A/N: Spooky season is upon us! In celebration, I wanted to write a little something and lo and behold, Marvel dropped the perfect inspiration. Because yes, after watching Werewolf by Night, I knew I could not rest until I put one sad traumatized bean (Jack) in the same room as another sad traumatized bean (Marc/Steven) to see what happens. And well, this is what happened. This is set in the same universe as my longfic Grand Cosmos, at some point between chapters 7 and 8, but you don't need to have read that to understand this.


A Haunting on Bleecker Street

Halloween was just around the corner and life hardly wanted to stop just because of a little impending incursion. So while former Avengers and whatever other heroes had been scraped from the bottom of the barrel prepared themselves for a fight, the leaves changed, kids carved jack-o'-lanterns, and restless teens got up to all sorts of mischief. Oh, and creatures from other dimensions ran amok as they do every October.

Fortunately, that wasn't Steven Grant's field of expertise.

"No way. Demons?" America Chavez tromped down the stairs after a harried-looking Dr. Strange who was trying to flip through a book and manipulate some kind of medallion at the same time. The Cloak of Levitation helpfully held up the book for him.

"Yes way. Here." Dr. Strange tossed the medallion over his shoulder. America caught it and looked quizzically at his back. "Amulet of protection. Put it on. It'll make sure nothing can possess you."

America quickly draped the chain around her neck.

"Where are you going?" Steven asked. He had A Treatise on the Splinter Realms in one hand, a finger tucked inside to keep his place.

"Got to make a house call," Strange replied. "I've had to leave a client in the library, so I won't be gone long. But this does constitute an emergency."

"Client?"

"I can't believe I get to see a demon," America said. Neither she nor Strange slowed their pace. They swept out the front doors and then Steven was alone.

"Oh…kay. That's not weird." Steven stood in the middle of the foyer, listening to the subtle sounds an old house makes when there's no one inside.

That's not even the weirdest thing he's said in the last hour, Marc said.

"True." Steven returned his attention to the book. He was pretty sure he was the only one actually doing the suggested reading. As preparation for whatever they might have to do to save the multiverse, Dr. Strange had picked out some research material to peruse. Steven had yet to see any of the other heroes actually touch the books save for America, who visited the Sanctum at least a dozen times a day. Despite having a room at Kamar-Taj, she practically lived here.

A Treatise on the Splinter Realms was a dense read, full of things Steven didn't understand but he was trying his best. His attempts to concentrate on The Mission, however, fell by the wayside when –

"It mentions the Duat in here!" Steven exclaimed. "'One of the many metaphysical planes that make up Earth's underworlds, the designated realm to which spirits fall if proven unworthy…'" He muttered his way through the rest of the paragraph before the text switched to describing a different plane. "Look at that. Tartarus. Hel. There's so much." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "And it's well-documented. People have been there, it's not just speculation. Oh, I wonder if Dr. Strange would mind if I borrowed this. Or just took a peak at the bookshelf this came from."

He never said the library was off limits, Marc said. He knew better than to deny Steven such a chance. Hell, Steven's enthusiasm was infectious and it wasn't like they had anything else to do at the moment.

Since his unexpected arrival to New York thanks to Jake, Steven and Marc had spent a good deal of time at the Sanctum. Strange had even offered them a guest room which Steven thought was awfully generous considering Jake had come here to rob him.

Things were better now though, and the Sanctum no longer hid all the bathrooms whenever Steven needed one. So he had no trouble making his way to the library on the second floor. Just like the rest of the Sanctum, it looked a like a museum exhibit. The books and even scrolls that lined the shelves were old, none of them younger than a hundred years. At the end cap of each aisle stood a display of some artifact or other. A cursed necklace here, an antique doll there, a rather demented-looking helm. The only thing out of place was the man dozing away in an armchair. Probably that client Strange had mentioned. Steven made a point of being very quiet on his way to look at the books.

Just a cursory glance at some of them and Steven itched to read them all, even though quite a few were written in languages he didn't know, several of which he was sure no one had spoken aloud in centuries. There were lost histories here, old manuscripts in French and Greek and Latin. Books on myths and legends that were more than just that. His little nerdy heart was in Heaven. When this whole world ending thing blew over, he'd have to ask Strange if maybe it would be alright for him to look at some. Did one have to be a sorcerer to learn about the secret histories? He hoped not. Magic was cool and all, but it seemed incredibly dangerous.

Magic could be helpful. Marc was thinking it might come in handy when they inevitably argued with Khonshu again.

"Oh! Hieroglyphs." Steven pulled a dusty old book off the shelf and found a pair of eyes staring at him from behind it.

Steven yelped and jumped backward, hitting something just behind him. He spun around and grabbed for the plinth but missed it by a fraction of a second. It seemed to fall over in slow motion, carrying the glass display case with it. Inside, the little porcelain doll floated off her base, black painted eyes aimed up at Steven in accusation. Then it crashed to the floor, sending glass shards shooting off along the hardwood along with chunks of painted porcelain.

The sound that escaped Steven in the following silence couldn't be classified as anything other than an undignified squeak.

"Oh no. I'm, I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry." A man stepped around the edge of the book case, taking in the broken display with wide eyes. Steven realized it was the man he'd seen asleep earlier.

Steven tugged at his hair. "Strange is going to kill me." And he'd been so nice, too.

"Maybe we can fix it." The man took another step forward and gingerly knelt on the floor, avoiding the glittering glass. He grabbed the doll in one hand and one of its broken arms in the other. "Super glue?"

"I don't think that's the only problem," Marc said, fronting with ease. He got down on the ground next to the plinth and picked up the plaque that had been nestled in the case with the doll.

"'This doll once belonged to nine-year-old Dotty Sinclair,'" he read aloud. "'Murdered by her nanny, the child's ghost terrorized several families in 1914 in the town of Cranbury, New Jersey. Her mode of attack involved showing her targets what they feared most until they were driven to madness or death. Eventually, she was trapped in this doll by Master Haig Simon. Artifact is considered stable but dangerous should the spirit inside be awakened.' Well that's great."

"You think…"

Marc looked up from the plaque at the surrounding shelves of books and listened to the silence. Suddenly the Sanctum didn't seem so comforting anymore. "Yeah."

"A ghost. There's a ghost now. Yeah. Yeah, okay." The man stood back up and glanced around as if the ghost would pop out from behind a book case and yell "Boo!"

Marc got to his feet more slowly. Ghosts were real. Yeah, sure, why not? Everything else was. And this one was dangerous. "We need to find it."

The man turned back to face him. "And do what with it?"

Marc threw his hands in the air. "I don't know. Let's just find it before Strange gets back." A wave of guilt washed over him. Strange was busy enough as it was. He didn't need anything more on his plate.

The man's brows drew together in sympathy. "Sorry."

A patter of small feet echoed through the walls, followed by the chime of a young girl's laugh. Both men whipped around but it was impossible to tell where the sound came from. It made Marc wish he could still summon the suit and all the power it came with.

Not sure that'd help against a ghost, Steven said.

"This way?" The man gestured further into the library.

Marc shrugged. That was as good a direction as any. They started walking.

"So," Steven said. "You're Strange's client.

"Yeah."

"I didn't know he had clients."

"Yeah. I don't know." He tugged at the collar of his shirt. "He's just helping me with a, uh, problem." He pointed a casual finger at Steven. "Your voice changed. Your accent."

"Oh, it's this whole thing," Steven said with a wave of his hand. "I'm Steven, by the way."

"Jack."

"Nice to meet you." Steven thought about putting out a hand to shake then second guessed that since they were walking and to stop and turn to do so would be awkward. He scratched behind his ear instead. Then made sure to peer down a few aisles in search of paranormal activity.

Jack had his hands in his pockets and was peering down the aisles on the opposite side of them. "So you're not…"

"A client? No, no. I'm actually helping Dr. Strange with a problem. Well I say helping but I don't know if I'm being that helpful to be honest."

"Do you know him well?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

Steven looked down one row and caught the edge of a blue dress just as it slipped out of sight. The child's laughter followed.

"There!" Steven broke into a run down the aisle, Jack right behind him. Three pairs of running footsteps echoed off the walls now. He had a moment to wonder if he was completely crazy – running after a ghost? – but it didn't last long. He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt.

Looming tall enough to brush the ceiling, Khonshu banged his staff on the floor. Where do you think you're going, worm?

"Khonshu! Where have you been?" Steven tried to lean and look around Khonshu's frame but there was no trace of the little girl.

You cast me aside, remember? You didn't need me anymore despite that I saved your life. Where is the gratitude, hmm?

"Khonshu." Marc's voice was steadier than Steven's.

Khonshu took a step forward, forcing Marc to take a step back. Maybe I should cast you aside? Call Jake out here. He was always my favorite. He never backed down from doing what needed to be done. Let him out and I can be rid of the both of you.

Marc hesitated, his heart picking up speed. If Khonshu had demanded Marc cast Steven aside, he'd refuse in a blink, no question about it. They were partners and they worked best together. But he didn't know Jake. To him, Jake was a shadow, the movement out of the corner of his eye, the blood on his hands he had no memory putting there. Jake had no problem fronting when he really wanted to.

Now, Jake! Khonshu commanded. Do you want these foolish saps to run your life or are you going to take charge? Take control, Jake. It's what you deserve.

"No…" Marc glanced around as if he might find a mirror through which he could plead to Jake not to listen but there was nothing. Nothing save for Jack, that was. The man had his back to the shelf and was staring agape at Khonshu.

He can see him, Steven said.

"You can see him," Marc echoed.

Jack gave a wordless nod.

"Then I have this. Find the girl."

Jack nodded again, managed to tear his gaze from Khonshu, and made a break for it.

Marc turned back to face Khonshu. "It's not you. Now let us pass."

How dare you, Khonshu seethed. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me.

"It's not you. Now let us pass," Marc repeated, more firmly.

I could have let you die.

Balling his fists, Marc ploughed forward and Khonshu…stepped aside. Marc kept going without looking back though he knew Khonshu was gone. The scent of cedar and sand lingered.

She shows you what you fear, Steven said.

"I'm not afraid of Khonshu."

You know that's not what that was about.

Marc picked up his pace. "It doesn't matter now. We need to find that ghost." Where'd she go?

And do what? Moon Knight her to death? She's already dead!

"I don't know!"

This isn't our area. Maybe we should wait until Dr. Strange gets back. He deals with this all the time, probably.

A loud crash sounded from somewhere to their left. Jack! Waiting didn't seem like an option anymore. Marc dashed in the direction of the sound. He skirted around several displays and past cubbies filled with scrolls. As he ran, the light seemed subtly to change, the soft lighting become a blood red. When he emerged from the aisle, the scene that unfolded before him was as baffling as it was horrifying.

Standing in front of the railing overlooking the sitting room was a young girl. Her blue dress was tattered and stained, her bare feet dirty as if she'd been running around outside. Her brown hair was tangled and mussed. In her hand, she held a glowing red stone, the source of the eerie light. Across from her, silhouetted against the evening sun through the Sanctum's windows, Jack was on his knees, hands held out in pleading. Nearby was an overturned, empty plinth, probably knocked over during the chase.

"P-please no," he said. The light looked like blood on his face and hands.

"Hey!" Marc called out.

The little girl glanced at him. He could see the whites of her eyes. Then she returned her focus to the light in her hand. Its radiance spilled out across the hardwood floor and over Jack who flinched like it was a physical blow.

"Stop!" Jack screeched and clutched his head.

"It's not real!" Marc shouted. "She's making you see it!" But Jack didn't seem to hear him. The man curled in on himself, breathing heavily. Whatever the ghost was doing, she could make it hurt.

Marc lunged for the girl, determined to get that stone out of her hands.

He was yanked bodily off his feet and landed hard on his back, the breath driven from his body.

Going somewhere? Khonshu loomed over him.

Marc wheezed and coughed. He rolled onto his side, trying desperately to get his breath back.

Jack was on his hands and knees, bathed in the stone's bloody light but something was off. The entire scene seemed out of focus like trying to watch a 3D movie without 3D glasses. Marc blinked. Colors and shapes that shouldn't be there coalesced to form a new scene superimposed over reality.

Where Jack knelt was not a man but a beast. A creature covered in hair with sharp fangs and ripping claws. And facing him was not an enraged spirit but a little girl, wide-eyed and petrified. He blinked and caught a glimpse of Jack coming to his feet before the hazy image of the beast returned, doing the same.

"P-please help me," the little girl whimpered, her face wet with tears.

No. It wasn't real. Marc sucked in a breath and then another. He struggled to get to his feet. She wasn't an innocent little girl. She was a ghost. A spirit trying to trick them.

"Jack, listen to me," Marc said. "Whatever's happening to you, it's not real. It's an illusion. She's not even a child."

Jack didn't even look at him. He had the posture of a predator.

Khonshu's hand clasped on his shoulder, yanking him back. You can't save him. He's just more blood on your hands.

Marc shook Khonshu's hand off, then caught his reflection in the glass of a nearby display. The bloody light, the wolf-beast, Khonshu, the ghost, all seemed to fall away at the sight. For the face he caught in the glass was his but still it wasn't him.

A memory of waking with blood on his hands, blood he knew he didn't put there.

"Jake…" Marc murmured. The piece of himself born from darkness, the piece of him he didn't yet know. The piece of him Khonshu wanted and who had gone behind Marc's and Steven's backs to retain Khonshu's favor.

What he feared most wasn't Khonshu. It was losing himself. Jake was the face of that fear.

Jake stared back at him and then gestured with a glance and a tilt of his jaw, the barest hint of a smile. "Better go save him, amigo."

Marc jerked his attention back to the scene to see the beast launching itself at the frightened girl. Beneath that, Jack vaulted for the ghost and for the railing just behind her.

The little girl screamed.

The beast snarled.

And Marc grabbed the man by the arm before he could cross the railing and plummet to the ground floor below.

"I got you!"

Jack bellowed, spun, and punched Marc in the face.

Marc went down, taking Jack with him. For a second, it was a flurry of images as man and beast rolled to the floor. Claws and fists. But in the end, the beast was only an illusion. Marc got the upper hand, wrestling to keep Jack pinned.

"Stop! It's not real!" Marc shouted.

In response, Jack bit the side of his hand.

"Ow!" Marc recoiled. "Damn it. This isn't real. Remember the ghost! She's making you do this. There's no stone, no little girl, no monster. There is nothing to fear here."

Jack blinked and finally it seemed the beast cleared from his eyes.

"Do you hear me?" Marc asked. "She's making you afraid."

It took a second but realization settled over Jack's face. "Oh god."

Marc took that as confirmation the fight was over. Or at least, this one was. He stood and slowly turned to face the girl. The ghost. She still stood with her back to the railing though the red stone was gone.

"Now you listen here," Marc said. He was sick of being toyed with.

The girl looked at him with huge eyes. "Please. I'm sorry." She let out a whimper.

"Sorry isn't good enough," said the memory of a woman. Slap!

Marc stopped. He became aware of how small the girl was, how wide her eyes. No. No, this wasn't right.

She's just a child, Steven said. What if the laughter wasn't laughter? She was crying. She's scared, Marc.

Marc knew a thing or two about being scared.

The girl was filthy. Her arms were scratched up. She looked like she'd been running for her life. "I think you're right."

"She's terrified of us," Steven whispered.

"Of course," Jack said. "We were chasing her."

Marc took a hesitant step forward. The girl immediately tensed as if ready to bolt. A fear memory, perhaps something even a spirit couldn't escape.

"Dotty?" Marc said, keeping his voice gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be scared anymore." He took another step toward her and then knelt to be closer to her height. She followed his every movement with her gaze. This close, he could see that her breaths were shallow and quick. She had the countenance of prey.

"Did your nanny do this?" Marc asked, taking in the scratches and the dirt. "Did she chase you?"

"I tried to get away," the ghost said in a trembling voice. "I ran and ran but I wasn't fast enough. She grabbed me. You grabbed me."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Jack said.

"Everyone tries to catch me. Just like she did."

"That must have been terrifying," Marc said. "But you don't need to run anymore. You're safe. No one's out to get you."

"I just want to go home."

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Marc's heart broke for the child, lost and scared for so long. "You're free now."

"But what if they come after me? The magic people trapped me and I couldn't escape them either."

Marc glanced at Jack, saw the sympathy in his eyes, and turned back to Dotty. "We'll make sure they don't. Promise."

For the first time, a smile tried to work its way across the girl's features. "Thank you."

Marc smiled in response and watched her as she faded from view. Steven's speechlessness reflected his own as they slowly stood up. The space seemed blessedly normal as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

"Turns out, the monster wasn't a monster after all," Steven said. "Just a frightened victim."

"They rarely are," Jack said. "Monsters, I mean."

Marc cast him a tired look, remembering the glimpse of the beast. "You should remember that."

Jack huffed a breath and glanced down at Marc's hand. He winced. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's nothing. Just a flesh wound." It didn't hurt that badly, anyway.

"Still. It's a little embarrassing. You didn't exactly see me at my best."

"Really. It's not that bad. Unless…you don't have rabies, do you?"

Jack actually laughed a little at that. "No. No, I don't have rabies."

"Oh, good."

"You should take your own advice, though," Jack said. "Maybe the monster you're scared of isn't a monster after all."

Yeah. Maybe he wasn't.

As he looked around the empty Sanctum, it was easy to imagine what tragedy might have occurred had his fear not, perhaps, proved false. After all, at no time had Jake given the false Khonshu what he wanted.

Below them, the front doors creaked open and a pair of voices drifted up to them. Steven fronted, stiffening. "The doll."

"The glass," Jack added.

"Yeah, I guess it wasn't going to stay a secret," Steven said. "I'll take the blame." He steeled himself for Dr. Strange's Wrath, Part Two.

"No, no. It was my fault. I'll tell him what happened," Jack said.

Steven shot him a look. "Fine. It's both our fault."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue but after that experience, he didn't have much fight left in him. He shrugged. "Okay."

Together, looking very apologetic but a tad more at ease within themselves, they went downstairs to face the music.