Chapter 6
She threw her back pack on her bed, with enough force to rattle the little pins that clustered on the flap. Her cheeks still felt hot.
She needed a distraction, but it was far later in the day there than it was in New York. Many of the students would be asleep by now. America could wager that Wong was up though. The man hardly seemed to sleep.
America slipped through the hallway, quietly wandering towards Wong’s office. Since moving in to the Sanctum, she only came to the temple for training sessions and to check out more books. The early weeks were grueling, full of long days and poor sleep.
The students hadn't outwardly resented her for the destruction of the temple and the loss of so many lives, but there was a stoic demeanor that many of them shared towards her. Strange hadn't let her help carry the bodies, but that didn't mean she didn't see them everywhere.
And the piles of charred bones that had to be swept up.
She let her hand drag gently across the wall as she walked, tethering her here to this reality. America refused to address the growing self-doubt that nipped at her heels as if it were her own shadow.
She took a breath at the set of large, carved doors before pushing against them.
Sure enough, Wong had peered up, snapping closed the book that he was reading. Chains snaked around the cover. “America. I didn't expect you until tomorrow.”
Her eyes narrowed on the book in front of him, trying not to read too much into his haste to conceal it. “Uhm. I wanted to get an early start.”
Wong rose his eyebrows. “Oh? This surprises me. Is everything okay?”
America doubted that Wong would approve of recreational multiverse jumping and really didnt need another lecture of disapproval. “Well, I can't let Stephen have me all to himself. Share the wealth, yknow.” She climbed up to the seat across from him and curiously tried to peak at the cover of his mystery book.
He cleared his throat and reached over the table for a different book, suspiciously stacking it over the chained cover. Intrigue was nawing at her. “He can be a bit of a gilipollas, no?”
America laughed and felt at ease within dusty walls and sandwiched between texts that were thousands of years old.
But whats he hiding?
The two of them sat quietly for a little over an hour. She had plucked a book from the shelves and skimmed through it while Wong grunted every few minutes and transcribed a scroll he had dug out.
Her reading caught on a word. Sometimes this happened, but she had to remember to be patient with herself… slow down, sound it out the parts of it.
“Can't you read? The sign says closed. You know what that means, kid?”
A much smaller version of America had inched back against the wall of the empty restaurant. She had an old bread stick in her hand, the top bitten off.
Contextually, she guessed the sign said closed, but the grumble in her stomach was hard to argue with.
“Oh Jesus Christ. Are you stupid or something? You can't be in here. I'll get fired.”
America glared at him, despite the tears running down her cheeks. Defiently, America took another bite of the bread stick.
“You are stupid!” the teenage boy yelled. He couldn'tve been more that sixteen or seventeen but he towered over her. He was lanky and looked top heavy with the mop of hair he sported. He lurched forward to grab America’s arms. “C-L-O-S-E-D, spells closed dumbass.”
America fought against his grasp, hitting against him with her free hand. But she was exhausted and despite her feet digging into the floor, he had no trouble moving her towards the door. She let out a cry.
The teen jerked her around until she was in front of him. He bent down eye level and held her other arm “Scream all you want, kid. No one will hear you.”
Anguish escaped as he reeled back to hit her. A blue star tore through the restaurant, sending tables and chairs haphazardly around the room.
“Woah, what the fuck!” his hands released and he began stumbling back, falling against the unforgiving linoleum. America let it take her. She had grown used to the unknowns. To the exhaustion. To the constant wonder if maybe this was the universe her moms were in.
America blinked at the word, breaking it into syllables. ‘Incandescent.’ She’d have to ask Strange what the word meant when he wasn't being a complete asshat.
“Hey Wong,” America piped. He had let Beyonce play on low volume in the background. He glanced up from his work. “What'd you and Stephen talk about the other night?”
Wong looked like he was chewing on a possible response. “He mentioned you had concerns about someone from the past.”
America shifted in her chair, leaning closer just as Partitian was beginning to play behind them. “A group of people actually. It was never the same people, but they called themselves the TVA. Ever heard of them?”
Wong flattened his lips. “As the Sorcerer Supreme, I followed up on all multiversal entities. I wouldn't concern yourself with it.”
Her brows pinched slightly together. She didn't think Wong would lie to her, though she also didn't expect him to tell Stephen to take her power when Wanda was escaping. “Yeah, you're probably right,” she nodded, offering a smile.
Wong nodded along. “I usually am,” he smiled more at his own joke and then began putting books in the crook of his arm. “See you in the morning for training.”
“‘Night,” America waved as he left, glancing at the chainned book tucked under his shoulder.
She tried to read more, but her thoughts were far too loud and she felt way too fidgety to sit any longer. With a groan, America left the library and found her way back to her bedroom.
She laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing she were back in New York. The mattress was far cozier.
Here the blankets were textured funny and the pillow was lumpy. She wanted home.
She turned over, contemplating whether Strange had a chance to ask Christine if she knew anything about them and then burying the thought when she remembered Stephen’s anger towards her.
There was a nagging feeling that clawed at her as she tried to sleep. Wong was hiding something.
Sometime later, America was able to doze off. A memory hadn't plagued her and the silence felt almost rewarding.
After finding an empty room, Strange grumbled off down the hallway. He tried not to feel the ache of dread building inside his chest.
He never panicked like that before. Sure, when Wanda had her, he was worried. Worried but controlled. He could see what needed to be done without all those pesky feelings getting in the way.
Now it was like a terrible cloud of concern hovers over him and downpours at the slightest sign of trouble.
He shouldn’t have yelled at her. Hell, they shouldn’t have even gone to Earth-838. What was he thinking?
He should’ve known better.
Strange had taken a seat at his desk and began spinning a quarter across the surface, thoughts attacking him from all angles. He had to admit, her not being able to conjure the portal home had him confused.
She had been consistently able to open them for the last month. She far surpassed their expectations for sorcery, and yet… she couldn’t open it.
It took Strange a little longer to realize that it might of been his fault. He was noticeably upset and still wasn’t the best at containing his anger. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.
Another part of his brain tried to rationalize that maybe if America just listened to him, they wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Stephen groaned audibly before opening a book and attempting to distract himself with a little light reading: “Chlthon and the Creation of the Darkhold” was loosely what the title translated to.
It was a guide into Elder history with sprinkled in Why-Not-To-Read-The-Darkhold propaganda.
Fun stuff.
Most of this he already knew. The bit about Atlantis and vampires felt like a stretch but he was a sorcerer with a sentient cloak so he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised.
Of course, this was only earth 616’s rendition of the history, there was no telling what other influence Chlthon had on the rest of the universes.
God it gave him a headache.
Stephen peered at his watch, noting it had only been a few hours since America left and took with her the sounds of a rambunctious fourteen year old with her.
It was far too quiet. He waved his hand and the needle dropped across the room.
Beyoncé started to play.