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Stephen Strange had lived far more lifetimes than any man should be cursed to live. In that time, he’d witnessed exactly fourteen million, six hundred and four versions of a doomed future, futures where heroes fell, villains rose, and Earth and the rest of the universe descended into chaos. He was damned to remember each and every death he’d ever seen, the way their lifeless bodies crumpled before Thanos’s unerring might, the sacrifices they made for each other in the hopes that one small action could turn the tide.
Stephen had hoped that he would grow indifferent after a while, but getting to know them, all of them, more and more with each loop only made it worse. It made the realization that Stark would have to die so that the world might live even more painful. He would have borne the burden if he had been able, but he knew, in the end, that the fate of this fight was not – and had never truly been – up to him.
Thanos hadn’t been like Dormammu. Then, Stephen had been the only hope the planet had, trapped in a never-ending cycle so that the Earth might live in stasis. He’d died more times than he cared to count, phantom pains sparking through his body whenever he dwelled too much upon them. Now, in the wake of Thanos’s defeat, images of fallen champions in timelines long forgotten haunted him and made dreaming impossible.
Endless time, he had found, was more of a curse than a blessing.
It was nearing midnight, and Stephen had been avoiding sleep, not that he could anyway. The cloak of levitation had been not-so-subtly nudging him towards the bedroom, but Stephen had ignored it, burying himself deeper into the texts in the Sanctum’s library. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but with the time stone destroyed, the universe had lost its “get out of jail free” card. The next time a universal threat came knocking, there was no room for error.
He pulled a hand through his hair with a sigh. Paranoia might have been one of the forces driving him, sure, but it was more so that he was desperately grasping for any semblance of control he could find. He’d had that, when he was still the guardian of the time stone, but now they were all plunging headfirst into a world where there were no second chances.
The cloak of levitation tugged at his arm, and Stephen pushed it away, trying to focus on the text in front of him. The words were starting to blend together, and he rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. He was mostly unsuccessful, and his eyelids only felt heavier.
He shouldn’t rest, he knew that, knew the nightmares that lurked at the edges of his mind would take advantage of the vulnerability. But he was exhausted, and he’d been running on fumes and coffee alone for the past few days. Surely, a few hours wouldn’t hurt…
Before Stephen was aware he’d come to a decision, his head had slowly drifted down to rest on his arms, and he drifted off into a nightmare.
Fourteen million, six hundred and five. That was how many timelines he’d lived through, been forced to witness, as the Avengers and their allies strove to defeat Thanos. Yet over, and over, and over again, they had failed. Thanos obtained the stones, snapped his fingers, and half the universe ceased to be.
Stephen didn’t always make it to that point. There were times when the fight went differently, when Thanos killed him before the fight progressed to then. The timeline would reset, and he’d be back at the beginning, only to suffer the same thing once more.
He glanced up at Thanos as the Titan prepared to bring the full strength of the power stone upon him, only to blink and find himself suspended above the deck of Ebony Maw’s ship, hundreds of glassy needles shimmering around him. Stephen didn’t have time to react before Ebony Maw waved his hand, the needles inching closer and closer before they began to puncture his skin, pinpricks only elevating in intensity as they drove deeper and deeper into his flesh.
He whited out, and he was in the Dark Dimension, standing before Dormammu and announcing his intentions to bargain. Dormammu laughed, crushing him with a planet, and time reset. Again, and again, and again, Stephen felt what it was like to die, to have every atom blasted apart by a being with powers beyond mortal comprehension.
Stephen fell to his knees on a frozen lake, seeing his little sister standing before him. She turned to him with a smile. Something was wrong, a sharp cracking sound splitting the air, fissures spiderwebbing beneath her feet. He started towards her, hoping against hope he would get there in time and calling reassurances he knew would fall on deaf ears.
She fell through the ice, and the hand he reached out to grab her closed on thin air.
Stephen jolted awake, eyes flying open. In his panic, he’d knocked one of the Sanctum’s many coffee mugs onto the floor. Thankfully, it was empty, but the mug still shattered into pieces on the wooden floor of the library. The sound split through the silence of the Sanctum.
Stephen swore, despite himself, and ducked to gather the mug’s remains. As he reached towards them, he froze, and it took a moment for him to register why.
His hands were shaking.
They always had, after the accident, but generally it was something that he could quell with some willpower and a little bit of magic. But his nightmare had shaken him, so much so that he couldn’t seem to pull on the magic he knew should be just within arm’s reach.
He was faintly aware of the cloak of levitation whisking away to somewhere else in the Sanctum as he tried to level his breathing. He… wasn’t having much luck. The weight of everything was crashing down upon him, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.
See how much death you’ve caused, Strange? The natural laws exist for a reason.
They did, and Stephen had flown in the face of them more times than he could count. The faces of everyone he’d lost, whether in this timeline or another, danced in his vision.
You always have to be the one holding the scalpel, Stephen. You have no one to blame for this but yourself.
His breath was coming in harsh and ragged gasps, and he balled his hands into fists. He was spiraling. Memory upon memory flashed through his brain, every death, every failure, painted bare before him. He’d failed them. He’d failed them all. And his weakness had resulted in the deaths of countless others-
“Strange? Strange, are you alright?”
Stephen blinked his eyes open to find Wong’s worried face in front of him, the Cloak of Levitation hovering not far behind. He inhaled shakily, clenching and unclenching his fists, and met Wong’s gaze.
“I’m fine.”
They both knew he was lying, but Wong was kind enough not to press, at least, for the moment. He gathered up the remains of Stephen’s broken coffee cup and deposited of them before beckoning to him.
“I’m making tea. Join me, won’t you?” It wasn’t a question.
Nodding mutely, Stephen followed him down to the Sanctum’s kitchen, the cloak of levitation draped over his shoulders like a weighted blanket. He sat down at a table that was nestled off to the side and watched dispassionately as Wong brewed the tea, focusing on Wong’s soft humming instead of the thoughts racing through his head. It was some pop song he didn’t quite recognize, so it was probably more modern than he tended to listen to.
It was peaceful. It was quiet. Far quieter than Stephen liked, his nightmare beginning to drift closer from the corners of his mind.
He should have done more. He should have – could have – saved them-
Wong plonked the mugs of tea down on the table, startling Stephen from his thoughts. “It can be dangerous to dwell in one’s thoughts, you know.”
Stephen shrugged, taking the proffered mug and taking a sip. “Who says that’s what I’m doing?”
“I’m not blind, Strange.” Wong sighed, setting his mug down and looking, truly looking, at Stephen. “Stephen,” he began. “I know that you do not wish to talk about your nightmare. But I must insist that you do. Magic can be… unpredictable when the user is off balance, and you are far more than unbalanced.”
“It wasn’t a nightmare. It was… they were memories,” Stephen admitted, reluctantly. Wong’s eyebrows rose, and Stephen continued. “I have an eidetic memory. I remember all of it, everything that ever happened to me.”
Wong’s gaze went distant before sharpening on Stephen. “Then Dormammu…”
Stephen’s gaze dropped to his mug. “All of it.”
“And Thanos?”
Stephen nodded. “All fourteen million, six hundred and five.”
Wong looked aghast. This was why Stephen hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, he hadn’t wanted their pity. He could handle this. He was handling this – just fine, he might add – and he didn’t want to be treated differently just because of what he’d been through.
“We all have our crosses to bear, Wong. Mine just so happens to be heavier than most,” Stephen attempted to placate Wong, but Wong cut him off.
“I’m sorry, Stephen. I should have been there for you.”
That… wasn’t exactly what Stephen had been expecting. The regret, sure, but he hadn’t expected Wong to feel responsible for any of it. It was Stephen who had made the choice to face Dormammu death after death, travel through millions of loops to find the way to defeat Thanos. Wong hadn’t forced his hand in any of that.
“I should have asked you more questions following the defeat of Kaecillius. I knew, deep down, that you must have suffered in order to convince Dormammu to release his claim on our world, but I didn’t question it. And after Thanos… I admit, I had no idea what you had done, but I saw the toll it took on you. I’m sorry for not being there to support you.”
Stephen swiped at his eyes. “The fault doesn’t all fall with you, you know. I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with what happened.” He tried for some snark, but it fell flat.
“But it also does not all fall with you.” The corner of Wong’s mouth quirked. “Shall we agree to share it?”
Stephen managed a small smile. “If you insist.”
Wong sighed, leaned back in his chair, and took another sip of his tea. “Stephen, I am here for you. Now and in the future. And I ask you to share your memories of those events. Let me help you shoulder the burden.”
Stephen smirked. “And if I refuse?” he asked, but he didn’t think he was going to, and Wong seemed to know that.
Wong smiled. “Don’t make me use my authority as the Sorcerer Supreme,” he said lightly, and both of them know he wouldn’t.
And so, Stephen explained. The memories, the nightmares, all of it, in enough detail to get the point across without leaving all his sins bare to the world. Thanos, Dormammu, the loops, the deaths, the resets, and the realization that a sacrifice would have to be made in order for the world to live on. He wasn’t going to admit he cried, of course he didn’t, but by the end-
But by the end, he had to admit, his heart felt the slightest bit lighter.