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He didn’t know what he was doing there.
When Stephen accepted the invitation to Christine’s dinner party, he figured it would’ve done him some good. Ever since the aftermath of the Battle For Earth, he’d become a bit of a recluse, so to speak. After taking a nice, long 12-hour nap to avoid confronting the evolution of the past 5 years, he had thrown himself directly back into his line of work, as he was oft to do.
Monday, he stayed in the Sanctum Sanctorum to research a new relic that the London Sanctum had stumbled across in their research.
She had icy cold skin and sharp eyes devoid of color. Her golden robes had dulled into a near-grey as she stood before Stephen. “This isn’t becoming of a sorcerer, Strange,” The Ancient One said, her voice stern and emotionless. “You were entrusted with the Eye of Agamotto because it was assumed you would use its power responsibly. Now, I’m not sure what you saw with its power, but I refuse to believe it asked you to sacrifice half the universe to the mercy of a madman–”
Tuesday, he was beckoned to Avengers Tower at the request of Nick Fury to discuss potential Avengers membership. They found a compromise– though the beeper ended up disregarded in his bedside table soon afterwards.
“I have a sister,” Natasha revealed, her fingers picking out the flecks of snow in her scarlet braid. “We were separated as kids. We finally reconnected, in a way, a few decades later. She– she was one of the casualties of the Decimation, I think. I wonder how she’s doing now.” She flashed a melancholic smile. “I bet she’s doing okay. I hope she’s doing okay. But I guess I’ll never know, Doctor–”
Wednesday and Thursday, he took a rather extensive trip across the world to document how the mystic community had evolved in his absence. He met some rather interesting allies. Jericho and Elsa invited him out for drinks, but he was unsure if he’d remember to attend.
For once in his life, Mordo’s hands shook almost as much as his old friend’s. “Is this how it feels, Stephen Strange?” He whispered, staring down at the tips of the Vaulting Boots of Valtor. “To play God? To hold the lives of certain people in your hands like chess pawns? My campaign was uprooted by the Decimation– so in all honesty, it looks as if you’ve bested me once and for all, Strange. After all, you provided Thanos with the Time Stone, right?”
Friday and Saturday, he had retreated back to his study to make sense of his past week (as well as catch up on the last few years of escapist literature as a self-designated “treat”).
“That’s right, buddy. Treat yourself as much as you like,” Tony’s voice was as grating as ever, but Stephen didn’t flinch. He couldn’t blame him. “Man, I should’ve left you something in my will. What about my suits? I’m sure that little clever brain of yours would’ve loved imbuing my own creations with whatever mystic junk’s up your sleeve.” He ran a hand through his chestnut hair, throwing him a sharp smirk. “Or how about my daughter? She needs a new dad, anyways…”
Sunday, he accepted an invitation to a dinner party hosted by Christine.
So that’s what he was doing on Christine’s balcony, staring at the constellations as a chorus of haunting voices plagued his mind. In his heart, he understood that the illusionary images talking to him throughout the week were just that– illusions. They weren’t real. In all the 14,000,605 outcomes he peered through, he couldn’t recall any of the conversations he had in his dreams. Then again, those outcomes tended to blend together at times.
So, realistically, there’s always the possibility that these conversations happened. For all you know, the Ancient One actually did chew you out for being reckless with the Time Stone.
Songs were looping in his head, but none of them sounded like real music. His mind was cloudy and heavy, and he struggled to make out a concise thought.
“Stephen?”
Why are you here, anyway? So you can tell Christine you’re sorry for the hundredth time? So you can burden her with your presence yet again? Why don’t you just do everyone a favor and go home, Stephen?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the oncoming headache. It had been on and off for the past few days, but never did it result in something like…this.
“Stephen?”
Everyone’s having fun without you, Stephen. You’ll just bring down the energy. You’re just trying to get drunk to rid away the pain. Do you know how much wine must cost nowadays? And you’re just downing it in some futile attempt to shut me up–
“Stephen?”
He turned around to see Christine in the doorway of the balcony, rather concerned. She walked up to him and examined his face.
“Hey, is everything okay? You’ve been kinda out of it tonight.”
It had occurred to Stephen that he entered her apartment at around 6:00 PM, and judging by the color of the sky, it was currently 10:00. Behind her, he could see the rest of her guests drinking from their wine glasses as they played some sort of board game on the coffee table. He had no idea when they started playing– nor did he remember when he first decided to go onto the balcony.
“Everything– Everything is fine, Christine,” he scratched his head, beckoning the world to stay flat for a solid second. “I apologize for my lack of–”
Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy, wet, blood-stained bun. She looked at him like he was a monster, pure terror on her face. “What did you do, Stephen?” The world was being devoured by a creeping dark substance…
“What?!” Stephen staggered backwards, causing Christine to flinch.
“I- uhm, I didn’t say anything–”
The image flickered, and she was back to normal. A pang of embarrassment washed over Stephen, and raised a hand to his mouth. He struggled to find the right words to follow up on his outburst.
“Oh,” was what he settled on. “I apologize for my lack of awareness tonight, Christine. My life has been rather… cluttered, these past few days. Though, I’m sure you can relate.”
To his relief, Christine gave him a rather sweet smile, accompanied by a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“All too well,” She replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. “Well, why don’t you join us inside? We’ve been discussing this medical breakthrough from 2021, and I think you’d find it–”
“I think I just need some space, Christine,” the words escaped his mouth before he could even register them. His hand was clinging to the glass table as the world shifted underneath him again. He closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “I’m sorry.”
He opened his eyes to see Christine’s hand hovering over his arm, her expression revealing she didn’t know if he wanted her comfort. She opened her mouth once, but said nothing. After a few seconds, and quite a few moments debating whether she trusted his judgement at this time, she found her voice yet again.
“Alright. I’ll leave you to it,” she stepped away. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m inside if you need me.”
Stephen watched as she disappeared through the door yet again, an obvious hesitance in her walk. She returned to the group inside, who invited her into the game with cheery smiles and excited gestures. He reached for the wine glass he had set on the table, keeping his eye on the crowd in the room as he took a generous swig of his drink. Stephen wondered whether he should just put on a happy face and go back inside, for Christine’s sake–
For Christine’s sake, it would probably be for the best if you stayed as far away from her as possible.
He didn’t even know when he closed his eyes. He opened them back up to notice he managed to sit down in the wooden chair, before proceeding to lower his head to the armrest while beckoning the ground below him to stay still. Judging by the glass on the table once again, at least he managed not to break it.
Time was flickering right before his eyes. Whenever he spoke, it felt like he was hearing someone else’s voice. Whenever he walked, it was like a flipbook simulating movement on illustrated paper, rather than feeling like actual movement. It was like astral projection, but someone– something –else was puppeting his body while he watched on.
The pounding in his head was getting even worse. The voice in his head was growing louder and louder by the minute. It didn’t sound like any specific person he knew– rather, it was a mixture of several voices screaming at him at once.
What are you doing here? What are you doing here? Why are you here? Why would you ever think Christine would want you here? She just invited you to be polite, and like the asshole you are, you took her politeness for genuine interest in your well-being. Like any person who's entered your life, she'd be much better off if she forgot you ever existed.
Stephen stood up, shaking his head to try and diffuse the voice, or at least lower its volume. All he accomplished was making himself dizzy, and he staggered to the glass doors in order to have something to cling onto.
There was some faint laughter from the inside of the room. He turned his head, peering into the living room and saw the other denizens of the party chuckling over one of Christine’s stories. Maybe she was telling them about something at work–
Maybe she’s telling them about the time you told her to fuck off.
No– no, she wasn’t. That would be absurd. It had been years since that happened, and Stephen had hoped they put that moment past them. Besides, why would she be talking about their relationship anyway? She was seeing someone else– someone handsome, whose smile was brimming with warmth. Someone who held her close, judging by that arm around her shoulders. Someone who she could probably rely on.
What was his name again? Chuck? Charles? Charlie, possibly…
By the Vishanti, you couldn’t even bother to remember his name? Look at her. She's much better off now that you're not there weighing her down. Did you actually mean what you said when you "apologized" to her? I don't care if you did, it wasn't good enough. Why the hell would she ever forgive you, after what you said to her? Why would she ever want you back in her life?
Two shaking hands flew to his chest, trying to gauge the speed of his heart. He could hear it pounding against his chest, threatening to break through his skin and render him lifeless all in the span of 10 minutes. But that was nonsense. That had to be nonsense. He just had to remind himself.
You don't belong here. You don't belong here. You don't belong here. Am I referring to this party, or this universe? You decide. Either way, I'm right. You don't belong here. You shouldn't have come here. You're not making any interesting conversation, you're just bringing the party down. What the fuck are you even doing?
“Stephen? What’s wrong?!”
Apparently Christine had noticed his current breakdown at some point, because Stephen suddenly felt a set of hands resting on his shoulders. Was everyone else seeing this, or just Christine? Moons of Munnopor, he had no idea which option was more humiliating…
Without saying a word, he reached for the glass on the table, telling himself that all he needed was a–
You sadsack. You asshole. The blood on your hands won't wash away with a glass of wine, you know.
“Are you okay?” Christine gently turned him around, directing him to the wooden chair yet again. “Here, I think you should sit down.”
There was some liquid on his face, he registered. His chest suddenly felt tight and uncontrollable, and he struggled to breathe.
Stop crying, you piece of shit. Stop making tonight all about yourself. Stop trying to act like you belong here. Stop fucking up her life and just jump off the balcony already. Stop thinking any of her friends would even give you a chance.
“Do you need a glass of water, or–”
You’re making her mother you, idiot. It’s her dinner party, and she’s spending it coddling her moody, choleric, wayward ex and his trembling hands. You don’t deserve her and you never did.
“Should I call someone? Stephen, please say something, I’m worried about–”
Stephen shot up from the chair, fumbling in his blazer pocket for his sling ring. The sky and stars above him were swirling like some astronomical soup. He nearly tripped over the glass table, and he could make out a startled holler followed by the sound of breaking glass as he tried to regain his balance.
“I’m sorry– I’m sorry, Christine,” he said, voice wavering from his tears. His hands were trembling, but he managed to put on his sling ring. “I swear this has never happened before, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening, I– I think I’ll be taking my leave.”
As he motioned to open a portal, something grabbed his wrist. He turned his head to see Christine’s worried expression, another pang of guilt shooting through his chest.
“Not before you tell me you’re okay.”
“Christine–”
“Just look at me and tell me you’re okay,” she sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself. “Please, Stephen.”
He stared at her, then down at his hands, then back at her. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words. They were just two words: “I’m okay.” That’s all he had to say. But the pounding in his chest was getting too loud, and the tears were starting to fall again, and he didn’t know when the voice would return–
In a brisk motion, he opened a portal to the Sanctum and provided Christine with his parting message.
“I’m sorry for ruining your party, Christine.”
He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“Stephen–!”
That was the last thing he heard before he stepped through the portal. He prayed to whatever might be watching over him that nobody else witnessed the whole ordeal.
The moment he slipped through the portal, he immediately tripped over the carpet of the Sanctum’s lobby and collided to the ground. Just the cherry on top of this Sunday night. He registered the portal flickering closed behind him and released a shaky sigh. Without the threat of humiliating himself yet again in front of a crowd, he tried– tried –to stand up.
His legs were shaking almost as much as his hands were. He couldn’t tell if his forearms were shaking naturally as well, or just couldn’t withstand the rest of his body’s weight in his futile attempt to stand on his own. He fell back to the ground with an even shakier heave, then raised his arm in the air with a swift motion.
Why did you go? Why did you think they’d want you there? You were just wasting space– of course this was gonna happen. You just fuck everything up and expect everyone to forgive you, huh? You just want everyone to lap up your little pity party, don’t you? Well, never stop reminding yourself who you truly are. Never forget how transparent you really are, Stephen.
The voice in his head didn’t relent. It just kept talking, and talking, and talking, to the point where he could barely hear his own breathing over the cacophony of pejoratives echoing in his mind. From the higher levels of the Sanctum, he managed to make out a whirlwind of clatter (Moons of Munnopor, he hoped the Lantern of Lantarr was still in tact…) followed by a harsh woosh as a streak of red descended down the staircase.
“Hello, old friend…”
Upon seeing its master in this state, the Cloak’s collar perked up and dashed to gather Stephen in its fabric. Stephen let himself sink into the soft comfort of the cloth as it gently made its way upstairs. The shaking in his body had diminished slightly, allowing Stephen to mentally cross “seizure” off his list of potential explanations, but time was still folding in on itself before his eyes. He saw life and death itself waltzing in tandem to illusionary symphonies. But even that couldn’t drown out the everlasting Voice threatening to tear his skull into two.
That’s right. Retreat back to your little cave with your tail between your legs like you always do.
His body didn’t feel like his own anymore. His control had been stripped away by some mystic being beyond his comprehension. Perhaps this was his retribution. Perhaps this was his punishment for his actions in the Battle for Earth.
It was for the fate of the universe; he had told himself over and over again. The needs of the many often held more importance over the needs of the few. His imagination had run wild once he contacted the Time Stone, but even that tactic was unable to conjure a scenario with absolutely zero casualties.
It could’ve been a lie, though. 14,000,605 was the exact number of futures he saw, but he knew that factually, it wasn’t the finite amount of outcomes that existed. There could have been another future, somewhere out there, where the amount of death was reduced. It could’ve been one less life sacrificed, or even 5 years regained. There could’ve even been an outcome where the Decimation was prevented entirely…right?
Wong had advised him not to spend too long considering the logic of Agamotto’s power. Logic– or at least human logic –was rendered null and void in the presence of magic, after all. But even after years of practicing mysticism, Stephen couldn’t help it. He was still human, after all.
Are you?
He still had a human mind, he still had human limitations. And logically speaking, there was an outcome where he managed to keep everyone alive, right? 14,000,606 scenarios feasibly existed. All he had to do was hang on a little longer…
All you had to do was grab that gauntlet out of Stark’s hands. Your hands might still tremble, but you still could have snapped, Stephen. You could have made that sacrifice. It wasn’t about you, Stephen. So why did you surrender Stark to that fate?
Why did you choose the world where Natasha Romanov died? So you could live in her place?
The Decimation was random. The outcome was dependent on who was spared from Thanos’ snap, and even with Agamotto’s power in his hands, he still had to make that wager.
You tore a father away from his loving family. You ripped a happy ending out of a deserving woman’s hands. You stole half a decade from half of humanity.
There was only so much he could do. There was no choice involved. There was no other way.
Overpopulation in the country, hunger in the streets, financial depression? More suffering than anything that could have occurred had you gotten your shit together and kept the Time Stone out of his clutches? That’s all your fault, Stephen.
There was no other way!
Your fault, Stephen.
There was no other…
Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your fault- Your
fault- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You- You-
You- You- You- You- You- You- You- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU- YOU- YOU-
YOU-!!!
He opened his eyes and was face to face with bloodshot eyes.
His hands were clinging to the cold porcelain of the sink. The only source of light was the faint viridescent glow of the bathroom lighting. The sound of running water echoed in the basin. He didn’t remember turning on the sink– was it the Cloak?
He turned his head to see the Cloak hovering in the doorway. Its collar was depleted, and it seemed reluctant to get any closer to him. By the Vishanti, he must’ve scared it…
Raising his hand, he gave a small wave, letting it know that it was okay. It could approach him. In fact, he rather desired some company at this hour. He would’ve said that outright, but he didn’t trust himself to speak without segueing into a sob.
Turning back to the sink, splashed his face with a bit of water, the brisk coldness momentarily anchoring him back in reality. It took a moment, but he eventually felt the Cloak’s collar descend onto his shoulders, almost like an embrace. He looked back into the mirror and allowed himself a snicker. His crimson companion distinctly clashed against his casual, grey ensemble. Then again, maybe it was the grey turtleneck that felt out of place.
The voice has stopped echoing in his head, but he wasn’t entirely sure how long that would last. He hummed the first (real) song he could think of– Desolation Row? Okay, Bob Dylan definitely wasn’t the worst earworm to experience. At least he knew he existed.
Though his head was still buzzing and the weight in his stomach was still anchored, Stephen supposed he had to sleep eventually. Perhaps a solid 4 hours of rest would shake whatever was going on with him right now. Before he could ask the Cloak to briefly step aside, he realized it had drifted a few inches away already. Huh, maybe their bond was stronger than he thought. The green glow of the bathroom’s lights illuminated the Cloak’s hesitant– though still caring –silhouette. Stephen offered a faint smile.
“I’m okay.”
He meant it just as much as he did when he told Christine, but he didn’t know if the Cloak would see that. Gently, he went about discarding his tan blazer, then carefully took off his turtleneck–
Wait. Since when were his bathroom lights green?
Stephen blinked at his reflection in the mirror, only now understanding that the lights were off. They had been off the entire time.
But his entire chest was glowing a bright, vibrant emerald.
“By the Vishanti…”
The source was likely the brand new cavity located right above his heart, with a small sliver of some glassy material protruding from his skin. Thick veins were sprouting from that section, carrying the radiant glow all the way down to his waist, his hips, his thighs.
How long had he been glowing?
The air had left Stephen’s lungs for a solid few seconds as he took in the sight. In the mirror’s reflection, he could see the Cloak quivering behind him. Had it sensed this all along? Had Christine seen this? He raised a trembling hand to the hole in his chest–
You MURDERER!
You took away my family! You took away
my pride! How can you live with yourself after doing
something like this?! Stephen? What’s wrong, Stephen Strange?
Hey, look, we won the war. It’s not your fault, Stephen. Doctor Strange? What’s your
diagnosis? I’m sorry, Mister Strange, I’m afraid it’s terminal. I’m so sorry. Had you not waged
war against Dormammu, perhaps this could have been prevented, Strange.
The bill comes due, Strange. It always does. Rest easy, Stephen
Strange. You’ve earned it. She was my only sister,
you sorcerer. Why couldn’t you have
used that little pebble
of yours
to find a better reality?
Why don’t you just fuck off and die,
Strange? You’ve already done enough for us. You’ve
already done enough for us! We can’t possibly return the favor.
ASSHOLE! You selfish piece of shit! Prick! You’re amazing, Stephen Strange, you
know that? How did I ever end up with someone like you? How did Earth ever end up with such
an incompetent sorcerer? Mister Strange– Are you okay? You haven’t been
acting like yourself lately…STRANGE! What in the Seven Rings of
Raggadorr are you doing up here?! Get down, please.
Please! DON’T– It’s me, Peter. You
remember me? From
Terra? I don’t
know you that well, but
please don’t– Hey, it’s Clint, I don’t
think you remember me that well, and I know this might
come across as disingenuous, but please don’t– My name is Carol. Do
you remember me? Please, you can’t do this to yourself, Doctor– Stephen?
Stephen?! Where have you been?! It’s Christine, I’m calling because I heard this terrible rumor–
please, don’t–! Please, Stephen! Stephen! Stephen! Stephen! Stephen! Stephen! Stephen! Stephen!
Stephen! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN! STEPHEN!
STEPHEN!
The voice returned with a vengeance. It wasn’t alone either. This time, it was an army.
An orchestra of different timelines rushed through Stephen’s brain all at the same time. He saw each and every one of them all at once, with no room to take a breath. He collapsed to his knees, grabbing his head and screwing his head shut in a vain attempt to try and get the noise to stop it, stop it, stop it, STOP IT!!!
Something was tugging at his body, trying to help him stand, and yet he couldn’t. The voices were still yelling at him, praising him, scorning him, begging him, comforting him– he couldn’t keep up with it. All he could manage to do was lie down on the cool, wooden floor, and allow the voices to lull him into an uneasy slumber.
9 hours later, he woke up staring at a popcorn ceiling. His head was still mushy, and he could hardly comprehend what had happened following his hasty exit from Christine’s balcony, but he felt (vaguely) like himself again. The Cloak had apparently resigned itself to being a makeshift blanket.
“Cloak? Are you awake?” Stephen asked, noting the hoarseness of his voice. The Cloak lifted its collar on the heel of his question, right before diving straight for his face. The corners of its collar grabbed his face, even though it didn’t have eyes, and Stephen couldn’t help but laugh as he fought against its smothering. “It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m back!”
Eventually, the Cloak finally drifted behind him and lifted him off the ground. Stephen had noticed there was a wretched soreness to his eyes, and the odd feeling of dried liquid on his face. As he rose, he dared not look at his reflection on his way out. There was still a noticeable stagger in his step, even in the brief time it took to make his way to his room. Normally, after the discovery of such a mystic anomaly, He would have gone straight to the library regardless of his personal energy level. But he figured today was a rather worthwhile exception– his weariness had vastly outweighed his urgency.
The Cloak helped Stephen up to his bed, fluffing the pillows behind him. It felt rather odd to be lying on his bed completely shirtless, but he was still comfortable enough to rest. Despite the gleaming sunshine emanating from his window, fatigue was overtaking him once again…
His phone buzzed. Once, then twice. Stephen forced his eyes to stay open as he dug into his pants pocket for the device.
[Christine – 2 New Messages]
Hey, Stephen. I’m sorry you
weren’t feeling well last night.
I hope everything’s okay.
Please, let me know if you’re
alright. I’m sorry if I’m coming
across as clingy right now,
but I’m really worried about
you. You seemed really out
of it.
Look at that. You made her worry about you during her own party. Selfish prick.
“Shut up,” Stephen said aloud, before responding.
I’m okay.
I’m sorry if I ruined the party.
I don’t want you to worry about
me too much. - S
His eyes were already half closed as he pressed “send”. As he drifted off into another round of sleep, he refused to confront the growing notion that he was, in fact, not okay.
He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
Don’t kid yourself. You know you won’t.