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Doctor Stephen Strange had never failed a goal once he set his mind to it. Yes, the whole thing with the world-destroying god could be seen as a never-ending loop of failure, but the bigger goal was successfully met. Eventually. Getting half of the Universes snapped out of existence; those first five years may have looked like a huge loss, but eventually, everyone came back. Except for the people who actually died during those five years. But they would’ve died anyway. From natural causes.
The point is, that he had once again succeeded in meeting his goal of keeping America Chavez alive and preventing Wanda Maximoff from destroying the multiverse. Great. He loved that. Felt great.
And the burned bodies of his fellow sorcerers didn’t burden the weight of the decisions he made to meet that goal. Knowing that the leaders of Universe 616 were dead due to alternative him’s arrogance. Or the knowledge that across the multi-verses were versions of him who had made and would make universe destroying decisions. That even though Stephen was not them, could never truly be any other Strange, couldn’t he understand how they had gotten to their choices? He knew what lead one Steven to nearly destroying his own Universe before asking for death, and the other to murder himself across the multi-verse.
All versions of Doctor Strange did eventually achieve their goals. Even America’s first Stephen met his goal. Probably not how he had planned it, but that is what you get for attempting to murder an actual child.
Stephen would never- But one version of him would. A part of him could.
“Stephen.”
He turned to find Wong standing next to him; arms held behind his back. Stephen followed Wong’s eyes, watching over the remaining temple members as they worked to rebuild what was left. The destruction from the Scarlet Witch had just been cleared away and the dead were no longer here.
Stephen's hands shook, clenched, and released.
“Wong,” he replied and, noting the sun about to set, added, “How long have you been standing there?”
“Too long.”
“Ah,” Well, that sounded right. Jumping through multiverses, and such things. Steven adjusted his cuffs, “Well, it has been a long week.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“It’s Thursday?”
Wong hummed and, before Strange could direct the conversation, pointedly turned to look at the temple behind them. America was sitting against a pillar at the top of the stairs, surrounded by the youngest members of their order, listening to one of the elder masters speak to the group. Stephen could not hear them, but he could imagine the steady tone being used to explain what had happened, how they would restore the temple, and likely some wise reflection or another on how death and life were something, something, and something.
An image of snow slowly falling on the New York skyline crossed his mind, and just as quickly left when he noticed America’s eyes blinking slowly. While he had already treated her minor injuries she had managed to convince him that she was fine; looking at her now, America was exhausted.
“She can stay here,” Wong noted, cutting through Stephen’s thoughts. He blinked and tilted his head to look at his companion.
“She will stay here,” Stephen corrected.
After what felt like a week in hell he was not taking a single chance on her safety. With Wanda gone, Kasma Tar was once again the safest place for America.
He would unpack his feelings about losing another friend, on another day.
Wong turned to meet his eyes, and Stephen noted the slight twinge in Wong’s shoulder and twitch at the corner of his lip.
“We do not force people to stay at Kasma Tar if they do not wish to be here. In fact, we tend to bar certain people who want to be here; if you remember.”
Stephen glared at Wong, “She’s 14; she’s too young to get a say.”
“You are only forty-six,” Wong’s brows lifted, “And even you had a say upon your arrival.”
“Forty-six is not-” he paused, “Wait, Wong, how old are you?”
He had always assumed they were around the same age. Well, Wong was at least five years older than him. But he couldn’t be so much older than forty-six was youthful.
Wong moved towards the temple steps, Stephen following in step, “America will have a place here until she is ready to make her decision; you have my word.”
To give Wong credit, a multiverse jumping teenager could never be kept someplace she didn’t want to be.
“I can accept that.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, ok, but I can at least wait until tomorrow to convince you.”
“I give you three hours.”
Stephen snorted, stopping them just at the base of the temple stairs, “But seriously, how many years do you have on me?
“You’ll never know,” Wong smirked, looking up at the group sitting on the stairs.
“That sounds like a challenge,” Stephen almost teased.
Wong didn’t respond, starting to ascend the stairs, “I ask that you stay at the temple as we rebuild. And assist her; she’ll need to settle into this Universe if she is to learn how to manage her power.”
“I was already planning to.” Stephen followed Wong, “Are we talking twenty years, or-”
Wong stopped and turned to face him; a curve at the corner of his eyes.
“I am not too old for you if that is your concern.”
“Good.” Stephen stopped, ears going pink. “Wait, that’s not why I was asking.”
Wong had continued up the stairs, walking into the temple. He called back, amusement in his voice, “Rest, Stephen; we will talk tomorrow”.
Stephen grinned; Wong knew what he was doing.
A small snore brought his attention back to the group. A dozen sets of eyes were staring openly at him; nosey kids.
Well, all except America. The rest of the group quickly returned to their conversation, except the kid, fully asleep, drooling on Rintra’s arm like it was a fluffy green pillow.
With a sigh, he sent Cloak to pick her up, not without a little bit of flair. America didn’t stir when Cloak lifted her up. Cloak floated her at his side, as they walked into the temple.
He noted that the floor had recently been dried, and most of the mirrors had remained covered. Stephen felt his hands release from the fist they had curled into.
When they reached Wong’s door, Stephen stopped.
Stephen did not have a room at Kal Mon, and he rarely stayed late enough that he couldn’t manage a simple portal back to his own bedroom at the Sanctum. He usually stayed in Wong's room on the rare nights he did. They would be researching something or another, he’d fall asleep at the table and wake up the next morning on the couch with his boots off and Cloak wrapped around him.
Stephen shrugged and entered; Wong’s room was as good as any. It was not in Wong’s nature to rest when his people needed guidance. It’s not like they would be interrupting anyone.
Stephen walked into the room, a dozen sets of eyes turned to him.
Scattered across Wong’s chambers were temple members in various stages of recovery, laying upon bed mats on the floor or leaning in chairs. He could smell a faint air of burning. Stephen’s chest tightened but he kept his face neutral.
Master Chanchez, lounging across a low couch, closed his book and smiled at Stephen.
“Apologies for the surprise, Master Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme encouraged us to use his chambers as a place to rest. I can see now, he did not speak with you before doing so.” Chanchez looked towards America’s floating form, before returning to Strange, “Any other time we would leave so you could tend to your ward, but-” his hand swept over the thick wrappings holding both of his legs in splints “Some of us-”
“All of us,” piped Master Durand from the floor. A wave of chuckles spread through the room.
The room was in good spirits. Steven brought his hands to grasp each other behind his back; keeping them from shaking.
He knew everyone in this room. He respected the choices they made when the temple was attacked. He felt guilt nonetheless.
“Well,” Chavez grinned, unaware of Stephen’s thoughts, “Yes, it would seem all of us would rather stay than leave, Master Strange.”
“Yes, we would!”
Master Chavez swatted at Duran, causing another round of chuckling to spread across the room.
“There’s no need to move,” Stephen smirked, “please, rest as long as you need.”
“Thank you for understanding. If you need space for Ms. Chavez, we can make room.”
Nods and hums confirmed Chavez’s offer, including Master Duran’s “she can take my spot!”
“I appreciate the offer, but,” he squeezed his hands together, maintaining the grin on his face with some effort, “There’s more than enough room in New York. And there’s a pizza joint I know she’ll eat from. Can’t say the same for whatever Master Nowak puts together tonight.”
There was a collective groan, and Master Chavez chuckled, “Very reasonable, Master Strange. We’ll let the Sorcerer Supreme know where you two have gone.”
Stephen nodded before opening a portal behind him. As he brought himself and America through he called back, “I’ll be back tomorrow. Tell Wong he owes me dinner.”
The group erupted in cackles, a few coughs and wheezes mixing in. Master Chavez, eyes lit with knowing amusement, nodded his head before Stephen closed the portal between them.
—
A few hours later Stephen was still awake. He had settled them into a corner of the library. America was sleeping soundly on the ottoman, Cloak tucked around her like a blanket. Stephen sat in one of the armchairs, the fireplace lit behind him, and a book left open but mostly forgotten on his lap.
The kid was safe. The world was safe. The goal had been achieved; everyone was ok. Everyone who was left, at least. They had lost many good and wise sorcerers.
Was every Strange, in every universe, doomed to cause destruction? Would he doom this universe as well?
It was raining outside the library windows.
The thought, ‘I’ll keep her safe. I’ll keep the world safe.’ entered his mind, heavy and comfortable. But a soft, familiar, voice responded, ‘It’s not about you.’
Stephen closed the book. Even long dead, she was still here, guiding him. With how short of a time he was in her presence, he wondered if she knew how much of an impact he would have in his life.
If she could see him now, she would laugh at him. Say something like, “How long have you known Ms. Chavez? And you were willing to risk the multiverse, give up control, just to give her the space to fight for herself. Seems like you already know the answer to your question. Again.”
America shuffled into a more comfortable position. Stephen watched as Cloak moved with her, folding itself into a pillow-like lump for her head.
“You are going to spoil her,” he commented, putting the book on the side table. Cloak said nothing.
“Not like I’ll be any different,” he sighed, getting up and reaching for the phone.
Tomorrow, they will return to the temple.
Wong, though Stephen will never admit to it in public, was right. America needed the space to choose what her life would look like, it was not up to him. But whatever she decided, he would be there.
For tonight, he’s ordering pizza.