Chapter 3
Stephen filled Wong in on the chat with America and his first interjection was, “you guys didn’t finish Jaws? The ending is the best part.”
Stephen huffed in response and tried to keep his composer as the Sorcerer Supreme took another sip of his—strawberry?—margarita. “Can you take this seriously, please?”
Wong pulled the umbrella that dangled on the side out and set it on the table. He cleared his throat slightly before speaking. “This is me taking this seriously Strange. The child is a Nexus Being, why do you think we’re keeping her so close?”
He sputtered in response, putting his hands on his waist and feeling his face muscles contort into pinpoint fury. “You knew? This whole time?”
“I had my suspicions early on, though the presence of the TVA confirm it. They shouldn’t be a major threat. They’re extremely disorganized.”
Stephen rubbed his eyes (the two of them that sandwiched his nose, not the hidden one on his forehead). Maybe it was Wong giving him the extra grays. “So what? She caused a split in the timeline?”
“Many timelines and many splits. I've yet to find an incursion, though I would not be surprised.”
“Okay,” Strange sighed, raising a brow. “So what do we know?”
Wong downed the last remnants of the icy margarita before frowning at the empty glass. He gave a shrug, “that's the gist of it. The more she trains, the more we can understand her powers.”
“This has been an incredibly unhelpful conversation,” Stephen grumbles. “Why haven't you told her?”
Wong rolled his eyes and closed the book with a flare of drama. “She wasn't ready to hear it. I'm not sure she's ready now.”
Stephen’s expression soured. It was true that after the “Scarlet-Witch-Incident” as America dubbed it, scars were left behind. Even as the four month anniversary approached. America fought sleep to avoid the turmoil of nightmares. She would scream out in the darkness and for a moment, she wouldn't be in her bed, but laying on that altar with her wrists and ankles bound.
Sometimes she would call out for her moms in her sleep or speak in languages they hadnt heard before, throwing out names and places as she relived the memory.
The tipping point was when she had accidentally opened a portal in the center of the court yard after drifting off while standing. Three students were sucked in, along with a mop bucket and a handful of loose roof shillings. It took a week to find them and Stephen started lingering around the temple more.
“She’s... Improving,” Strange said, feeling somewhat defensive. His shoulders had tensed. “Hardly any nightmares in almost a month.”
Wong nodded and shifted off the stool he was perched on. “Still, much work to be done, Strange. The longer she stays focused on her training, the better.”
The conversation with Wong ended shortly after that, leaving Stephen feeling somewhat jarred. They had two encounters with creatures still following Wanda’s bounty and the surge of anger and worry he felt was debilitating. The idea that another group of people might still be hunting her was unsettling to say the least.
He stalked down the hall before making another portal and stepping back into the familiarity of the Sanctum. His Sanctum.
While it was never completely empty, there was a certain lonely quietness that had clung to the walls. He felt that he needed the seclusion. Another part of him thought that he maybe deserved it. Solitude. The emptiness accumulating dust around him.
Now there were bits and pieces of America left on every available surface. Scoffs on the floor from that afternoon she tried to teach herself roller skating. A charred corner of a chair where a ball of energy richochet around the room. Piles and piles of books. Her school workbooks intermingled in stacks with ancient script.
Abandoned mugs with shrivled bags of chamomile tea took space on the table.
Then there were also blankets strewn over chairs or across the sofa, because America ran cold and the Sanctum was especially drafty.
She had seeped into his life, bleeding over every corner. He miserably failed at keeping her at arms length.
Stephen anxiously pushed in the chairs they were sitting at and collected the empty mugs from the table, murmuring about teenagers. He waved the cloak away and watched it drift off to a quiet corner of the room.
As he carried the mugs, he slowed his pace purposely while passing America’s door, gingerly leaning in. He could hear her softly muttering in her sleep and silently hoped it was a good memory replaying this time.
Not too long after, Strange had settled in his own room, keeping part of his attention towards America. He wondered whether he should tell her what Wong had said. He never explicitly said not to tell America.
Then again, maybe Wong was right. Maybe she wasn't ready. At the very least, Stephen needed more information. The last thing they needed was to add on another unknown to her life.
He dozed off mid thought, still arguing with himself.
Unlike America, Stephen did dream. Not often, but occasionally, his mind would flit from universe to universe and land on something eerily familiar.
He watched himself, with the hideous pony tail, battling monsters and defending the temple from defectors.
Defender Strange had his own woes and woman problems that matched nearly every other known variant of Dr. Strange. His narcissistic tendencies drove people away— and nearly killed America in the process.
He hated that memory. Watching her face contort with fear and betrayal as she realized what he was doing, the bud of tears accumulating around red rimmed eyes.
Fortunately, tonight was not that memory, but one where Strange and America were drained after fighting a gigantic bird creature, yet another one of the several monsters that hunted America. His hands--Defender Stephen’s hands--were bloody and trembling.
They were talking, but it was muffled and inaudible and partially in Spanish, and America took his hands gently. Medical supplies lay scattered on the table in front of them. She was wrapping them, delicately.
Once she was done, Defender Strange offered a half heartfelt thanks and the two were left awkwardly stiff. There was something unsaid. America was shifting uneasily until Defender Strange said something else and left the room somewhat hurriedly.
Defender Stephen helped himself to a glass of scotch and proceeded to have another awkward conversation with Christine over the phone. The numbers looked foreign as he dialed, the screen blurred. Before the dream ended, Defender Stephen had tossed the phone with a clatter on the table and stared blankly at his bandaged hands.
Another voice drained into this memory, something that didn't belong.
Are you happy, Stephen?
The Sanctum, prior to housing a fourteen year old, had never had smoke detectors installed. Stephen didn't think they needed one until America accidentally forgot about a tray of cookies, which resembled crumbles of coal when she finally took them out, a plume of smoke joining the cloud on the ceiling. So off to the hardware store they went and four double A batteries later he was satisfied.
The shrill beeping woke him up that morning, setting a panic alarm in Stephen as soon as his eyes flashed open. He shuffled quickly down the hall, dishoveled and half dressed.
He sleepily blinked at the scene in front of him.
America was still in sweats and a sweater, a book in her hand substituting as a fan as she wafted the smoke that came rolling from the stove. Something that resembled a pancake smoldered. Her hair was in a half up mess of curls and her face was in a grimace as the beeping persisted.
A half open egg carton was on the counter and white powered dusted not only the surface, but smears on her pants.
“America?” his voice groggily carried, causing her to slightly jolt. She offered a uneasy smile before pointing to the table.
“I made pancakes.” In the center of the table was a neat stack of three various sized pancakes with the stickiest looking half used bottle of syrup beside it. “Well, chocolate chip pancakes actually,” she added.
Stephen grumbled before waving his hand and silencing the persistent beeps. He narrowed his eyes on her, only mildly annoyed. “We talked about supervised cooking, I thought.”
America’s shoulders slouched. “Other kids my age use the stove without their adult.”
“You are not other kids,” he reprimanded, walking over to the circular brick on the pan. He rose an eyebrow at her but she seemed rather determined not to shrivel under his gaze. “How’d this happen anyways?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek once before responding. “So the hotter it is the faster it cooks? Right? So I thought if I turned it up to the highest heat I could finish faster.”
“Hmm. Did you leave without watching it?”
America’s eyes dropped down in defeat. “It wasn't even a whole minute.”
“America--”
“Okay, okay. Supervised. Supervised, next time.” She tried to cut him off before the impending rant rolled over her. Her eyes flicked and over him once. Bare feet and shirtless. “You aren't getting any sun under all those robes. You are so white. I'm being blinded right now. Please, please go put on a shirt.”
Strange rolled his eyes, turning the stove dial all the way off before skulking back down the hall.
“I'll save you some pancakes!” she called back out. After changing into a clean set of robes, Stephen came back into the kitchen to find she had set out a plate with a pancake. The chocolate chips made a wonky looking smiley face, enough that Stephen rolled his eyes and groaned when he sat.
She was taking huge bites of pancake and smiled with cheeks full of food when he started cutting into it.
“Okay,” she swallowed, “so what's the verdict?”
“What are you talking about?” He put a small amount of syrup on the side of his plate and hesitantly took his first bite. It was... edible.
America tsked, “yknow, what'd Wong say?”
Stephen never really landed on a decision last night. He paused while cutting his second bite.
“Is it bad?” She croaked, eyes widened at his sudden silence.
“We’re going to keep on researching. In the meantime, it'll be your job to focus on training. Kapish?”
“What's a kapish?”
Stephen stifled a chuckle. “It means, understand. Anyways, I have a lot of deciphering to do today and I think you still have half a chapter of math to get through.”
“Ha. Nice try.” She held up her fork accusatorily. “You said you'd make it up for me for ditching me last night.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes again, trying to pluck out the plan she had conceived in her head. “I did say within reason.”
“Right, right, right. ‘Within reason.’ Well I think you'll be happy to know, this is completely reasonable, and dare I say, enjoyable.”
“Jesus Christ. What is it?”
America smiled devilishly. “We should go see what 838-Christine is up to.”