Chapter Text
"Leave. There is nothing for you here," the gruff voice commanded, and with a resounding slam, the door shut in your face for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
The bearded man on the other side showed no variation in his stone-faced expression, as if the days hadn't chipped away his unwelcoming demeanor.
Damn.
You stood there for minutes, a mixture of frustration etched across your features.
I'm not giving up, you thought. Not after all I did to come here.
The New York Sanctuary was your last beacon of hope, and you couldn't allow it to slip through your fingers so easily.
You found yourself returning to the same spot at the same time, day after day. The months of hard work and sacrifice had led you here, and you refused to accept defeat. You had been saving and working like a mule to be able to afford this one-way trip, and you wouldn’t have failed. You couldn’t.
Knocking on the door once more, it swung open to reveal a different man. His solid physique contrasted sharply with his soft-spoken demeanor and almond eyes. Though there was a hint of kindness in his features, it was quickly overshadowed by a stern dismissal.
"We won't say it again. You shouldn't be here. Leave."
The door slammed shut once again, becoming a haunting echo in your life. Your daily routine settled into a monotonous cycle of sleep, wake up, eat, knock on the Sanctuary's unyielding door and face rejection (which eventually transformed into cold silence).
One month and seven days passed, and the weather showed no mercy. That monday rain poured incessantly, the unrelenting storm soaking you to the bone. Yet, your spirit remained unbroken. In the hope that your unwavering determination might be recognized (and perhaps out of hope for some pity), you refused to open an umbrella, letting the rain drench you as you simply waited there.
The day after, the heavy door creaked open just a crack. You sprang up from the damp sidewalk, nearly stumbling over a puddle at your feet.
"I'm not leaving until Mister Strange accepts to teach me magic!" you shouted to no one in particular, your voice echoing in the street and drawing the attention of the perplexed passersby.
In a blink of an eye, you found yourself on your butt. Although this time the floor was dry.
The interior of the building was as majestic as the first (and last) time you had glimpsed it, yet it also exuded an air of menace. It was far from a place fit for a party but could have easily been the setting for the most compelling murder mystery. The window up the stairs seemed to both invite you in and kindly ask you to walk back to where you came from.
Standing before you was the tall, bearded man who had both welcomed and ejected you a month before—Stephen Strange.
"It's Doctor Strange," he corrected you.
You scrambled to your feet, hastily brushing off your soaked trousers and jacket. Before you could utter a word, Strange spoke. "You sure can be awfully persistent."
You offered a defiant smile. "I'd prefer to call it resolute."
"Stubborn. Bull-headed. Intractable. Does the term matter?"
You lowered your head.
"Let's start from scratch, shall we?" A cloak materialized out of thin air, making you jump out of your wits before settling on the wizard's shoulders. He took a seat in a nearby armchair and gestured for you to join him.
"Now, if I counted on my hands the number of people who have come out of nowhere asking me to 'teach them magic,'" he began, his fingers multiplying before your eyes, "Not even these hands would be enough."
Now, you're just trying to show off.
"I'm not here out of a childish whim," you retorted.
Strange regarded you with an inquisitive expression. "That, you've made it quite clear, although I'll be the one to judge. You must have a reason, don't you?"
You swallowed hard but maintained a cheerful tone and kept your back straight. You practiced this conversation in your head hundreds of times. "I'll tell you my reason once you've decided to take me under your...," you hesitated, "wing, sir."
Strange laughed. Quite audibly, at that. "It's Doctor. And, well, this is definitely a first. They all come here with the most heart-wrenching stories of sickness, power, glory, or even the desire to be heroes."
"It's just..." you began, "I don’t want the reason of your choice to be dictated by my motives. I believe we all have valid reasons for seeking something, and no reason is less valid than another. Test me, and if you find me worthy of your teachings, I'll tell you everything. Otherwise, feel free to kick me out that door."
Doctor Strange's eyes seemed to pierce through yours, as if he were studying your very soul. Which, all things considered, was exactly what he was doing. A shiver ran down your spine, although you couldn't blame your drenched clothes for that.
"Possibly," you continued, a slight upturn of your lips, "Not when there's a storm raging outside."
The shrill alarm disrupted your sleep, and you awoke with a jolt. You glanced at your phone, but realized something unpleasant. It was your day off and you forgot to turn off the alarm.
Grumbling, you buried your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the unwelcome noise.
Not even a minute later, a familiar, sizzling sound filled your room. You had grown accustomed to it after the long time you've been working for Doctor Strange. An orange portal materialized, just wide enough for a hand to slip through and release a small note onto the floor. The portal disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
You growled in annoyance and reluctantly crawled toward the note, squinting your sleepy eyes to read the message.
"Sanctuary, now."
No name, no additional message, but you recognized the handwriting immediately.
"Damn you, Doctor," you hissed, "Would it hurt you to use the phone like us mortals, for once?"
Well, at least he had the courtesy not to barge into your room unannounced, catching you in your glorious pajamas and ravishing bed hair.
It happened more than once.
You had yet to master the art of creating portals proficiently, so you had no intention of tiring yourself first thing in the morning, which left you no choice but to walk from your apartment to the Sanctuary. You protested for this, but Strange had arranged for you to have a flat, not grand or particularly beautiful, but conveniently close to the Sanctuary, and, most importantly, cheap. He was the one footing the bill, after all. You've always thought it was some kind of "test" he's been putting you through. "Giving up all material goods", or something like that.
Or maybe he's simply being stingy.
As you arrived at the Sanctuary, you sensed something was different, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Your time spent surrounded by magic had taught you the primal importance of being aware of magical auras.
Pushing the door open, you stormed to your mentor, who was seated in his favorite armchair. Across from him sat a man you'd never seen before, at least not with your own eyes. You had certainly heard of him – blonde, blue-eyed, tall, beer in his hand and as sturdy as an athlete who had a penchant for consuming an excessive amount of protein.
Your jaw dropped.
"Is that..."
"Now, before you pass out from excitement," Strange quickly stopped you, "Yes, this is Thor. Thor, this is [Name], my apprentice. Let's just get back to business."
The god sized you up and then offered a kind smile, to which you reciprocated with a mix of awe and delight. In front of you was a member of the Avengers, after all.
The events and discussions that followed remain somewhat of a blur in your memory, largely because Strange decided to subject Thor to a series of unpredictable, disorienting teleportations, much like the ones you'd endured multiple times. You remember the feeling too well. The sensation of being tugged and twisted like spaghetti within your own body was etched into your memory. You had grown accustomed to it over time, but witnessing a god going through the same ordeal you'd experienced was, no better words for it, exhilarating.
You couldn't help but smirk and fought back the urge to laugh, despite the fact that the man before you could readily summon thunder to smite you. Strange noticed your reaction, and instead of reprimanding you, his own lips curled into a subtle grin. He was definitely having fun.
The conversation then shifted to Odin, Norway, and to Thor's brother, which absence you only just noticed. You couldn't help but wonder why Strange had summoned you.
Strange plucked a single hair from Thor's head, who had abandoned the beer on a nearby table, and began to work his magic on it.
Huh, that's new.
You had a long way to go before you could consider yourself a proficient sorcerer. It had taken you months just to master the art of transmuting a cup of water into tea. Transmutation was your least favourite arcane magic to learn, mostly because you were very bad at it. On the bright side, you were excellent at making tea. A couple of times, you had tried to express your appreciation to Strange by making him a cup with your own two hands, only to receive a less-than-kind response: "You know we can literally materialize it for ourselves, right?".
Grumpy man.
A series of smashing sounds brought you back to the present, and after realizing the umbrella in Thor's hands was, probably, not an umbrella whatsoever, someone's screams filled the room.
A body plummeted through a portal, crashing unceremoniously to the ground with a thunderous THUMP.
The black-haired man who just fell flipped his hair, and the expression on his good-looking features was anything but relaxed.
"I have been falling... for thirty minutes!" he yelled.
Ah, yes. The seamless hole. Been there, done that.
"That's rough, buddy," you couldn't stop yourself from commenting, and immediately regretted it.
The man stood up and looked at you, and if looks could kill, you would have been instantly dead. It was undoubtedly Loki, the same Loki who had once tried to take over New York, causing the deaths of several people in the process. Not a fan, you decided, especially now that you felt like you might have been his next target.
Strange addressed Thor, his expression showing a clear distaste for Loki. "You can handle it from here."
"Yes," they both shook hands. "Thank you very much for your help," Thor said, his tone sincere.
"Good luck."
"Good luck," you echoed, not really sure what for. Most of their conversation focused on finding their father Odin, but you thought you missed some part of it.
"Handle me?", Loki huffed with anger. "Who are you?"
He conjured two daggers out of thin air, and your sense of danger flared.
"You think you're some kind of sorcerer?"
Strange's head tilted in annoyance.
"Loki!" his brother pleaded.
You felt the need to intervene, aiming to prevent him from attacking Strange. It wasn't like Strange was in any imminent danger, but your mentor liked putting on a show when he was in the mood for it, and you weren't exactly keen on the idea of having to clean up the mess later.
"Now, let's all calm ourselves-"
You approached Loki and made the mistake of touching him.
Your head burst in a mixture of colors and voices and sounds.
First there was joy, then sadness, then pain and anger. Despair.
Not this again.
You saw Loki screaming towards an old man with a bandaged eye. You could feel his emotions like they were yours. His father, perhaps?
And then you saw him stabbing his brother, a malicious smile framing his features. You felt so angry you wanted to hurt. Hurt who? Someone? Yourself? And then Loki was on the floor, his back on the wall, his messy hair and unrecognizable figure radiated sadness. Grief.
Then, a glimpse of something that shouldn't be emerged. Something grotesque and nightmarish. A monstrous hand gripped Loki's throat, choking the life out of him. You felt your heart racing, gasping for air.
Your screams pierced the air, echoing through the room, and Strange was by your side before you knew.
"It's all right!" Strange was trying to calm you down, his hands holding your temples, but your ears were still ringing from your own screams. "Close your mind, don't let it control you. Shut it down!"
It was an order, and when Strange issued orders, you felt a surge of determination. You followed his instructions, just like you had in the past when this goddamn thing had occurred.
With Strange's assistance, you regained your composure, and reality wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You were still panting, but you worked to control your breathing, as you had been taught.
The gods were watching the situation unfold, perplexed by it. Loki's green eyes held a hint of concern as he rubbed the arm where you had touched him.
Strange released you and regarded you with a meaningful look. He didn't say a word.
"I'm... I'm alright," you reassured him, mustering a smile, "I'm alright. I'm sorry."
You turned to the bewildered guests in the room.
"I'm sorry," you repeated, then quickly left the room, ascending the stairs as fast as your legs could carry you.
Fantastic, me. You've just been screaming like a dying goat right in front of two of the most powerful beings in the universe. Way to leave an impression.
Silence befall the sanctuary, the only sound being the open portal by the now vaguely awkward sorcerer. It was Loki that broke the ice.
"What the hell was that?"
"She has, um, a condition," Strange explained, "Don't take it personally, she was not screaming at you, if that's what you're wondering."
"What? How dare you-"
"Alright, bye bye," and he threw the portal directly at them.
The first time your power manifested was during a party with your colleagues. Despite not being much of a party person, you had wanted to have fun that night. In hindsight, you should've stayed home, locked the door, and thrown away the keys.
It happened suddenly, a fight breaking out, a girl's nose bleeding. You had tried to pull her away from the aggressor. In that moment, you felt everything – the fear, the pain, the overwhelming betrayal.
Yet, compared to what you had just experienced, those sensations were nothing.
The words of your mentor looped in your head like a mantra. Close your mind.
You sat on the floor, hugging your knees and burying your head within them, the Sanctuary ambience lullying you to an illusory calmness.
Strange appeared beside you, his cloak conspicuously absent. You raised your head to meet his gaze.
"It's over," you reassured him, but the words were mostly for yourself.
"Was it that bad?" he asked.
"It was- I've never felt it so strongly before."
Strange avoided your gaze. He wasn't exactly the comforting type.
"Well, I'm not familiar with Asgard's royal family's legacy, but I'm fairly certain that in the life of a god there are horrors far worse than in lives of ordinary humans."
"No, sir-"
"Doctor."
"... this time was different. Yes, I saw his past and felt everything he did, but I saw- I felt him die."
Strange fell into silence, his hands behind his back, his expression contemplative.
"He looked rather alive to me. Are you sure it wasn't some old trauma of his?"
"No, no it wasn't. He... he died. I felt the life leaving his body, a similar sensation to when you make my astral projection leave mine."
"That's not exactly-"
"I know it's not the same, but it felt so similar and real."
Your mentor finally locked eyes with you, and you sensed that he knew something. Something he wasn't willing to share.
"Go, now," he urged. "It's your only day off for a while, so make sure you savor it."
And he left you alone with your thoughts, the one thing you didn't want to be alone with at that moment. It felt like watching a multidimensional movie, experiencing everything – seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling every sensation on your skin. But most of all, you were most likely the only one in the world right now who knew things about the God of Mischief that he certainly wasn't happy about you knowing.
You needed answers, and if Strange wasn't going to provide them, you'd have to find them yourself.
It seemed like your mentor intended to keep your mind occupied and away from the recent events, and you were oddly grateful for the distraction, although that training session had been predictably more challenging than you'd hoped, especially when your opponent was Strange himself.
Once it was over, you headed to the mystical library.
Wong greeted you in his usual fashion, with some song playing softly in the background. Despite having heard it before, you couldn't quite put a name to it, and that was a minor detail that nagged at you.
"Nice song. Is that K-Pop?" you guessed.
"Indeed. What are we looking for today?" Wong asked, his hips moving to the rhythm of the song.
"I'm not quite sure," you admitted. "Do you have anything new on visions?"
Wong raised his eyebrows, his skepticism evident. "You've probably already read everything we have about those."
"Then what about visions of death?"
Wong slowly halted his rhythmic movements, and he regarded you with a wariness that was hard to miss.
"There was... an unexpected development," you explained, trying not to let your voice shake too much. Thanks to Strange, Wong was well aware of your "condition," or powers, as some might call them. They had both concluded that they manifested whenever you came into contact with someone's essence or aura, meaning when you touched the person. Up until now, the visions had always focused on the past, which wouldn't have been such an issue if they didn't revolve around painful experiences only.
"From what I've gathered," Strange explained to you one day, by now fully aware of the reason you've showed yourself at the Sanctuum, "You have two ways of dealing with your current predicament. Care to guess what they are?"
What, already putting me to the test?, you thought.
After a moment of silence, you responded, "Well, I could learn to simply shut it down when it happens."
He nodded. "Or?" Strange prompted.
"... channel the power so that it only shows the good things?" you suggested.
Strange's lips hinted at a smile. "Ever the optimist."
"I try."
"The most straightforward solution would be to live with it and adapt. It might even prove useful."
For what? Writing a heartbreaking biografy of your divorced neighbor?
"And they say I'm the optimist," you quipped, with a touch of sarcasm. "I don't want to have to be cautious about every single person I come into contact with."
"Well," Strange concluded, "Until we learn more about this power of yours, you may not have much of a choice."
As expected, your search in the library had yielded no new information. There was nothing more about your power than what you'd read countless times before. Frustrated, you let out a heavy sigh and flung the latest book you had been poring over onto the desk.
"Careful with it," Wong reprimanded. "Some of those books are worth more than your life."
You managed a sarcastic smile and replied, "Thank you, Wong. I'm delighted you value me so highly."
You stood there, staring into the void for what felt like minutes. You didn't like to admit it, but something had been plaguing your mind since that day. It had to do with the two Asgardian brothers and a certain green-eyed god.
You weren't even sure why, but recalling the images you had seen during your last experience left you with a choking feeling in your stomach. It wasn't the sensation of dying that bothered you, oddly enough; it was the overwhelming emotions that had preceded it.
You suddenly felt a strong urge to talk to him.
"Hey, Wong," you called out cheerily, as if energized by this new purpose for the day. "Don't we have some enchantments for opening a portal to someone you've only met once?"
Wong raised an eyebrow and replied, "The word 'portal' in your mouth generally frightens me, even when it's a negative sentence."
"Please. I can't always rely on Strange for this type of stuff," your voice turned into a pleading whisper, "I'll never learn anything new by just strictly following his rules, can I?"
Wong chuckled. "I suppose you two fit together just fine, after all."
He didn't elaborate, but he got up from his seat, heading to a large section of the library. He confidently retrieved a book and handed it to you. "I'd love to say that I have no responsibility for what you might cause with this, but in fact I do. So be careful."
You smiled and blew him an air kiss before making your exit. "Thank you!"
There wasn't anything close to a training room inside the Sanctum Sanctorum, especially with the invaluable and fragile artifacts housed within. When you weren't training with Strange in some remote location in the middle of God Knows Where, you had no choice but to practice in your room. Of course, you could have opened a portal in a island, a desert or a forest, but at least if something happened to you while you were in your room, Strange would have known where to look for your remains. Morbid, but true.
Optimism had been your most prominent trait, carrying you to where you were now, but if you were honest with yourself, you weren't overly confident that this new endeavor would succeed. It wasn't like you were too bad at teleportations, it just wasn't your most proficient type of magic. The sling ring in your hand seemed to reflect the setting sun's rays, promising failure like times before.
You just learnt that it might have been easier if you only had "something" belonging to your target (that's probably what Strange did with Thor's hair), but sadly you hadn't been as quick witted.
After reading the instructions and enchantment several times, you closed your eyes and concentrated on Loki's face, on the feeling of touching him, anything that could establish a connection between you and him.
As the sun disappeared below the horizon, a faint glimmer of a portal began to open. However, you immediately sensed that something was off. The portal was sputtering and crackling, resembling a broken light bulb, and it demanded an enormous effort to keep it open just a crack. Sweat poured from your brow as you concentrated all your willpower on maintaining it. You needed something stronger than just the memory of him to be able to track him, and the only thing you had was your connection to his mind that was created during your visions. You put all your energy and concentration into that.
You were relieved that you had left Strange a note on his desk, detailing your current objective and even attaching a couple of strands of your hair to it. It might have seemed weird, but you wanted to ensure that he could find you and bring you back from danger if necessary. You were optimistic, but not stupid nor impulsive. You've also left him a cup of tea, although it would have probably gone cold before he drank it.
You've been into solitary missions before, although all of them required you to bring back an object or relic from a relatively safe location and beat up relatively weak foes, so you didn't feel entirely ready for whatever might await you on the other side. From their meeting with Strange, it was clear the gods were currently up to something not relatively safe. However, after years of training, you felt confident enough to ensure your own survival. After all, you had developed a few tricks up your sleeve along the way.
With bated breath, you stepped through the portal.