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America was all alone, again.
Due to uncharacteristically bad weather in Kamar-taj, classes were canceled, so Wong suggested she go with Stephen to the Sanctum Sanctorum to help him with routine maintenance. (“Routine maintenance” was just as it sounded: boring.)
That is, it was boring until Stephen realized the weather wasn't actually weather, it was a coverup for an invasion of beings from a dimension America didn't even dare attempt to pronounce.
Of course, America only made out about half of what Stephen said as he murmured quickly and quietly under his breath. Then, he opened a portal and was gone.
“Typical Stephen,” America sighed, plopping herself down on the mahogany couch.
She loved spending time with Stephen when he wasn't preoccupied, which seemed to happen more often than not. She supposed he was still used to his schedule as a doctor and was never able to just slow down. She wished he would slow down, just enough to acknowledge her.
Maybe that's just how father figures were. America never had a father- just two moms.
Maybe all fathers spent their time at work, away, while their daughters sat all alone and bored, waiting for-
A shimmering sound drew America from her thoughts and sent her flipping to an upright position.
She saw the distinctive makings of a portal and tentatively approached it.
“Stephen?”
America jumped back as a figure stumbled; no, fell, through it.
It was undeniably Stephen, though something was off about his posture and his breathing.
His usual steady and deep breaths were cut off, replaced by jagged inhales and choked off exhales.
Clutching his side, Stephen stumbled forward, the cloak being the only barrier between him and a disastrous landing. He let out a light groan and wheezed as the cloak laid him gently down on the mahogany floor.
America was by Stephen’s side in a second, desperately trying to get a hold on the situation. “Stephen, Stephen, what's wrong?”
His eyes rolled to find hers as he opened his mouth to let out a choked breath. “I c- I can't - can't breathe- I can't…”
“Okay, shhh. I know you can't breathe but what can I do? Can you use magic? Astral project?”
Stephen's breaths got more desperate, making his body arch off the ground and his mouth, now streaked with blood, open wider in an attempt to pull air in.
He needed oxygen, fast.
“Stephen? What do I do?!” America practically screamed.
She noticed his cloak wriggle out from under him and put pressure on the side of his chest. It was then that she realized (how in the multiverse did she miss it before?) he had a foreign object protruding from his body.
It was an arrow.
He was shot and he was bleeding and he couldn't breathe!
His eyes began to go out of focus and his breathing (or at least what little of it he could do) became weaker.
“No, no, no! Stay with me, Stephen! I- ummm- I'll open a portal to Kamar-taj. The doctors will know what to do there, right?”
Stephen let out a sound, a hum? At least he was aware of his surroundings, even if he couldn't vocalize it.
America, having not earned the prestige of having her own sling ring, took Stephen's from his bloody fingers. He must have tried to stop the blood.
Hands shaking, America let out a deep breath and focused on picturing the hospital ward of Kamar-taj.
She pictured a familiar cot in a warm room and pictured Stephen's bleeding body on the cot, his breath stable as the doctors worked around him.
The problem was, he wasn't there, he was still here and he wasn't getting better, he was getting worse and it was all her fault. She couldn't open a portal, she couldn't perform basic magic, and she definitely couldn't save him.
She was scared. Her mentor’s breathing slowed even more next to her, and she couldn't even take him to Kamar-taj for first aid.
She failed him like she failed everyone, and that terrified her. It horrified her more than anything, and before she knew it, she felt something burst within her.
No, she couldn't let a star portal show up now. She needed a real portal.
She wasn't going to fail Stephen, and she wasn't going to give up that easily on saving her mentor’s life.
She closed her eyes, ignored that Stephen's breathing ceased, and took a deep breath.
This time, she pictured the dark, wooden walls and the soothingly tan floor. She pictured the hospital cots with different colored sheets and towels and the incense burners on the tables surrounding them. She pictured the sun peaking through the windows, shining on bedside crystals and vials of blood.
She imagined the warmth that she felt when she first went to the hospital ward after a tough sparring match. She imagined the warmth from the sun, from the candles, and from Stephen. He hugged her after the incident and looked after her like the father she never had.
She held onto that warmth and before she knew it, she felt the warmth of a portal opening.
It wasn't the coldness of a star portal, nor was it the neutral temperature of a few sparks. It was a warm, real portal, a portal she created, and a portal that was going to save Stephen's life.
But, she couldn't celebrate yet, not when Stephen's body was still lifeless on the ground and his breathing-
Shit.
“Stephen, Stephen, no! Please!” America ran to his limp side and attempted to pick him up. “Come on! Help me please!!”
Hearing her plea, the cloak, who had become lifeless alongside its chosen, sprang to life and supported Stephen's head.
America grabbed Stephen's feet and together, the cloak and her carried him clumsily through the portal. Her portal.
The doctors came fast, each of them asking a million questions and shouting orders.
“Clear a cot!”
“Is it a puncture wound?”
“He's not breathing!”
“I need the defibrillator! Magic alone won't be enough right now!”
They rushed him to the back carrying spell books and medications and potions, and America got lost quickly in the bustle.
The cloak was quick to fly atop Stephen and lie there to protect and warm its chosen master.
America tried to stay out of the way while still having a view of the procedure. One sorcerer did a spell to release the air that had built up from Stephen's collapsed lung. Another used magic to surgically remove the arrow that had lodged itself into his ribcage. Three of the head doctors used a mix of cpr, the defibrillator, and magic to get Stephen to come back alive.
Had America killed him? Was it her fault he wasn't waking up? Was she too slow to save him?
“We have a heartbeat!”
“We have oxygen!!”
“He's breathing independently!”
The rest of the dialogue blended into the background. It didn't matter anyway. Stephen was alive.
Alive.
America didn’t realize she had fallen asleep in the wooden chair next to Stephen’s cot until Wong came in a few hours after the initial procedure.
“How long has it been?” America asked, yawning. Although the massive windows were next to her, she still hadn’t figured out how to estimate time from sunlight, despite how Stephen tried to teach her.
“About five hours,” Wong responded.
“Five?!”
“Yes. It’s okay, Miss Chavez, this was expected. Whatever the arrow that impaled him was made of, it cut off his access to magic; which, for a sorcerer of his caliber, can cause extreme exhaustion for hours.”
That made sense. Plus, knowing Stephen, he needed that rest- forced or not.
“I’m honestly surprised that he didn’t get more banged up,” Wong sighed.
“You knew about the threat?” America asked. If he had known, why’d he let Stephen go alone?
“Only after the doctors briefed me. While Strange was recovering from emergency surgery, a team went and fought those creatures.” Wong raised his eyebrows, the minuscule expression significant on the stoic sorcerer. “It took 5 of us to neutralize them.”
“Did anyone else get hurt?”
“Aside from a few bruises and cuts, no. And thanks to you, Stephen will recover quickly. In the end, we did more damage to them than they did to us.”
America smiled at that. She was glad nobody else got hurt, and she was beyond grateful that Stephen escaped the greedy clutches of death. She thought she lost him like she had lost-
“How did you know what to do, anyway?”
“I just followed my gut I guess. I opened a portal using his sling ring and-“
Wong hummed. “Was that your first portal?”
“Aside from a few sparks, yes!” America beamed, a smile forming on her face. She could be proud of herself for a few seconds.
“P-portal?” A groggy voice was followed by rustling of sheets as Stephen woke up.
“Stephen! You're alright!”
“I suppose. Thanks to you, I'm assuming?”
“She made her first portal to save you,” Wong chimed in. America could've been imagining it, but the sorcerer sounded proud.
“It's amazing what you can do with adrenaline,” Stephen chuckled, which was quickly followed by a wince.
“Careful, you suffered extreme injury and will likely be on bed rest for several weeks.”
Stephen groaned, “6 to 8 weeks for a large pneumothorax. Since it only penetrated my pectoralis minor and my lungs are inflated again, it'll probably be less time. Plus, with magic…”
“Stephen!” America chastised. He didn't need to reinjure himself.
“Miss Chavez is right. Plus, you suffered magical injuries as well.”
In an attempt to prove Wong wrong, Stephen tensed briefly, weakly raised his hands, and within seconds, he groaned loudly and returned to his relaxed position. “How long will this last?”
“It'll take time, like all injuries.”
Stephen moaned. “I'll be so bored!”
“You're starting to sound like Miss Chavez,” Wong chuckled. “We’ll find you reading material.”
“But I've read all the books in the library!”
“Well if you didn't steal them all-”
“Hey!”
“We’ll find you something,” Wong grumbled before excusing himself to deal with his ‘duties’.
Once he was gone, Stephen turned to America. “Thanks again for saving me. You did great out there.”
“I didn't even think about anything, I just knew what I had to do, so I did it.”
“That's what makes a good hero, kid.”
“Hero?”
Stephen nodded. “Listen… what happened in the past,” he paused, “what happened to your moms, it's in the past. You're a new person and with that, you have to look forward and follow your gut- just as you did today.” Stephen raised his expression. “Hopefully it won't involve me becoming a shishkebab and nearly being killed.”
“Nearly? You were killed!”
“Meh, it wasn't the first time.”
America rolled her eyes. “You're impossible, you know that?”
“So I've been told,” Stephen smiled. “I am proud of you though.”
“Okay, okay, enough mushy stuff.”
“Thank the Vishanti!”
“Did your compliment count run out?”
“Oh haha,” Stephen laughed sarcastically, “I could die laughing.”
“Stephen!”
“That joke was to die for!”
America groaned. “Stop!”
“My lungs would collapse from that joke.”
Before America could cringe too much, the meal bells rang. “Oh thank goodness! I'm starving!”
“Are you ever not?”
“Shut up and go back to bed.” America scampered off towards the dining hall.
What Stephen didn't see was that she smiled on her way out, not because of the food, but because for once in her life, America felt proud.
She felt confident in not just her abilities, but in herself as well. She had a purpose, and she was needed. She was loved.
It was a shame that she had to save her dying mentor to realize it.