Two superheroes, one shapeshifter.

Cecil had forced you and Rex to babysit Shapesmith after your constant disrespect, oversized egos, and rebellious stunts on missions. You two thought it would be easy, but here you were, struggling to keep the Martian sitting still on the couch while you tried to prepare the strange Martian food he’d mentioned. Sure, Shapesmith was probably hundreds of years old, but his obsession with acting human made him come across more childish than either of you.

— “Jesus, is he ever gonna shut up about the sacrifices he saw on his planet? I’m two seconds away from sending him back with a punch.”

Rex muttered to you, though maybe it was just his ego talking. He nudged your arm, prompting you to look at Shapesmith rambling on endlessly about Mars, as if what had happened there was the most important thing in the universe.