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After America returned Christine Palmer of the alternate Earth to her home, Stephen Strange stepped foot again in Kamar-Taj for the first time since he had entered the multiverse. The smell of electricity and burnt metal assaulted his mind first, and his optical nerves caught up with what primal senses were screaming at him.
Kamar-Taj was devastated by the aftermath of the Scarlet Witch's attack. No living beings other than themselves stood in the courtyard that was usually teeming with life. The sun was still up, meaning that not yet a day—not even twelve hours—had passed since Wanda brought the full strength of her wrath upon the Masters of the Mystic Arts. And her natural powers amplified by the Darkhold had been terrible, made very clear in the afternoon sun. Stephen swallowed, throat dry, as he came to realize that what he had thought was a charred piece of wood was actually the remains of an apprentice, burnt too badly to identify by sight except the destroyed red fabric that once made their robes.
Wong was speaking. Stephen forced his brain to focus on him rather than the corpses scattered about the courtyard. "—the surviving Masters that the issue is done," said Wong. The Sorcerer Supreme was ignoring his own hurts as he looked about the courtyard with a steady, grim expression. "The children and infirmed will need to remain at the Sanctums, but the rest need to return so that we may rebuild."
Stephen found himself asking, "Do we know the casualties?" and he feared what an affirmative answer would give him.
But the horror of knowledge was spared for the moment. "I have not had the chance to take stock yet here. Miss Chavez's first priority was finding you," said Wong, looking at the third of their trio. She was (in the short time Stephen had known her) unusually silent, perhaps struck mute in the presence of the aftermath of battle. Or maybe she knew there was nothing that could be said that would bring comfort after such destruction.
But with the focus away from the battle and on her, America seemed to find her voice easily, as if she never lost it. Perhaps Stephen was just reading too much into it. Perhaps he was projecting his own horror. "Yeah, of course it was. A ton of universes are really deadly really quick."
"That was not a statement of admonition," Wong clarified, hearing the same edge of tension that Stephen heard. "But you have been through much these past few hours. Could you bring her to Hong Kong, Stephen? The infirmary should be set up there."
"Uh, yeah." He automatically reached for his belt, but of course he had no sling ring.
Stephen looked at Wong, who grimaced. "Right," said Wong, and he started to the central interior of the compound, heading to where their supplies such as extra robes and sling rings were kept. Stephen, of course, followed.
America was right beside them. "Infirmary? I don't need an infirmary."
"Physically, you may feel fine, but we need to see if there is any remnant of the Scarlet Witch's magic within you," said Wong. His voice was gruff, stern, emotionless as they passed through the remains of the dead just outside the central building. The smell was worse.
Stephen ignored the smell and the sight, instead throwing his fervor in his concentration on the conversation so that he may push off reality for just a moment longer. "At least, that would be our recommendation. Your consent is needed." Wong shot him a sideways look, but didn't argue. Good; whether it was mundane or mystical, Stephen considered the health of others his purview. And patient consent was necessary.
Consent was something his alternates seemed to have forgotten sometime down their path.
America frowned at their words and her brow furrowed in thought. As they came to the storage room that held part of their supply of sling rings, she asked, "How does that work?"
"It's a bit like an MRI scan," Stephen said while Wong fetched several sling rings. "Non-invasive scan. If something is found, extraction could be a bit more complicated." Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
She was still frowning. As Wong gave him a handful of sling rings to pocket, she asked, "Is that something you can do?"
Of course it was. Not something he usually did as he was more on the research and defending than diagnostics and healing side of their society, but he definitely knew how. "I know how to do it."
"Then I want you to do it. Nobody else." America lifted her chin, as if she expected them to argue the point.
Stephen looked to Wong. Normally he wouldn't ask for permission, but—but there was a lot that needed to get done. And so much of that was draining, terrible, thankless work.
Wong inclined his head. "Get sling rings to the Masters who need them in Hong Kong. Then you may help her get settled. I will summon those in London and see if there is anyone in New York."
He answered only with a single, weary nod and opened a portal that led to Hong Kong to do just that.
America's magical diagnostics scan, so to speak, was clean. Despite more than one magical person trying to take away her power within the last 48 hours, none left a tendril of their magic upon her. Small blessings on this hellish day, Stephen figured.
But she was still banged up and bruised with several cuts and scrapes, and Stephen was not one who liked leaving his work only half-finished. So he turned to more mundane care after finding some supplies of antiseptics and bandages. "Can I treat your cuts?" he asked her, indicating towards the items in his hands.
Her brow furrowed. "Sure, I guess. They're not that bad, though." She yawned. "Could take care of it later."
"Yeah, but I don't like to leave a job half-done," he said, sitting down beside her. They were inside a small bedroom within the Hong Kong Sanctum; Stephen had found the infirmary too crowded with healing sorcerers, and the Master of the Sanctum was gracious enough to grant America and him some privacy. "I'll be quick." She made a face at him, but nodded in agreement.
"You got cuts yourself," America said, pointing to his forehead.
Oh yeah, he knew. With the adrenaline rush that kept him going finally ending, he could feel every bruise and cut underneath his robes. "I'll get it cleaned soon."
She grimaced as he wiped her cheek around her cut. It was just shallow enough not to need stitches, but it was still a nasty wound. "If you tell me what goes on what, I could do this on my own."
"I know," he said. "But I'm a doctor." And he wanted to delay his return to Kamar-Taj for just a moment longer. Just an extra moment to steel his mind for what horrors he would need to face.
America huffed. "I know that. But you're more a sorcerer than a doctor now, aren't you?"
"Once a doctor, always a doctor," he said in return as he applied the antiseptic cream on the cut. "Something the other mes seemed to forget," he added under his breath.
She heard, of course. Her brow furrowed again. "Well, just the one I knew. Your other you in that universe we were in seemed good. He died defeating Thanos, after all."
Of course America didn't know. She wasn't present for that conversation. He sighed and glanced down as his shaky hands reached for a couple butterfly bandages. "I was told that that Stephen Strange had done something—catastrophic. Unforgivable." He shook his head, then said dryly, "And after we were separated, I found another Stephen Strange who was completely insane. So, no, not a great track record with me across the multiverse." Figured.
"But you're good," she said, interrupting the beginning of a spiral of self-loathing that, after the Blip, visited him with a frequency that was probably unhealthy. "I even told you that you could take my power and—and you didn't." She gave him a look that he couldn't read. "Even though Wanda was going to break through."
"Like I said, I saw you use it when you were afraid, and even when Wanda used your power against you in the space between universes, you sent me to a world where I could find the Darkhold and get back to you. To control your powers, you just needed to concentrate your emotions and unconscious wants to conscious thought. And you did it." In that way, it was very similar to the Mystic Arts; she needed to surrender to her emotions before she could learn to control them. America learned the surrender part on her own; from there, it was just overcoming the fear of her powers so she could direct them.
She was still giving him that look. "But you didn't know if I could do it."
He didn't. "That doesn't matter. The alternative was unacceptable." No matter what his alternate, pony-tailed self thought. No matter what Wong, in a moment of desperation, had thought necessary.
He was not sure if America had heard Wong's last command. He hoped she hadn't.
America's weird look disappeared as he applied the last of the butterfly bandages on the cut. She smiled at him. "Thank you for believing in me."
Stephen didn't know what to say, so he fell back to easy snark. "Well, I did say you could trust me."
She made another face at him, which was interrupted by a yawn. He couldn't blame her at all.
"Rest," Stephen said as he stood. He placed the medical supplies on the nightstand. "I need to get back to Wong. You'll be okay here on your own?" There were other sorcerers around, of course, but she hadn't talked to anyone else during her overnight stay in Kamar-Taj. It would be the first time that neither he nor Wong would necessarily be readily available.
"Yeah," America said. She squinted at him. "I'm alone all the time, you know. I can handle myself."
"You don't have to be anymore," Stephen said in return. She narrowed her eyes further, and he continued, "We're not gonna kick you out, kid. You're welcome to stay in Kamar-Taj as long as you like." He was certain Wong would agree. And possibly… "Maybe consider learning the basics of the Mystic Arts. It could help you understand your own innate powers better and offer you further control." The nature of her power was unique, to say the least. It tapped into sorcery with its crossing of dimensional power, yet there were cosmic elements wholly unique from magic that made it unlike anything Stephen had ever seen before. With study of magic, she could perhaps better understand what elements were similar to sorcery, and what elements were entirely something else.
America's eyes lit up at the idea, though Stephen saw her immediately try to school her expression. "Learning magic could be pretty cool," she said. "I'll think about it."
"You don't have to make a decision immediately," he said. "For now, get some rest."
She fell back on the bed. "Sure, but only because I'm actually tired. You can't actually order me around."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he deadpanned. She smirked at him, and he felt his own lips twitch upward as he left her room.
Returning to Kamar-Taj was an unhappy affair. Stephen automatically portaled into the courtyard, as he had been doing for years, and came again to the aftermath of battle. But now, all hands that were available were present, removing rubble, salvaging supplies, and covering up the charred remains of fallen sorcerers.
He immediately got to it, helping where he could, ignoring his body's own hurts as the afternoon sun sank lower until it was early evening. He learned that Hamir and the other Masters disappeared through puddles had been placed within the magical holding cells underneath Kamar-Taj, where sorcerers were unable to cast spells. (The containment cell Wanda had stepped in was what they considered their high security block—and even that had not been enough.) They were there with several others who had tried to hold down the compound, hurt but thankfully alive.
The rest had fled to the Sanctums, largely London and Hong Kong, but there were a handful of people who held down the fort at New York as well in the absence of its master. He was grateful for that.
The last daylight of the setting sun still shone upon Kamar-Taj when Wong came to him. One of the healers had caught up to Wong, clearly, as his wounds were treated. Stephen had avoided the healers rather deftly the last few hours, finding the need to work himself to utter exhaustion before he could allow himself to rest. He was getting there.
Wong was frowning at him. What had he done now? "You haven't rested."
Oh, was that it? "There's work to be done." And there was still so much more left to do.
The frown remained. "Come with me, Strange."
Wong was using that voice. Fine. He exhaled a low sigh, but followed Wong without protest through a portal to the New York Sanctum. That was how he discovered that the foyer had been turned into a cafeteria. Several tables of containers (enchanted to keep warm) held several dishes of food.
"New York's kitchen is the largest of the Sanctums, and we're still determining the structural integrity of the cafeteria's building," Wong said in response to Stephen's questioning look. "Grab a plate."
Too tired to be more than bemused, he did as ordered, dishing himself some food that would be easy to eat as his hands were shaking a bit more with his exhaustion. He followed Wong into a side lounge on the second floor, tucked far away from anyone who may come into the Sanctum for food or rest as they worked away at rebuilding Kamar-Taj. As Stephen settled himself, Wong already had summoned a teapot and cups to sit on the table.
"Magically made tea, Wong?" Surely not. That would be the end of the world; but of course, it almost had been.
"Don't be ridiculous. Made the proper way, just summoned from the kitchen. I'm not the only one who prefers tea made without magic." He poured it without magic, as well, two cups between them, and took a sip. It was only then that Stephen realized that Wong didn't have a plate of food for himself.
"Shouldn't you eat too?"
"Already did. Then I realized I hadn't seen you in hours. Thought you were asleep."
No, he was just really good at avoiding Wong. And the healers. "There were things to get done."
"So there will be for some time." Wong gave a pointed look at the plate. Stephen rolled his eyes, but he took a bite for good measure. After the first bite, he took several more as his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast just before dawn at Kamar-Taj.
When his stomach was more settled, Stephen slowed down and replaced his plate for the mug of tea. He exhaled, slowly. "What's the damage?" he asked.
Wong's stony expression wavered for just a moment. "Twenty-three dead. About just as many wounded. Master Minoru is working to identify the bodies with Master Hamir, but some are beyond all recognition."
He was a doctor. He'd done autopsies before. "I can assist—"
"No," Wong said, voice firm. "You've done more than enough, Stephen. If you have spare energy, I want to learn what happened after you escaped with Miss Chavez. I know that Wanda hunted you two through dream-walking and eventually found her, but Miss Chavez did not say much to me about your journeys after Mount Wundagore's temple was destroyed."
Stephen grimaced at the memory, at the sound and sight of falling stone brought down by red magic before he left his alternate's corpse and woke up in the Sanctum that was both familiar and not, at the side of a Christine that was both a stranger and a confidant. So was his life. "Yeah. Sure."
He kept the explanation brief, bypassing all details about the walk to the Sanctum and what he had learned about America. Rather he focused on Mordo, the Illuminati's tale, and Wanda's attack. He did not hesitate to tell Wong that his alternate self had used the Darkhold and caused immeasurable damage, but he found himself pausing when it came to revealing how America escaped.
"Uh, there's another thing. Christine Palmer was in that universe as well, as one of the scientists working with the Illuminati. Knew that Strange, got looped in. She got America out, led us through large storm drains to the waypoint under the Hudson—or their version of the Hudson—to get the Book of the Vishanti. I stalled Wanda for a time, but she got out and destroyed the book before I could use it against her."
Wong grimaced at the news of its destruction. "That's a terrible loss."
Stephen shrugged. He couldn't muster up much energy to care about it. "Wanda used America's power to send Christine and me into another universe. It had suffered an incursion. It was—it was devastating." And that his alternate self, the one who had formed the Illuminati, had caused such destruction still made him feel ill. "But not everyone there was dead. I found another me."
"Another you?"
"Yeah, I know." Stephen shook his head. "But he was—unhinged. Not from the incursion, though. No, he lost his marbles before that. Turned out he had been killing other Stephen Stranges through his own copy of the Darkhold. Maybe caused his own universe to be destroyed due to all his dream-walking." That was his current theory. That would be two hims that he knew of that had destroyed a universe. And if two of three had, just how many others had doomed their world? Perhaps that Strange was doing all those universes a favor, sparing them that fate. Getting rid of their Stephen Strange may have helped their worlds survive longer.
Wong was staring at him with a narrow-eyed gaze, as if he guessed some of Stephen's thoughts. "What happened to him?"
Stephen swallowed. "Fell through the window as we fought for the Darkhold. He had no Cloak to help him." He hadn't meant to kill the unhinged Strange. Stephen's goal was to keep the Darkhold away from him by breaking the stalemate of their spells. He hadn't realized that the blast would be so powerful. And he definitely hadn't realized that it would send the other Strange through the window.
Within that moment, Stephen had had no time to spare to think about his actions. He had to get to America and save her from Wanda, first and foremost. But now that he was back here with only his thoughts, he could sit with the fact that he, too, had killed a Stephen Strange.
Maybe he really wasn't any better than them.
Wong was giving him one of his unreadable looks. "You used the Darkhold yourself to dream-walk into your corpse," he said. With this new piece of information Wong was able to connect the dots, as Stephen suspected he would.
"I had no other choice," Stephen murmured. "It was the only way I could reach America. It was the only way I could survive Wanda long enough to get her out of there." He snorted softly. "Don't think I would have managed it without Christine, either. Other Christine, that is."
Wong's eyes were still narrowed. "You haven't quite let go of your love for her yet, have you?"
Was he so obvious? Or did Wong just know him too well? Whatever the case, Stephen did not have the energy to refute the claim. "She will always be dear to me," he said. "But so long as she is happy, I can be—" Happy? That was the question, wasn't it?
And the truth was, he didn't quite know the answer. But did it really matter? After all, it wasn't about him. It couldn't be about him. When he made it about him, universes died.
He could never let that happen here.
Wong allowed the pause to sit for a moment. When Stephen did not continue his sentence, he moved on. "You reached Miss Chavez by using the Darkhold, but you nearly jeopardized our mission by not listening to me."
Stephen's gaze, which had been glued to the bottom of his mug, went up to stare at Wong. Wong's look was completely unreadable. Stephen straightened in his seat, lifting his chin a little higher. "I will not apologize for that."
"I'm not asking you to," was Wong's reply, causing Stephen's brow to furrow. "On the contrary, you have my thanks."
"Sorry?"
Wong's expression melted into something softer. "You have relieved me of the burden of knowing I was responsible for the death of a child."
"Wong—"
Wong held up his hand, causing Stephen to fall silent. "It was a difficult call to make as Sorcerer Supreme," he said, "And I perhaps know the same difficulties your other self went through. But unlike your other self, your stubbornness to ever find another solution paid off once more. I don't know what you said to her, but I am grateful that you have more ingenuity than your alternates seem to possess."
Stephen's posture loosened until he was slumped again back into the chair. He exhaled. "It was a difficult situation, Wong. This entire thing was a shitshow. It shouldn't have happened." It really shouldn't have. How had Wanda found the Darkhold, anyway?
Wong proved to have similar thoughts. "I thought Miss Maximoff was in retreat with one of the remaining Avengers after the Westview fiasco. I never imagined she had found such a relic instead. How did it come to her?"
"We did find remnants of witchcraft in Westview when we investigated it later," said Stephen, "but nothing that hinted at such darkness. It disguised itself well."
"Deceit and corruption are well-known traits of the Darkhold," said Wong. "We are lucky that both it and the temple are destroyed here."
"Across the multiverse, too," Stephen said. At Wong's raised brow, he clarified, "She used her multiversal connection to destroy the Darkhold across every universe she could reach. The one I was using was destroyed."
Wong slowly nodded. "One final good act after so much destruction. The dead will not thank her, but future generations spared this suffering might."
"If they knew," Stephen muttered.
"If they knew," Wong repeated with a soft exhale. He took a slow sip, then looked over the rim of his mug to give Stephen a once over. "There may be some side effects from using the Darkhold, even once, as you did."
He sighed. "Great." It was too much to ask otherwise, wasn't it? He looked down at his near empty plate and mug and vanished it to the kitchen to be cleaned. Later. "I best get back to it."
"No," Wong said in return. "You're going to find a healer, and then you're going to rest."
Stephen made a face. "I'm fine."
"You travelled through several different universes and just used the Darkhold to take control of your corpse. You're going to find a healer and get looked over now for both mystical and physical wounds."
He glowered at Wong, but Wong could be just as stubborn a bastard as he was, and Stephen was, in all honesty, absolutely exhausted and didn't have the fortitude for that mental battle. As little as he wanted to admit it, using the Darkhold had taken a heavy toll on his energy. And the doctor in him couldn't help but realize it was probably a good idea to make sure there was no lingering malignant magics running through him.
Still, Wong didn't need to know that. "I do this under protest," he said as he stood up.
"Duly noted," was Wong's dry retort.
"Quite a lot of protest, actually," he added as he made a lazy portal to Hong Kong.
"I heard you the first time."
The portal closed behind him before he could say something in return. Damn.
As Stephen started towards the infirmary, he paused for a moment as a part of him wanted to check up on America and make sure she was all right. But he didn't want to disturb her if she was asleep and, well, it really wasn't his place. She probably would find it annoying, independent as she was.
Still, he lingered for a moment longer than he probably should have, indecisive, before shaking his head and making his way to the infirmary. He'd get himself checked out, per Wong's request. Get a few hours of sleep. And then he'd wake, hopefully without any further terrible dreams.
And tomorrow he'd help to rebuild.