Moon Knight Oneshots

Werewolves Don't Get Sick

Summary: The Moon Boys have a cold and a friendly werewolf arrives to help them. English translations of the Spanish words are in the comments

Pairings: Jack Russell/Marc Spector, Jack Russell/Steven Grant, Jack Russell/Jake Lockley

"What do you mean the suit doesn't work on colds?"

Marc sighed, instantly regretting it as the hot air scratched his throat and he coughed several times before he could answer Steven's question.

"The suit only works on injuries, not on sickness. If it worked on that then we would probably end up being immortal, and I don't think Khonshu wants us around for multiple lifetimes," he croaked.

"He can barely tolerate us for one," Jake quipped. Marc felt him try to hang on to the front for a little longer, trying to give Marc a break from the horrible body aches and stuffy nose. But as he predicted, Jake didn't last long, as he scratched roughly at their nose and eyes, sneezed, and promptly gave up.

"Sorry," his reflection in their mirror on the bedside table said.

"You really don't haveta keep saying that, man," Marc said, giving him a slightly exasperated smirk. "We know you have sensory issues with this stuff. You take half the punches for us, I think you're allowed to sit this one out."

A wave of chills crawled up their body, and Marc wrapped their blankets tighter around them, tucking his knees up to his chest.

"We didn't have anything to do today did we?" Steven said with a yawn.

But just as he spoke, a knock came at the door. Marc groaned, contemplating simply burying his face in his pillow and ignoring whoever was out there. But eventually he dragged himself out of bed, chills lancing up and down his spine as he opened the door.

"Marc!"

Jack Russell's kind face was revealed, and Marc instantly felt dread fall heavily into his chest.

"Shit."

The crisp, freshly painted lines on Jack's face shifted as he frowned at Marc, taking in his hunched form.

"Shit is right, the hell happened to you?" Jack said, stepping forward and forcing Marc to stumble back.

"We're sick," he said. "A cold."

"Sorry, we forgot to call you," Steven added, his fingers automatically fidgeting with each other. "We've had this awful brainfog all day--"

"No, no you don't need to apologize, you are sick, it's understandable," Jack said earnestly. "Our trip can wait, there will be time for travel after you're well again."

"Are you sure Elsa won't be mad?" Steven asked nervously. "We were supposed to help you guys work on helping your friends, what if--"

"Mis amigos, really, don't worry!" he said, patting their shoulder. "Elsa has everything under control, that's what's so wonderful about her. She will be fine."

But as Jack watched them, Marc saw a look in his eyes, a softness growing in them that made him a little uneasy.

"Well, sorry you had to come all this way," Marc said quickly, avoiding Jack's gaze. "You should probably go before we get you sick--"

"Werewolves don't get sick," Jack interrupted with a smirk. "Are you sure it's just a cold? You really don't look good."

"I--yes, we're fine, Jack, we've been sick before--"

"Has anyone been by to help you out? Where's Layla?" Jack interrupted again, now glancing around at the flat.

"Layla's on a mission for Taweret, and really man, it's just a cold, we don't need someone to--" Marc cut off abruptly, doubling over into a fit of coughs. A soft but firm hand gripped under their arm and another around their shoulders and guided them to their bed.