouldn't help...
Then Barnes and Sam Wilson slip quietly forward. (Steven shares the memory that, when Barnes first started to break his HYDRA programming, Wanda and Sam were two of the people Steve Rogers personally asked to help protect him.) From another direction, Original Hawkeye does the same. (The third person Rogers asked for help, and one of the people who mentored Wanda through her own rescue from HYDRA, in tandem with Original Black Widow.)
Okay, Wanda will probably be fine.
("...can't be Stark tech, I thought it was Wakandan...")
A sizzling energy platform appears toward the high end of the parking lot, and the Cloak of Levitation deposits Dr. Strange artfully on top of it.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and whoever else we've managed to scare up!" he announces, into what appears to be a shiny magic megaphone. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here today..."
A couple of people laugh. Not many.
"Fine, fine. Long story short, there's a Big Gnarly Magic Thing heading for our dimension. Think of it like a meteor shower about to strike, except angrier, and with more tentacles. We calculated that it's going to make landfall right around here -- sucks that it wasn't a less-populated area, but we did catch it in time to evacuate the civilians. And, hey, if we can't avoid blowing up the city, at least it's only Cleveland, right?"
A couple more unenthusiastic laughs, along with a too-loud cheer from Deadpool: "Actually Cleveland! Wooo!"
("...well, it's not any kind of alien signal we can pick up...")
"So, in about five to ten minutes, the sky up there is going to get really freaky. And then the tentacles start, and we need all of you to start punching, or zapping, or laser-ing, or shield-throwing, or...I don't know, whatever the hell Ant-Man does."
That gets some actual mirth out of the crowd, and Sam helpfully yells, "He gets big!"
"Seriously?" complains Strange. "Ant-Man gets big?... you know what, don't explain it, I just realized I don't care. Anyway! T minus five, there's a mall a couple blocks that way if anyone needs a bathroom, and, uh..."
He trails off, scratching his neck.
("...thought someone said the suit was sentient? And he talks to it?")
Without warning, a second energy platform appears right under Marc's feet, pistoning him up off the ground.
Marc snaps into a combat stance, Jake suddenly on red alert --
-- and finally, for once, they don't panic-switch. They're just...both there. Holding the armor steadily on Marc's version, doubly alert, ready for anything.
"Okay, Moon Guy, chill out." Strange waves his hand, and another of those megaphone-shaped spells appears in front of them. "I just gotta ask. What the hell kind of tech do you have in that cowl?"
"...what the fuck," says MarcandJake.
"Oof. We don't have any kid heroes around for this one, do we?" Strange looks around the crowd. "Anybody who's standing next to one, cover their ears."
(Rocket Raccoon puts his paws over the sides of Groot's head. Thor bends almost in half to do the same for Love. Belova tries to do it for Bishop, who groans and kicks her in the shin.)
"Look, it just seems like everyone's heard a different story, and none of them add up," continues Strange. "And I for one am dying of curiosity, and it's my party, so. Could you just take the opportunity to clear it up? Once and for all?"
Deep breath.
Scan the crowd.
Layla knows the whole truth, obviously. So does Wanda, for phenomenal-psychic-powers reasons. So does Wade goddamn Wilson, for who-the-hell-knows reasons.
Sam and Bucky know half of it -- the part where they talk to a cranky invisible god. Thor and the Asgardians too. Shuri isn't here, but it wouldn't be surprising if she's filled the Wakandan soldiers in.
Jen knows the other half -- the part where different Moon Knights can talk inside their shared head. (She's not the only one, but apparently Ms. Marvel isn't on the Sorcerer Supreme's "call in case of world-threatening emergency" list. At least, not yet.)
Lots of people who could say something, here.
And none of them jump in. Nobody makes a single move to blow their cover.
On the contrary: Barnes throws them a short casual salute -- Jen catches their eye and does a serious green nod -- and there's the phantom sensation of Wanda at their side, not breaking into their head, just whispering in their mental ear: "Whatever you say, I will back you up."
He takes another deep breath, and leans into the megaphone.
"Hi, everyone," he says. "I'm Moon Knight -- well, one of the Moon Knights -- and, look, none of us have any kind of tech in the stupid cowl, okay?"
A couple of people actually gasp at that one.
"We're the Avatars of Khonshu, Egyptian god of the moon." Their blended state is already unraveling, but Jake is the one who's given this explanation before, so Marc's still channeling him closely. "If you catch one of us talking to someone nobody else can see or hear? It's usually him. And we usually just...lie about it. Because -- look, is it any surprise that 'oh, I'm talking to the invisible god who sometimes tells me to kill people' tends not to go over well?"
It gets a ripple of genuine laughter.
"Yeah. Exactly. That's the kind of reveal that makes people smile, and nod, and then sneak off to call the nice men in white coats to take you away. Not a fun time! Would not recommend."
That gets less of a reaction. (People are definitely not sure whether it's a joke.)
"I'm...not used to meeting other people who know it's real," adds Marc slowly. "Who take it for granted this stuff is real. I'm still not used to working with -- well, with you! Never in my life thought I'd be in a team-up with people whose reaction to 'I serve Khonshu' ranges from 'sure, that makes sense' to 'oh, hey, I know that guy! Kind of a dick'."
Nobody looks panicked, or disgusted, or ready to ship him off to a psych ward. It's all different shades of "amused" or "relieved" or "proud" (that one's Barnes), or "ooh, that explains so much!" or "sure, whatever, I heard six weirder origin stories than that before breakfast."
"And, uh. One more thing." Marc swallows...his skin under the armor feels cold, jittery...but there's Steven and Jake at his back, siphoning away the panic, holding him steady. "Sometimes we -- the different Moon Knights -- are talking to each other. There's a mental connection thing we can do. It's some kind of telepathy, I think?"
"Okay, no, it can't be telepathy," cuts in Strange. "I would have picked up on that."
Marc drops the connection with Jake to channel Steven -- not the accent this time, just the sass. "Well, geez, excuse me for not knowing the technical terms! We didn't all go to wizard school."
Appreciative cackling all around.
"Look, I do not know how this works, I just do it. Please don't quiz me for details, or I'll probably panic and make something up, and start this whole mess all over again."
Strange looks like he wants to argue some more...
...except that's when a soft red glow fills the air, and a third magic-platform-and-megaphone setup raises Wanda off the ground.
Her voice rings through the parking lot and echoes across the water: "The Moon Knights have a mind-to-mind connection, Stephen. Their protective shields are simply stronger than your listening skills."
(Another telepathic whisper, aimed directly at Steven: "The Stephen was to Strange, not you.")
"Hey, I have great listening skills!" says Strange, crossing his arms. "Ask any of my ex-girlfriends."
"Not this good," says Wanda, eerily calm. "Theirs are...ah..."
She says a phrase in what must be Sokovian.
Barnes, next to her, says something that must be a translation -- Wanda bends over to listen, then straightens up and says, "Yes, of course. Theirs are god-tier."
"Sure. I guess." Strange narrows his eyes at her. "Say, Wanda, where have you been lately? Because when I was passing out invitations for this little get-together, I didn't actually know where to send yours."
Katy gestures something to Shang-Chi, who drops to his knees and makes a step with his hands...boosting Katy up onto Wanda's platform.
She puts an arm around the witch's shoulders and says into the megaphone, loudly, "Wanda has been in magic therapy. Which I'm totally not surprised you don't know about. And, look, is there a rule that 'people with a body count who are working on their redemption arc' aren't welcome at this Avengers assembly? Because I'm pretty sure that's, like, half of you."
Belova doesn't help herself to a spot on Marc's platform, but she mutters, close enough for him to hear, "Yes, but the rest of them are men, so they don't count."
(And Deadpool adds, "They're putting more of a gender balance in the Thunderbolts. Diversity win! Half of our tortured ex-assassins are women!")
"Nobody said she wasn't welcome," says Strange testily. "Who are you and what was your superpower, again?"
"Common sense," says Katy without missing a beat. "Plus I killed a dragon one time. No big."
"Have we moved on from me?" asks Marc hopefully. "And if yes, can you let me down, now?"
"Fine--"
A gray-and-brown blur zooms through the air, lands in a furry heap on top of Strange, digs claws into his velvety robes to hang on, and yells into Strange's megaphone, "Tell them about the threesomes!"
Marc splutters.
Strange flails, trying not to fall over.
The rest of the crowd is split between "suddenly, deeply fascinated" and "trying hard not to crack up."
"I'm not kidding!" shouts Rocket Raccoon, in his cranky, growly voice. "I heard something nobody else did! And nobody believes me, they're starting to think I'm crazy, and it's not fair! You know how not-fair that is! So just come clean, already!"
Recovering...as much dignity as a human can possibly have, when there's a raccoon clinging to their head...Strange announces, "Okay, now I gotta hear this one too."
Marc and company are frozen -- for once, even Jake is drawing a blank on snappy responses --
-- when, with a soft elegant leap, Layla jumps up onto the platform beside them.
"Yes, there is a polycule," she says calmly into the megaphone spell. "I am a very lucky woman! And the only thing you bunch of shameless gossips need to know about it is: we are not accepting new members at this time."
"HAH!" yells Rocket, pointing at Marc and Layla while baring a fang-filled grin at a now-bright-red Peter Quill. His voice carries over the clamor of approving laughter, scattered applause, even a couple of cheers and wolf-whistles.
Marc should shut up and let it end there.
Instead, he finds himself saying, "She thinks she's lucky? Please. Those of you who haven't seen under the mask, just trust me, I married up."
Layla's lips quirk at him. "Who says I was talking about you? Maybe I'm lucky to have the other guy."
"...Fair," says Marc. He can feel Steven blushing, the warmth radiating through his insides, and can't resist adding, "I think we're all lucky to have the other guy."
"All right, all right!" exclaims Strange, finally whisking away the magic megaphone, and lowering them to the ground faster than he really needs to. "We get it, you're disgustingly in love, it's adorable. I am cutting this off now, before you turn half the single people in this crowd into supervillains out of jealousy."
This is the point when, as promised, the sky starts getting freaky.
If Marc had been worried that all this banter would distract them from the actual battle...he shouldn't have been. Nobody misses this.
Everyone shifts into battle stances, drawing their bows and laser-guns and enchanted axes and crescent darts. The waterfront lights up with a rainbow of different magics powering on.
"All right, everyone, showtime!" exclaims Strange. "Incoming in three...two...one...!"