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"Doctor Strange?" America yelled. "Stephen?"
She walked around the empty Sanctum (the mirror Sanctum, she called it in her head), trying to find him. The place still didn't shift around her feet, but she had caught the paintings on the wall changing. The changes were slight, almost negligible, but she was sure that the woman had been wearing a red dress the last time she had come. Or was it blue?
"In here."
America followed the voice, stepping into the library. The magic here was palpable, almost visible in the air. The light that glowed through the window was a perfect replica of New York City, so much so that she had to catch herself, reminding her brain that no, she wasn't in New York, but in a pocket dimension.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to rewrite most of these books from scratch. I've read a lot of books in my time, and this was a good way to try and remember all that knowledge." Stephen looked up from his work, where most of the books laid open on the table. Most of them were covered in dense script that glowed faintly.
"You can remember all... that?" America tried to imagine the sheer amount of knowledge that he must have. That all Doctor Stranges must have.
"I'm starting with the basics first. Astral projection, basic spell casting, those are basically ingrained in my mind at this point." Strange said with a shrug. "Then I might move on to writing some of my own experiences down, though I suspect that would be a long time in the future."
"That's going to be a lot of books." America looked down the halls. "Are you sure it'll fit?"
Stephen chuckled and wrote down another line. "This is the Sanctum Sanctorum, America. Now that everything physical is destroyed in this universe, it exists purely on a magical level. There is a threshold where magic imbues an object enough so that it becomes sentient. With each book I restore, I am getting closer to it."
"So you're healing this place?"
Stephen's hand didn't stop moving, but his expression tightened. "Yes, I suppose I am."
America didn't know what to say to that. She watched as Stephen's hands threaded through the air, trailing red and gold from his fingers as he expertly repaired books. Surgeon hands, she thought to herself. The stitches looked similar to what Defender Strange used to repair dimensional rifts.
"I... I wanted to ask you something about this place, actually." America took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for this conversation. The knowledge of a dozen containment spells rattled around in her head, and her palms were sweaty.
"If you're going to ask me about freeing me from this place, the answer is no, you can't, America."
She gaped at him. "You can read minds?"
"Yes." Stephen deadpanned. "No, of course I didn't read your mind. That would be violating your mindspace, especially if I didn't ask your permission. The Stephen Strange of your world came to... for lack of a better word, interrogate me. He let slip that you were researching containment spells. He may also have implied that you were doing it to help me."
"I just wanted to help." America muttered mulishly, taking a seat and crossing her arms. "And Stephen didn't stop me either."
"Containment spells are a good way to practice control, and a key spell in most sorcerers' repertoire. He probably thought it was good that you were learning about this with added motivation."
"So why I can't I give you a Get Out of Jail Free card then?" America asked.
"I put myself in here in the first place." Stephen explained calmly. "This is the last remaining piece of the universe, America. I will not be responsible for ending its life."
"But-" America searched her mind on all the rules on containment spells that she'd read. "What's powering it?"
Stephen gave her a quick smile. "What do you think?"
"You?" America guessed. "I can't really see it so much as feel it, but you have power... enough to tear through the multiverse, if you wanted."
"And I don't want to do that. I've learned my lesson—still learning it, in fact—and I will be staying here."
"Oh." America deflated. "So all the spells and theory I learned are useless then?"
"Of course not. Containment spells are tricky to cast and trickier to master, and the more powerful ones can double as offensive spells too, if you wished. Defence is the best offence, is how the saying goes." Stephen set down his book and sent America a cheeky look. "Want to learn some more?"
"Wong, have you seen America?" Stephen stepped into the kitchen of the Sanctum. "Wong? America?"
The place was empty, which was unusual, but not unexpected. Wong had mentioned a new shipment of books coming in, and America was most likely at Kamar-Taj, still training. Ah, she did go to visit Strange in his pocket dimension today.
"America?" Stephen called out, hearing a clatter from upstairs. "Something wrong?"
He padded up the stairs slowly, the Cloak flaring protectively around him as he conjured twin mandalas.
The moment he stepped across the threshold of the stairwell, several things happened.
There was a sound like a whip being cracked, and Stephen felt his balance invert. He swung instinctively, but when he was jerked upwards, the sudden jolt forced him to release his mandalas when his diaphragm rushed towards his throat very unpleasantly.
"Ugh." Stephen groaned, blinking at Wong and America's identical grins. "Am I playing the fool today?"
"It's a containment spell." America said gleefully. "Wong help me set it up."
"Charming." Stephen said drily. "Does the spell involve me hanging like a trapped animal, America? I'm sure humiliation wasn't something taught to novices."
She had the audacity to shrug nonchalantly. "Wong came up with that part."
"Your ego needs deflating sometimes, Strange." Wong deadpanned. "You are lucky you have people helping you."
"Luckiest man in the multiverse." Stephen sighed, a fond smile on his lips. "Now please let me down so I can inspect this spell. Who taught you this?"
"You did." America said cheekily. "Strange Supreme taught me how to manipulate the casting of spells so I can change the nature of the spells to something more fun and less for attack."
"He isn't teaching you any dark magic, is he?" Stephen asked, inspecting the golden loop around his ankle. He could feel the Cloak getting curious as well, prodding at the noose that looked as though it was anchored to thin air.
America shrugged. "I did ask him, as a joke, but he looked horrified. He'll tell me if it's something he thinks I need to know, but I don't think he's doing anything bad."
Stephen grunted when Wong made the hand sign for releasing the spell, the Cloak catching him before he cracked his head on the floor. "That's not reassuring."
Wong raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to convey scorn, shock and sarcasm while maintaining a poker face.
"Yes, fine, I get it. Pot. Kettle. Now, I'm going out to get us all a sandwich, so please tell me your orders."
"You know my usual." Wong turned, his job of tripping Stephen up done, and opened a portal to the library.
"I'll go with you!" America said. "I'll try something new."