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Wong stood silently in the doorway of the sitting room, watching, always watching Stephen’s still form. He had settled into the chair next to the window early that morning and it wasn’t difficult to tell he hadn’t slept at all; dark circles having engraved themselves beneath his eyes.
His condition had been deteriorating rapidly, since Thanos, since the funeral, since he came back and saved the world for the second time on a global scale. He was thin, thinner then he had been before disappearing to Titan, his skin was so pale as to be practically translucent.
Yet, for all the physical ailments, it was the spiritual ones that were making Wong’s stomach twist sickly, fear kickstarting his heart. He had been told, before the Ancient One had passed, that Stephen Strange was a force to be reckoned with, that he would be the best, most skilled, sorcerer in eons.
He hadn’t believed it. Stephen Strange had been arrogant, self-righteous, disrespectful to the traditions of the order, tied to earthly temptations, too…sentimental for their duties. The man was nothing but another hopeful, that he could change the world when their job was only to maintain it, to protect.
Then Dormammu happened and while Wong hadn’t been completely wrong, he hadn’t been right either. Strange had proved himself skilled but most importantly…good. His will was that of iron, no other could have endured the wrath he faced. His heart, on the other hand, was one built for compassion and sacrifice.
The problem was that now it was exactly that, the heart and the sentimentality that was killing him. Humanity was important, empathy was essential, but sometimes it was too much. Wong feared what would happen if Stephen wasn’t pulled from the depths in which he sunk.
He could see it, from one conversation to the next, the discarded futures circling in his head, pulling him from their world into one that he wasn’t meant to be travelled. He was slipping away ever faster, and Wong could no longer let it stand.
Stepping into the room, Wong was unsurprised when Stephen did not react, eyes steadfast on the window. He stood in beside him, taking in the furrowed brow, the bitten lip, the glassy eyes, the pale skin.
Against all odds, Strange, had become a friend, an ally. He understood, truly, that the guilt tearing apart the man in front of him was not to be fixed with simple words or even the vial clutched in his own hand. It would take time and practice to forgive not only himself but the certain anger he harboured against his own fate, against his role as sorcerer.
Stephen hadn’t touched the Time Stone since they retrieved it, having sent it back to Kamar-Taj. Wong didn’t blame him for it, though he knew it was making the order uneasy at a time when they all needed Strange to step forward.
It wasn’t easy going from being a doctor that saved lives to a man who had to sacrifice them. This was so much worse then Dormammu as well, because at least then it had been Stephen’s own. Wong suspected it was that very thing that would make Strange’s future so bright as the Ancient One claimed.
“Strange?”
It took a moment, but his eyes flickered up to him, slowly clearing of their haze. Wong wasn’t one for soft words and gentle actions, so he unceremoniously held out the vial containing a clear liquid, simple but powerful.
Trembling fingers reached up to grasp it, turning it in his hands, “what’s this?” the man inquired quietly, voice hoarse.
Wong nearly sighed with exasperation, Strange needed to drink something before he became too dehydrated, but it could wait for the moment, he motioned at it just as Stephen uncorked it and gave a small whiff, recoiling immediately, “its to help you. You’ve had thousands of possibilities shoved into your head before you were ready. This will help you let them go.”
For the first time all week, something other then grief flashed in his eyes, “make me forget you mean.”
Wong held in his ground, “this is the future we are in, its time to start living it better or for worse.”
Stephen stared up at him for several minutes. Wong watched closely, sensing as the man’s aura shifted and strained in response to his emotions, his very soul practically screaming from the agony he was in. It was a matter of time before Stephen sipped it, all he needed to do was let him come to the conclusion himself.
Stephen’s fingers tightened around the vial, his eyes fixing on it. Another long moment passed then…lips moved silently at first, then again, then, “I loved them.”
Wong blinked, “who?”
“All of them,” he whispered.
It took Wong several long minutes to understand but when he did it felt like the air had been kicked out of his lungs. The hands he had clasped behind his back turned to fists as he struggled to maintain his stoic exterior, “you didn’t.”
Stephen was back to looking at him with glassy eyes, “I had to.”
Anger surged through him, but he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes against it, because this was exactly what he meant. Leave it to Stephen to not simply focus on the futures, to not simply wade and discard the options, not get attached. No, what Stephen was alluding to was that he fell into the trap of seeing too much, looking too far.
“You didn’t have to,” Wong forced out. “You didn’t need to look at their pasts too, it was unnecessary, stupid, dangerous-”
Stephen’s eyes flashed again, “I owed it to them. If I was deciding the future the least, I could do was understand the gravity of those I was asking to die for it.”
Wong took a deep breath, tired to cast aside the revelation. It explained why Stephen was struggling so much, he’d watched the entire history of these people, the Avengers because he couldn’t bring himself to throw their lives away callously.
It was what made him a great man and exactly what might kill him.
“Drink it,” Wong nodded his head at Stephen hand.
Stephen stared at it again, eyes falling closed then, without a word his fingers opened, and the vial went crashing to the ground, shattering upon the floor in a mess of liquid and glass, “no.”
Wong hadn’t moved, didn’t intend to, frozen to the spot.
Stephen’s eyes brimmed with tears, head turning to look out the window, “it hurts,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to forget.”
Wong was torn. He wanted to stop his suffering; knew on an intimate level that he had done enough. The nightmares were endless, the lack of appetite a physical manifestation of his guilt, the tears that constantly brimmed in his eyes.
But he also understood. To simply forget people whom, he had learned everything about…perhaps the knowledge would only make it worse. He had little experience when it came to these forms of trauma so he did the only thing he could.
Wong summoned a chair and sat, settling back into its embrace. He waved his hand and a small table with drinks and a platter of fruit appeared between them, which Stephen payed no mind to. Calmly, with hands settled in his lap, “tell me about them. Tell me everything you’ve seen.”
Stephen glanced at him briefly, the smallest of smiles quirking his lips for the first time since everyone came back and nodded.