Artist/Author: rosesofred
Title: Recovery
Fandom: Moon Knight, MCU, Original Work
Summary: The council must intervene if they want to save Marc Spector from Khonshu’s iron grip. Osiris steps in to take charge of the wounded avatar, taking it upon himself to nurse the mortal back to health. Unfortunately, Marc is not compliant. A battle of wills ensues.
Notes & Warnings: spanking, whump, bratting, forced feeding and bathing, and a pissed off Osiris
“Do not trust the word of a shamed god.” Harrow spoke calmly, fluidly. As if he truly believed his own words. He looked over to Marc, observing the way the worn down man panted from the exertion of speaking for his god. “No, Khonshu is unhinged and his servant unwell.”
“How do you mean?” Hathor asked, worry tinging her voice.
Harrow and Marc exchanged glances before the cult leader explained. “This is a man who literally does not know his own name. He has a marriage certificate under the name Marc Spector…”
“Liar!” Khonshu yelled from Marc’s mouth.
“Employment records under the name Steven Grant,” Harrow continued uninterrupted.
“Stop!” Marc begged.
“I’ve seen him speak to himself-“
“Shut up!” Marc yelled.
“Threaten himself.” Harrow chuckled, looking back to the gods as if Marc himself were a joke. “I have no idea how many personalities he must possess. The man is clearly insane.”
That was it. Marc snapped. Without thinking, he lunged at the man, swinging his fist up to break his stupid jaw.
In an instant Osiris was standing, his hand outstretched as magic surrounded Marc’s wrist and wrought it backwards behind his back. Marc sank to his knees in surprise.
“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber,” Osiris said coolly.
Marc looked up at the god, nodding his head. “Yep,” he whispered, not daring to speak any louder or anger the god currently holding his arm captive.
“It brings me no pleasure,” Harrow lied, “to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man. Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way that he abused me, the way he aspires to abuse this court. Take action now before it’s too late.”
The gods watched Harrow’s speech in silence as Marc stayed knelt beside him, his head down. After a long moment, Horus spoke. “Let us speak to Marc Spector.” Then he released the magic Osiris had used on the man and Marc collapsed to the floor.
Harrow turned and backed away some distance to give him room, a small smirk on his lips that the gods couldn’t see. Marc looked up at him with a glare but found he didn’t really have a good argument. Harrow was at least partially right. He was unwell. Khonshu was using him beyond his capabilities and he was beginning to spiral.
“Are you unwell?” Horus asked.
The gods waited as Marc looked between them all, holding his breath.
“I am,” he said, his voice shaky. “I am unwell.” All he could think of was how close he was to collapsing. From exhaustion, starvation, lack of sleep, everything. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, eaten a meal in whoever knows how long, and he’d lost track of the last time he’d bathed. Even kneeling before the gods he could smell himself, the blood and sand from his mission a pungent reminder. “I need help.” He admitted.
Hathor looked like she believed him. He did look pretty damned awful after all, but that wasn’t the point. The point of this meeting was to accuse Arthur Harrow of conspiring to release Ammit. He had more important issues right now than his own wellbeing.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is…” He pointed his finger accusingly but exhaustion was clouding his vision, forcing him to lower his head. He beat his fist on the floor, eyes closed as he tried to draw strength. Part of him did want help, to be released from the contract between him and Khonshu that was driving him to self destruct. But it was more important that the gods believed him than helped him.
“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu,” Hathor said. He voice was warm, understanding. Marc wished he could tell her the truth.
“This is not about my feelings!” Marc snapped, sitting up. “I’m not the one on trial here. He is!” He pointed at Harrow, his expression furious. “This is about how dangerous he is if you would just listen for a second.”
“He has committed no offense,” Osiris said with finality. “This matter is concluded.”
“Wait.” Hathor spoke before the gods could leave, her voice tinged with worry. “What about Marc Spector? He is not well.”
Osiris turned his gaze back to Marc, who remained kneeling on the stone floor, trembling from exhaustion. The god's expression shifted from dismissive authority to something resembling concern.
"You make a point, Hathor," Osiris said, his voice booming yet calm. "The mortal is clearly suffering under Khonshu's guidance. He himself admitted needing help."
Marc's head snapped up, panic flashing across his dirt-streaked face. "No, wait. I'm fine. I just need-"
"You are malnourished," Horus interrupted, his eyes sharp as they assessed Marc's gaunt frame. "When did you last eat a proper meal?"
Marc opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. The truth was he couldn't remember. Steven had grabbed a sandwich maybe three days ago? Or was that last week?
"Sleep?" Hathor pressed gently. "When did you last rest without Khonshu's voice in your head?"
"That's not-" Marc's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, pushed himself up straighter to rest on his haunches despite his body's protests. "This isn't about me."
Harrow watched the exchange with barely concealed satisfaction, though he kept his expression appropriately concerned. "The gods see what I have tried to tell them. Khonshu has driven this poor man to the brink of madness."
"Where is Khonshu now?" Osiris demanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Why does he not defend his avatar's wellbeing? Speak, Khonshu."
Marc felt the familiar chill as Khonshu's presence pressed against his consciousness, demanding control. His vision blurred at the edges as the god's voice thundered through his skull.
"I defend nothing to you spineless cowards," Khonshu's words spilled from Marc's mouth, his voice dropping to that otherworldly register. "My avatar serves justice while you sit in your golden halls, content to watch the world burn."
The gods bristled at the insult. Horus spoke next, his expression darkening. "You dare speak to us this way?"
"I dare speak the truth," Khonshu continued. Khonshu's possession was taking what little strength Marc had left and he could feel himself shaking. "Ammit grows stronger while you debate and deliberate. Harrow has already begun the ritual. The scales of justice tip toward chaos."
"Khonshu," Hathor's voice cut through the tension, "look at your avatar. Really look at him."
Marc's head turned toward her, but his eyes remained that eerie white glow of possession. His hands trembled violently now, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air of the chamber.
"He is adequate for my purposes." Khonshu insisted.
"Adequate?" Hathor's voice rose in disbelief. "He can barely even sit. When did you last allow him to rest? To eat? To simply exist without your demands?"
Silence stretched through the chamber. Marc's breathing grew more labored, and for a moment, the white faded from his eyes as Khonshu's grip slipped.
"I..." Marc's own voice emerged, weak and confused. "I don't remember." He looked down at his hands, noting the way the bones showed too clearly beneath his skin. "God, I don't remember."
Harrow stepped closer, his voice gentle with false concern. "You see how he suffers. Khonshu has consumed his very essence, leaving only this shell of a man."
"Lies," Khonshu roared, seizing control again. "He serves willingly."
"Do you?" Osiris asked, directing the question not to Khonshu but to whatever remained of Marc beneath the possession. "Do you serve willingly, Marc Spector?"
The question hung in the air ominously. Marc felt Khonshu's fury building, threatening to tear his mind apart if he dared answer truthfully. But the exhaustion was so complete, so overwhelming, that for once the fear of Khonshu's wrath seemed distant.
"I-" Marc's voice broke through, cracked and raw. "I made a deal. To save my life. But this isn't living."
The admission made the chamber go silent. Even Harrow looked genuinely surprised at the honesty.
"I can't remember the last time I slept without nightmares. Can't remember eating a meal instead of just grabbing whatever was closest. I talk to myself because I don't know which thoughts are mine anymore." Tears tracked through the grime on his face, he hadn’t realized he’d started crying. "I think I'm disappearing."
Khonshu's rage exploded through the connection, and Marc doubled over, clutching his head as pain lanced through his skull.
"Enough," Hathor declared, rising from her throne. "We cannot stand by while an avatar is destroyed by their patron."
"The mortal entered this agreement willingly," Osiris reminded her.
"Under duress," Horus countered. "And clearly without understanding the full cost."
"We have precedent," Hathor said, her voice carrying authority. "The Accords of Memphis established our right to intervene when an avatar's wellbeing is compromised."
Osiris looked back at her, considering. "The Accords were written for cases of abuse, not willing contracts."
"Look at him," Hathor gestured toward Marc, who remained doubled over, trembling from Khonshu's assault on his mind. "If this is not abuse, what would you call it?"
Horus leaned forward on his throne. "The mortal clearly cannot advocate for himself while under such influence. We would be negligent to ignore his condition. We should consider protective custody."
Marc lifted his head slightly, confusion clouding his features. "Protective custody? What does that mean?"
"It means sanctuary," Hathor explained gently. "A place where Khonshu cannot reach you while you recover your strength and clarity of mind."
"No." The word escaped Marc's lips before he could stop it, though whether it came from him or Khonshu's influence, he couldn't tell. "I have responsibilities. Harrow is still-"
"Still what?" Harrow interrupted, spreading his hands innocently. "I have broken no laws, committed no crimes. The gods themselves have declared this matter concluded."
Marc's jaw clenched. Even through his exhaustion, fury burned in his chest. "You're planning to release Ammit. I've seen the evidence."
"Evidence that exists only in your fractured mind," Harrow replied smoothly. "More proof that Khonshu has twisted your perceptions beyond repair."
"The scales don't lie," Marc insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. The lines between reality and Khonshu's visions had blurred so thoroughly he no longer trusted his own memories.
Osiris exchanged glances with his fellow gods. "I believe intervention is necessary. The avatar cannot distinguish between reality and delusion."
"We could establish a sanctuary in the Duat," Horus suggested. "Neutral ground where no earthly god holds sway."
"Unacceptable," Khonshu's voice roared through Marc again, white flames flickering in his eyes. "My avatar serves justice. You would leave mortals defenseless while evil spreads."
"Your avatar serves you unto death," Hathor shot back. "And death appears imminent."
Marc felt the truth of her words in his bones. His body was failing, pushed beyond all reasonable limits. But the thought of abandoning his mission, of letting Harrow succeed while he recovered in some divine sanctuary, made his stomach churn.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"As long as necessary," Hathor replied. "Until you can think clearly and have healed properly. Until you remember who you were before Khonshu."
"Before Khonshu, I was dead," Marc reminded her bitterly. "Shot and bleeding out in an Egyptian tomb."
"And now you are dying by degrees," she countered. "Is this existence truly preferable?"
The question hit hard. Marc looked down at his hands again, noting the way they shook uncontrollably. When had that started? Days ago? Weeks? The timeline of his deterioration remained frustratingly vague.
"If I agree to this," he said slowly, "Harrow continues his work unopposed."
"If you continue as you are," Osiris observed, "you will be dead within days regardless. A corpse cannot stop anyone."
Harrow watched the exchange with keen interest, though he maintained his mask of concern. "Perhaps this is for the best. The man clearly needs help that Khonshu cannot or will not provide."
"The decision rests with Marc Spector," Horus declared. "Not his patron. Can you speak freely, mortal? Without your god’s influence?"
Marc closed his eyes, searching for some core of himself beneath Khonshu's overwhelming presence. The god's rage pressed against his consciousness like a living thing, threatening to tear him apart if he dared consider the gods' offer.
Marc opened his mouth to respond, but the words that emerged were not his own.
"You have no authority over my avatar!" Khonshu's voice exploded from Marc's throat, his eyes blazing white with fury. "The ancient pacts forbid interference between god and willing servant!"
Marc's body jerked as if struck by lightning, his spine arching unnaturally as Khonshu seized complete control. The god's rage poured through every nerve, setting Marc's already overtaxed system ablaze with pain.
"I chose him!" Khonshu continued, Marc's voice dropping to that low register that made the chamber's stones vibrate. "He swore an oath in blood and desperation! You cannot simply dissolve what was forged in sacred compact!"
Hathor rose from her throne, her expression hardening. "This proves our point exactly. The mortal cannot even speak his own thoughts."
"He serves willingly!" Khonshu roared, but Marc's body convulsed, blood trickling from his nose as the possession reached dangerous levels. "Tell them, Marc! Tell them you serve by choice!"
But Marc's consciousness had retreated so far inward that only silence emerged. His body remained upright only through Khonshu's will, a puppet dancing on strings.
Osiris observed the spectacle with growing disgust. "Look at what you have wrought, Khonshu. The mortal is a vessel on the verge of shattering."
"He endures because justice demands sacrifice!" Khonshu's words came through Marc's mouth even as drool began to form at the corners of his lips. "Ammit's threat supersedes one man's comfort!"
"His comfort?" Horus's voice cracked like thunder. "This is not discomfort, you fool. This is abuse of a human soul!"
"Enough." Osiris stood, his authority filling the chamber like a physical force. "We have seen sufficient evidence. Marc Spector is clearly not of sound mind nor capable of making rational decisions regarding his own welfare."
"You cannot!" Khonshu screamed through Marc, but the possessing god's voice began to waver as the other deities moved to intervene.
Hathor raised her hands, golden light emanating from her palms. "By the ancient laws of divine protection, we invoke sanctuary rights for a mortal in peril."
"The contract!" Khonshu's desperation bled through his rage. "Our sacred bond cannot be severed!"
"Your bond was forged with a dying man who had no choice," Horus declared, his own power beginning to manifest as fire. "We declare it null under duress provisions."
Osiris joined his voice to theirs, green energy swirling around his form. "Marc Spector, we offer you sanctuary and protection from all divine influence while you recover your autonomous will."
The three gods' combined power struck like a tsunami of pure force. Khonshu's scream of fury shook the very foundations of the pyramid as he was forcibly ejected from Marc's consciousness. The white fire in Marc's eyes guttered out like snuffed candles.
Marc's body crumpled to the stone floor, the sudden absence of divine presence leaving him hollow and disoriented. For the first time in months, his mind was quiet. No commanding voice, no overwhelming compulsions, no constant pressure behind his eyes. The silence felt almost deafening.
"Easy," Hathor's voice came as if from a great distance. Warm hands touched his shoulders, steadying him as his consciousness flickered. "You are safe now."
Marc's vision swam as gentle hands helped him sit upright. The absence of Khonshu's voice left an echoing void in his skull, as if someone had suddenly turned off machinery that had been running for so long he'd forgotten what silence sounded like.
"The mortal requires immediate sanctuary," Osiris declared, his voice serious. "I will assume custodial responsibility."
"Osiris?" Hathor turned toward her fellow god, surprise flickering across her features. "Perhaps my realm would be more suited for healing."
"No." Osiris stepped closer to where Marc sat on the cold stone, his presence radiating authority. "The Duat exists between life and death, between mortal and divine. It is the only realm where Khonshu cannot follow, should he attempt to violate our decree."
Marc lifted his head, blinking slowly as he processed the words. Everything felt muffled, distant, as if he were hearing conversations through water. "I don't understand. The Duat is..."
"The realm of the dead," Osiris finished, his tone matter of fact rather than ominous. "But also the realm of judgment, of weighing souls and determining their true worth. You are neither fully alive nor dead while under divine influence. My domain suits your needs perfectly."
Harrow watched from his position near the chamber's edge, his expression unreadable. “Will he be alright without his god?” He asked with that mocking tone.
"Your concerns are noted and dismissed," Horus replied curtly. "This matter no longer requires your input." A portal then appeared to see Harrow out and the man pursed his lips but didn’t argue.
Marc's hands pressed against the stone floor, his arms trembling with the effort of supporting his weight. "How long?" The words came out cracked and raw. "How long will I be..."
"Until you remember who you are without a god's voice in your head," Osiris answered, moving to crouch beside him. "And your body heals from the damage sustained. Until you are human again.”
The god's proximity brought unexpected comfort. Where Khonshu's presence had always felt like ice and demanding fury, Osiris radiated something steadier. Not warm, exactly, but solid and enduring like stone.
"What about Harrow?" Marc's gaze flicked toward the cult leader who stood by the portal, desperation creeping into his voice. "What about Ammit? If he's planning something-"
"Those concerns will be addressed when you are capable of addressing them rationally," Osiris said firmly. "For now, your only responsibility is to yourself."
Marc wanted to argue, to insist that greater threats demanded immediate action. But the words died in his throat as exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. Without Khonshu's supernatural energy propping him up, his body finally acknowledged how close to complete collapse it had come.
Osiris bent to lift Marc with surprising gentleness. Marc's protests emerged as little more than weak mumbles as strong arms cradled him against a firm chest that smelled of myrrh and desert sand.
"Rest now," Osiris murmured, his voice soothing in a way that made Marc's eyelids heavy. "The Duat will provide what you need."
Reality rippled around them. The pyramid chamber began to fade at the edges, replaced by swirling mists of gold and green. Marc felt the strange sensation of moving between worlds, as if falling upward through layers of existence.
The transition between realms felt like sinking through warm honey. Marc's consciousness drifted as reality shifted around them, the harsh stone of the pyramid chamber dissolving into something softer, more welcoming. When the swirling mists finally cleared, he found himself cradled in Osiris's arms within a structure that reminded him of a mix between a temple and a modern day home.
The temple stretched before them, a vast house, its architecture blending Egyptian grandeur with domestic comfort. Sandstone columns supported a ceiling painted with stars that actually twinkled, while warm light emanated from sources Marc couldn't identify. The air smelled like lotus blossoms and clean linen, a sharp contrast to the blood and grime that clung to his own skin.
"Where are we?" Marc's voice was barely a whisper.
"My personal sanctuary within the Duat," Osiris replied, his footsteps silent on the polished floors. "A place between worlds, where time moves differently and healing comes easier." Oh, so Marc was being kept in Osiris’ own home. No pressure.
They passed through corridors lined with hieroglyphs that seemed to shift and dance in Marc's peripheral vision. He couldn’t tell if it was by Osiris’ magic or his own swirling vision. Doorways opened onto gardens where flowers bloomed, their petals glowing with soft light. The scale felt enormous yet intimate, like a palace designed for solitude rather than court.
Osiris carried him through a doorway into a chamber that felt immediately peaceful. The room was simple but elegant, furnished with a large bed draped in white linens that looked soft. Windows opened onto a view of the Nile as it might have appeared in ancient times, its waters reflecting stars from the beautiful night sky.
"This will be your sanctuary within my sanctuary," Osiris said, approaching the bed with careful steps. "No divine voice will reach you here save mine, and only when necessary."
Marc felt himself being lowered onto the mattress with a gentleness that made his throat tight. The bedding swallowed him up, softer than anything he remembered touching. His body sank into the comfort with a relief so profound it was almost painful. Had he been more sound of mind, he would have been much more upset at having been carried like an injured lamb to bed.
"I can't remember the last time I slept in an actual bed," he admitted, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Osiris pulled the covers up to Marc's chin, his hands gentle yet firm as if he'd tended to broken souls many times before. "Sleep comes first. Your body requires rest before anything else can heal."
Marc's eyelids felt heavy as stone, but anxiety still flickered in his chest. "What if something happens? What if Harrow..."
"Time moves differently here," Osiris interrupted gently, trying to ease Marc’s panic as he settled into a chair beside the bed. "Days may pass in the mortal realm while you rest for hours, or hours there while you sleep for days. I will monitor events and wake you only if intervention becomes truly necessary."
The god's presence felt solid and reassuring, nothing like Khonshu's demanding energy. Osiris radiated the patience of a father.
"When you wake," Osiris continued, "you will receive a proper bath. Clean water and oils to wash away the grime of your missions. Fresh garments. And real food. Not just what you could grab in a hurry."
Marc's stomach clenched at the mention of food, reminding him how long it had been since he'd eaten anything substantial. "That sounds..." He trailed off, unable to find words for how appealing such simple pleasures sounded.
“Goodnight,” Osiris said as Marc’s eyelids fluttered shut.
Chapter 2