Chapter Text
glu·ta·mate
/ˈɡlo͞odəˌmāt/
Noun: glutamate
- Glutamate is an amino acid that acts as a neurotransmitter. Glutamate sends chemical messages in the brain by “exciting” neurons that are sensitive to it. Although it plays a vital role in learning, memory, and brain development, too much glutamate can be toxic.
He’s running again. His boots making splashes in the mud, his broken fingers grasping at tree branches in pain. His breathing was like a staccato in between the curtains of the rain, the pitter patter failing to conceal the noise he makes. Thunder drums in the distance but it feels so close. The ground trembles and his foot hits a branch bringing him to the ground.
I don’t want to die, he panics. His shirt is stained brown in most places but there was blood. What the rain left behind was the red from his chest, specks of wet crimson from the multitudes of criss-cross scars on his body.
Everything hurts but the pain keeps him awake. Keeps his flailing arms and weakened knees from staying still as he continues his pursuit of freedom. His elbows dig into the terrain, sinking deep into the land as he pulls away. He’s forcing himself to stand but his left knee quivers-
Someone flips him and his back crashes to the ground with a thud.
Rain pellets hits his face while waves of agony course through his veins. He chokes on his words as he coughed out his life, “Please… don’t… kill-”
His plead never comes into fruition as a boot comes into contact with his face. Full force directed at his cheek as his body violently lurch to the left. He cries loudly, raising his arms to his face as the other continued his assault. Every hit fell with an almost gleeful malice as his attacker plants each misery like a reminder that he will never be the same again.
“Who are you anyway” it wasn’t a question, the sarcasm dripped like acid. A shoe steers his right arm away from his face. Studying the dark swollen eye and his cut lip. At the rate this one was going, there was no way he was going to come out alive.
His victim coughed out more of his life fluids, too weak to move and too defeated to protect whatever was left of his broken shell.
“Just know that you are only alive”
Lightning runs and all he could see was an outline.
The man above him places his right hand flat on the ground with his foot. He lifts his boot right on top of the other’s already broken hand.
“Because I want you to”
==
Stephen Strange wakes up. His eyes flicker once or twice before realizing it was just a dream. All the air in his lungs comes back as the heavy feeling in his chest escapes. The young magician sits up with tear stains coating his cheeks. A moment is what it takes before he remembers he’s in New York, and that he is three months away from his twentieth birthday. Before he woke, he felt like he was floating in midair and someone threw him back the moment he opened his eyes.
He doesn’t scream when he wakes up anymore, nonetheless his fingers still shake in familiar terror. It’s so bad he forces them into fists and punches the space between his legs. He roots them into his mattress while his blanket sinks with his shaking hands. The movement strong and pulls his covers into a bunch in his middle.
A long familiar streak slashes through the dark night as a crack of thunder drops. It starts to rain.
“ Breathe in, breathe out ...” he hisses through clenched teeth. His head bowed down with his chin almost touching his chest. Chaos bubbled in his middle and he feels it reverberate through his chest where it almost shakes his ribcage.
“ Fuck, come on… don’t…”
Salty tears threatened to escape his eyes as he breathed loudly through his mouth. This feeling of dread envelopes him but he forces it back. His trembling fingers fight to keep still as the rain outside raps noisily.
“Bro? You okay?” he snapped his head back quickly as his eyes turned to search for the small female voice. Wanda Maximoff stood by the door, her red hair bunched up on top of her head while she looks at him in full concern. She was in a green shirt with mismatched pajama bottoms.
Stephen shakes his head left and right. He was trying not to cry in front of her, again, but he couldn’t help himself. The young sorcerer lifts his hands up to his face, they were shaking uncontrollably while he chokes on the words he couldn’t say. The tremors of his fingers travel to his arms, snaking all the way to his chest and his whole body.
“Stevie… Stevie… It’s okay” his ear picked up soft padded footsteps as his friend travelled to his side. The witch sat beside him, her weight slightly shifting the balance of his own on the bed. Her soft hand plants itself on his back and he knows she is trying to cast a spell. It was subtle but his shoulders slacked to the side and his bruised digits lessen their shakes.
“You’re alright… you’re okay” she lightly caresses his back, strands of her messy red hair framing her face. Her blue eyes shining slightly in the dark, “I’m here… You’re here at home”
“I can’t… I can’t keep living like this” Stephen whispered, sucking in one final breath before he averted his gaze from her. The rain continues to fall outside.
It’s been four years since the accident that took away his whole family. It was hard trying to remember that evening but it all comes back to him in shattered pieces. His sister and brother arguing in the back while he tried to tell them off for making so much noise.
Last Train to London by the Electric Light Orchestra was playing on the radio.
“Stevie” Wanda pulls him back to reality, “You can’t just… you need to go back to Banner”
The redhead saw her friend’s painful flinch at the suggestion. Bruce Banner was the psychiatrist Stephen was supposed to be meeting every two weeks.The one the Sanctum personally contacted when Strange reached this place. It started well enough but... He only listens to Zoloft and Prazosin, both sitting in orange containers by his bedside table. It was such a strong contrast against his books and notes.
Wanda leans a little closer to the table and plucked a piece of paper, noticing Stephen has been writing his name again. It wasn’t as bad as before but his handwriting still looked like that of a child’s scrawls.
“You can’t live your life like this” the witch tells him, “Wong and I will go with you-”
“And then what?” this isn’t the first time conversation they had been on this topic, “I go back and talk about my feelings hoping that maybe somehow it will all makes sense again?”
“Stevie”
“I can’t! My mother and father, they’re both dead… Donna and Victor” Stephen almost shouted, “I can’t… just talk about it. Okay, Wanda?”
“Stephen, I know” she said pleadingly.
“I can’t stop seeing them before my eyes” he insists, looking at where the dark shadows lay. “I can smell the fire burning”
“Stephen, I get it” Wanda tries her best not to raise her voice, she holds his hands with hers, “But you’re not well! You need to go back to the doctor-”
“And then what?” the young sorcerer says, “Be told I’m projecting ? That these nightmares aren’t what really happened to me?”
“Stephen, that’s not what they’re trying to do!” Wanda finally raised her voice.
Strange held his tongue and slumped against the headboard. There were days when he couldn’t look at Wanda. She may not be related to him by blood but he couldn’t help but see Donna when he looks at her. She was no different than him, they have both gone through horrible tragedies in their lives but she came out stronger. Her will to continue living despite her circumstances made her so formidable in his eyes.
Him? There were moments where he cannot cross the street without feeling faint. There are days when he can’t step outside of the Sanctum because the very idea of the outside world appalled him to no end.
“You’re not alone, Stevie” Wanda held his face in her hands, her blue eyes glittering in the dark. “But I need you to… to let me help you, we want to help you get better”
Stephen closed his eyes.
“Fine”
==
“Stephen, buddy!”
Dr. Bruce Banner has the kind of smile that lights up the whole room. He was a small man with hair that never seems to stay still no matter how many combs it’s been through. Banner was the kind of man who believed that he should make his space look as inviting as possible. Natural light was streaming through wide windows, the wall a pale green that gave Stephen a slightly warm feeling.
Stephen didn’t bother matching Dr. Banner’s enthusiasm. He sat in the couch, not interested in making himself comfortable. He was hoping the meeting would end within ten minutes, another five for the prescription and he’s out on his way. It’ll be disappointing for Wong but he doesn’t care.
He was already counting the minutes he could leave.
“It’s been what? Months since we last saw each other?” Banner clapped his hands as he sat on a chair right beside Strange. The boy has been his on and off patient for the last three years. He’s had files upon files on him, what happened to him was travesty and he was doing the best that he can.
Stephen Strange was fifteen years old when his family decided to go on a trip. Back then, he lived in Nebraska with his parents and younger siblings- Donna and Victor. The family car collided with a drunk driver who died on impact. Their SUV tumbled off the road, managing to snap his sister’s neck before they it finally settled Four years later, despite first responders finding him along with his family still strapped at the back seat, he insists he managed to free himself and had to run from an unknown assailant.
“So, how’s your sleeping?” the doctor asked patiently, leaning forward. Kind smile on his face while his elbows rested on his knees.
The young sorcerer has been playing this game with the doctor for years. He rolls his eyes, “I’m fine”
“That’s good to know” Banner nodded, making sure to let Stephen take his time. He waits for him to talk, Stephen has proven to be one of the more difficult patient in his line of work. But that is to be expected from someone broken at the boundaries of his childhood.
“I know it doesn’t get any better” he says, hoping that by filling the air with conversation, “However, you’ve reached this far, Stephen but you’ve come so far. You’ve improved since the last time we’ve met, have you been practicing at the Sanctum?”
Stephen sighs and stares at the light streaming from the window, “Yes”
“It’s good. Having things to do is a good thing, Stephen” Bruce nodded, “I’m really proud of you”
“I… I still see it” the sorcerer feels his throat constrict. Stephen can reply each event in his head, the moment replay backwards and moving forwards. His memory strong enough that the smallest details of his ordeal reenacts itself without his permission, “I…”
Rain. It’s raining. Thunder and lightning.
“Stephen”
“I don’t understand” he looks down at his hands, “I… never forget, never”
“Stephen” Bruce interjects gently, a slight firmness in his voice just enough to put Stephen back in his office. “You are here, you are safe. You are doing fine”
The young man lowered his gaze to the floor. That didn’t help anything but he was so tired of having to prove himself that he opts for silence as a defense.
His doctor regarded him intently for a minute, noticing the other’s quivering fingers “Do you… want to go back to school?”
“What?” Strange’s head shot up.
“I think maybe it’s time you go back to school” Banner repeated, this time as a statement, “I can recommend you to an institution that can accomodate your needs. Honestly, Stephen, I feel like you are this close to getting better. But you staying at the Sanctum for months on end seems very counterproductive
“You have your GEDs right?”
Stephen nods.
“Maybe it’s time for you to go to college”