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It was cold. Not the frigid cold of a Nebraska winter or the bone-deep chill of Mount Everest, but the coldness that seeped in slowly, too cold for comfort but not cold enough to be harmful.
Stephen poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped the bitter liquid that warmed his insides.
It wasn't supposed to be cold in the Sanctum- the place known amongst sorcerers as a place of warmth.
It wasn't his fault… entirely. The Rotunda gateways needed to be sealed monthly, and the last few months had been rough.
Between fighting dozens of threats that rose to power after the Blip and the plethora of traumatic experiences that kept Stephen up at night, he had little mental capacity left to remember superfluous things such as monthly maintenance.
It was a topic of much debate between him and Wong, but after being gone for 5 years, the new Sorcerer Supreme enjoyed the company of Stephen, though he may not have admitted it. The Sanctum chimed, humming as the door opened. If the guest was a threat, the Sanctum would have growled, the shelves rumbling and the floorboards groaning. Neither happened, so the intruder was obviously not unwelcome.
Stephen heard voices echoing around the foyer as he took his time approaching the interloper. It was like getting a mail delivery: best to wait until after they did business and left.
This was no delivery though. Wong was there, snapping at the snow shovelers from Kamar-Taj. There was also a younger voice- a high-pitched but obviously masculine voice that Stephen would know from anywhere.
It was Peter. Peter Parker.
The two had met in space- of all places- on a ship that belonged to Thanos. Stephen had just been gruesomely tortured and two people came to his rescue: Peter Parker and Tony Stark.
Emotions piled into his throat, the accumulation of sleepless nights making him tremble. He hadn't meant to kill Stark. He looked at possibility after possibility, dying over and over, to find a reality where nobody died.
‘Someone always gets punished. There is no other way,’ Stephen reminded himself, forcing the bile down.
He tried so, so hard, but ultimately, someone had to die. It was a harsh truth that Stephen refused to accept, especially as a former doctor, but it was slowly getting easier. Exposure therapy did wonders.
The voices became clear as Stephen made his approach to the magnificent staircase of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Hovering near the top, Stephen heard the young boy inquire about the snow, to which Wong replied, “No. One of the rotunda gateways connects to Siberia. Blizzard blasted through…”
Stephen sighed. He wanted to stay out of it, but he had to defend his name before Wong smeared it in the mud.
It was time to make an entrance.
The act of simply walking down the frozen staircase was too challenging, so the former doctor willed the cloak to carry him to more stable ground. “Because someone forgot to cast the monthly maintenance spell to keep the seals tight,” he defended.
Stephen realized the full extent of the snow and ice as he touched down on the floor, slipping with a gasp as he landed. Luckily, his shaking hands managed to catch his much-needed coffee before it spilled.
Wong didn't even turn to the other man. “That's right, he did, because he forgot I have higher duties.”
Stephen scoffed. “Higher duties?” Like karaoke parties and fight clubs?
“The Sorcerer Supreme has high duties, yes.”
Oh, the gall of that man!
Peter joined in, pointing at Stephen with confusion. “I thought you were the Sorcerer Supreme?”
Nope. “No. He got it on technically because I blipped for five years.”
It was true: after defeating Dormammu, Stephen was greatly revered among the sorcerers around the world. With all the good things The Ancient One said about Stephen before her passing, it was a no-brainer that the new sorcerer should become the Sorcerer Supreme. Well, it was a no-brainer until he mysteriously turned to dust alongside half the world. Naturally, Wong was an easy second choice.
Peter muttered congratulations, but Stephen was more preoccupied with the unfairness of the situation. He had done more to defend the multiverse than anyone knew. Someone always had to suffer, and that someone just happened to be him.
It wasn't that he wanted the prestige or reverence that came with the title. No, he just wanted recognition, some acknowledgment for his suffering. It was selfish, but he had earned it, hadn't he?
“If I'd been here, then I'd have-”
Wong cut him off, not missing a single beat. “-burned the place down.” He turned to the young shovelers who had stopped to listen at some point during the heated conversation, “You two, no one said, ‘stop shoveling’!”
Stephen surrendered, willing to acknowledge his defeat just this once. Wong was in charge, there was no denying that.
Wait, why was Peter there in the first place? No doubt due to the popularity he'd been getting. Stephen didn't watch the news, but he had been in the business enough to detect threats when they arose. Plus, Tony Stark's death may have encouraged him to check up on the teenager every once in a while.
He tentatively walked over to the fireplace. “So, Peter… to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Right umm… woah!” The boy was quick to follow him, quick enough to slip clumsily on the slick floors. “I'm sorry to bother you, sir-”
For reasons Stephen didn't feel like analyzing, the honorific gave him chills.
“Please, we saved half the universe together,” he pleaded as he cast a spell to ignite the hearth, “I think you're beyond calling me ‘sir'.”
“Oh, uhh. Stephen.”
Stephen? That was the best he could come up with? Oh well. They had saved the universe together, and if it weren't for the boy, Stephen would have been tortured by Ebony Maw until…
“That's feels weird, but I'll allow it.” He gave the boy what he hoped was a warm smile.
Peter nodded, trying to gather his thoughts up enough to stutter, “When…When Mysterio revealed my identity… my entire life got screwed up, and… I was wondering, I mean, I don't even know if this would actually work, but I was wondering if… maybe you could go back in time and make it so that he never did?”
Oh.
Stephen's heart fell. The time stone was no longer in his possession, and even if it was, he couldn't tamper with the natural law anymore than he already had, especially for the wants of a hormonal teenager.
As softly as he could manage, he explained, “Peter… we tampered with the stability of space-time to resurrect countless lives. You wanna do it again now just because yours got messy?”
“This isn't… it's not about me. I mean, this is really hurting a lot of people. My… my Aunt May, Happy… My best friend, l, my girlfriend, their futures are ruined just because they know me, and… they've done nothing wrong.”
“I am so sorry, but… even if I wanted to… I don't have the Time Stone anymore.”
Peter's face fell and he fell silent for the first time ever. “That's right. I'm really sorry if I… wasted your time.”
“Look at my report card!” 11 year-old Stephen said, waving the paper in his working father's face.
“I don't care, Stephen,” his dad grumbled, hunched over the paperwork that littered his desk.
“But Sir, I got all As!”
“Go away.”
“I have the highest score in the whole class!”
“I don't care. You're wasting my fucking time!”
Stephen ran to his room, fighting back tears as he passed his younger brother, Victor.
“Is Dad available?” Victor asked.
“Don't waste his time.”
Peter was not wasting Stephen's time. In fact, the sorcerer was quick to correct him. “N-no, you didn't…” was all that came out.
Defeated, Peter turned away. “Just forget about it.”
Wong, who must have been in the room the entire time, spoke up then, adding to Stephen's turmoil by adding an unnecessary, “Oh, he will. He's really good at forgetting things.”
If only that were true! The only time he would ever forget anything was if someone blasted him with the Runes of Kof Kol…
Wait!
Would that work?
“Wong. You've actually generated a good idea!” That was a first.
“What?” Wong asked suspiciously, turning around with his extensive amount of luggage.
“The runes of Kof-Kol.”
Why had he not thought about it sooner? His head was spinning with the idea. It was a simple spell that had little consequences.
“The runes of Kof-Kol?” Peter asked, utterly confused.
“Oh, it's just a standard spell of forgetting. Won't turn back time, but at least people will forget that you were ever Spider-Man.”
“Seriously? Thank…”
Wong was quick to chastise, “No. Not seriously! That spell travels the dark borders between known and unknown reality. It's too dangerous.”
Maybe that was true, but everything in the sorcerer business was morally gray.
“Wong, we've used it for a lot less. Do you remember the Full Moon Party of Kamar-Taj?”
Wong froze, his stoic face dropping into a confused frown. “No.”
“Exactly!” Stephen studied Wong's face, searching for weakness as he looked up at Wong through his lashes in a silent plea. “Come on, Wong. Hasn't he been through enough?”
Wong opened a portal to the familiar scenery of Kamar-Taj, gathering his baggage.
“Just leave me out of this.”
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
The Sorcerer Supreme left, leaving Stephen to smirk mischievously at Peter.
What could go wrong?
Stephen and Peter made their way to the basement of the Sanctum, passing ancient relics and countless artifacts that caused the kid to gawk in amusement.
Stephen had been there once: he'd been in the position of childlike wonder and disbelief, both in Kamar-Taj and medical school. The way magic twisted and turned with its bright colors, seeing a fictional swirl of light right before his eyes for the first time- it was unparalleled. Well, aside from his experiences in medical school: seeing a brain for the first time, touching it, learning about cells and neurons- basic science concepts that explained all of existence.
“So, what is this place?” Peter asked, breaking the silence between them.
“The Sanctum is built at the intersection of cosmic energy currents. We were the first to seek them out. Some of these walls are thousands of years old. And they shot an episode of Equalizer here in the 80’s.”
It was true- Wong had shown Stephen the exact episode that it appeared in, not failing to give him all of the lore of the plot in the meantime.
“Well, I, umm… really appreciate you doing this for me, sir.”
Again with the honorific! “Don't mention it, and don't call me ‘sir’.”
Peter snickered, “Right…sorry.”
They approached the magical plinth, its archaic design making the dust on it blatantly obvious.
“You ready?”
Peter took a deep breath. “I'm ready.”
Nobody was ready.
Stephen wasn't ready for the kid to start changing the spell, distracting him enough to make the docile spell uncontrollable. The kid had good intentions, but he was wrong to change the parameters mid-casting. Stephen tried to keep his patience, but the kid with his high-pitched whining and his constantly shifting demands accompanied by the complexity of the spell made him angered, angered enough to lose his control of the spell.
He attempted to maintain his composure and reign in the runes, but nothing could have prepared him for the spell to shiver, shaking with raw power and threatening to explode.
Unable to contain it, the two men flew backward as tendrils of purple and orange ripped through the canvas of reality, revealing the bright colors of the surrounding multiverse.
Hoisted by his cloak, Stephen desperately pushed the spell inwards, his arms shaking with the effort as a groan erupted from deep within his chest. The groan quickly escalated into a scream as the surroundings began spinning, sending colorful spirals of unfiltered power around the vast room.
With his muscles cramping and sweat pouring down his face, Stephen pushed with all of his might, straining to corral the power of reality. By the time his head began throbbing and his knees felt wobbly, he finally managed to contain the spell within a cube.
Panting with the lingering exertion, Stephen studied the spell as it jumped within its new prison.
“Did it work?” Peter asked, confused.
Did it work? What the hell? What was Stephen supposed to say? 'Yes it did, my intent was always to shatter the multiverse and nearly kill myself.’
Rather than saying what was really on his mind, Stephen took a deep breath to keep his agitation at bay. “No. You changed my spell six times.”
If Peter hadn't changed it…
“It was five times.”
Oh, well that made it so much better. The gall of the kid was phenomenal.
“You changed my spell! You don't do that! I told you and that,” he pointed at the quivering cube, “is why! That spell was completely out of control. If I hadn't shut it down, something catastrophic could've happened.”
That was putting it lightly. The simplest spells could have dire consequences, especially when the caster was distracted and annoyed.
Stephen learned the hard way when he viewed the 14,000,604 realities in which Thanos won. Realities shattered, universes impeded on each other, and millions of people died. It wasn't unlike what had just occurred and will continue to develop until the multiverse became stabilized.
“Stephen, listen, I am so sorry…”
How could he be on a first name basis with the child that encouraged him to destroy the multiverse?
Despite trying to remain composed by taking deep breaths, Stephen's anger ruptured, boiling at his skin and making his jaw clench. “Call me ‘sir’!” He snapped at the trembling kid.
He couldn't help it as the pent-up adrenaline and fear crashed, sending him into a pit of angry fire, but “Sir”? Really? Stephen wasn't a “Sir”, he was a “Doctor” or even (very rarely) a “Mr.”.
He didn't demand the honorific as his dad did, beating him if he had so much as hesitated to address him as “Sir”.
Just the word made Stephen shudder as memories came rushing back to him like a waterfall.
“I want to go to Columbia! I got a full-ride and everything!”
“Stephen, we need you here.”
“But dad…”
“Call me sir!” His dad spat, complete fury showing by the tensing of his shoulders and the fire in his eyes.
“But, Dad, I'm a full adult-”
“CALL. ME. SIR.” Each word was punched, sending chills down Stephen's spine.
“Sorry, Sir,” Stephen mumbled.
Taking a deep breath, Stephen tried frantically to shake the memory.
Think of the present. Think of the present.
“Sorry, sir,” Peter said in a small voice.
Oh God, Stephen was just as bad as his father and Peter was just a kid.
Stephen sighed. “You know, after everything we've been through together, somehow I always forget… you're just a kid.”
Stephen paused. Peter’s naivete just messed up the entire fabric of reality. And over what? Trying to live two lives? Stephen found out a long time ago that he couldn't be Stephen and Doctor Strange at the same time.
“Look, Parker, the problem, it's not Mysterio. It's you trying to live two different lives. The longer you do that, the more dangerous it becomes, believe me. I'm so sorry about you and your friends not getting into college, but if they rejected you, and you tried to convince them to reconsider, there is nothing else you can do.” He hated how harsh he sounded, but the truth was sometimes a harsh thing.
Peter looked up at Stephen with his puppy eyes. “When you say, 'convince them’, you mean like… I could've called them?”
“Yeah.”
“I can do that?”
Wait, did he mean- “You haven't called?”
“Well, I mean, I got their letter, and I assumed that-”
Stephen tried desperately to keep his anger at bay. “I'm sorry, but are you telling me that you didn't even think to plead your case with them first before you asked me to brainwash the entire world?”
“I mean, when you put it like that, then-”
“Get out.”
“Y-yes sir, I'll be going now. S-sorry.”
“Don't be-” the door slammed before Stephen was able to make amends.
“Why the Hell did I agree to this?” Stephen murmured to himself as he traveled deeper into the sewers.
It was dark, musty and it smelt- well, like a sewer. The dampness of the ceiling trickled down, falling onto his cloak, which shook off the unwelcome moisture like a dog.
“Yeah, I don't want to be here either,” Stephen reassured it, moving his hands up to stroke its lapels.
He only got one pet in before stopping dead in his tracks when an unusual rustle echoed throughout the dank tunnel.
He closed his eyes, using his third-eye chakra to scan for unwelcome threats.
There was nothing aside from the stones and piles of mud and filth. He really would've preferred being anywhere but there, but the locator spell had said-
Something green came out of nowhere, attacking Stephen before he could process what the threat even was. As the monster lifted Stephen off the ground, the cloak tried passionately to push it away, but the monster made contact with Stephen's side, making him cry out as its claws sank into his flesh.
Pushing aside the pain, Stephen shot the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak behind him, hoping that they would catch at least some part of the monster.
It didn't.
All it did was make it more mad.
It flung Stephen down, sending him crashing into the wet ground with a splash. Ignoring how his hips cried out at the contact, he shot an Eldritch Whip towards the threat, whom he noticed looked like a giant dinosaur lizard.
“I've faced worse,” Stephen thought.
It growled as the whip made contact with its skin, but the impact did little to deter its advance.
The cloak flew off Stephen's back to wrap around the arm of the lizard, who tried fruitlessly to rip the sentient fabric off.
The nonchalant feeling was mutual. In fact, the cloak’s squeezing merely acted like a blood-pressure cuff: annoying but harmless to the massive reptile.
While the creature was preoccupied with the annoying relic, Stephen shot another Eldritch whip, this time transferring it to the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak as the spell made contact.
The lizard reared back, furiously slashing the air with its tail. It advanced rapidly on Stephen, who was lifted into the air by his cloak just in the nick of time.
Stephen opened a portal with his sling ring, using it to land on top of the creature to catch it off guard. He tugged at its neck- not enough to kill it (the doctor in him would not allow it), but enough to restrain it to send it back to the dungeon. The cloak aided Stephen, pulling back with enough force to create reasonable pressure.
To their dismay, the plan didn't work.
With its massive, scaly claws, the reptilian menace clawed at Stephen, who continued to pull on its neck.
Unexpectedly, the lizard reared back, sending the sorcerer (cloak and all) barreling into the side of the sewer wall. The musty surface made contact with the side of Stephen's head, painfully catching on his cheekbone.
Slumped against the floor, Stephen brought a hand to the side of his face, looking to see if the impact broke skin. There wasn't too much blood, at least by his standards.
He had little time to dwell, especially when the reptile grabbed his arms, hoisted him into the air, and snaked its thick tail around his neck.
“Why do they always go for the neck?” Stephen thought as the limb squeezed enough to make breathing a chore.
The cloak thrashed around, but its movements did little in the grasp of the lizard.
“Who are you?” It asked.
Huh, a talking lizard. A talking lizard with a British accent. That was a new one.
The lizard (talking lizard?) eased up on his neck enough for Stephen to introduce himself. “I'm Doctor Stephen Strange.”
“A doctor?”
Stephen nodded with what little room he had to move.
“Scientist or medical?” It asked, a low growl escaping its mouth as it spoke.
“Medical. Neurosurgery. And you?”
It laughed, a deep, low, and unsettling laugh. “Science. Thought I could change the world,” another chilling laugh, “I was wrong.”
Something in the lizard- doctor lizard- snapped. The creature squeezed Stephen's neck, causing the latter to wince and the cloak to intensify its struggles. “Where is Peter Parker?”
“What's it to you?”
“He ruined it! He ruined me!”
“Not this Peter. This Peter isn't your Peter,” Stephen gasped, slowly suffocating from the grip of the monster’s tail. Luckily, it loosened enough for him to continue, “I'm sure you're familiar with the notion of the multiverse?”
“Of course.”
Stephen nodded as the lizard obviously struggled to put the two and two together. It dropped him, jostling the bleeding scratches on Stephen's side.
“Prove it!”
Stephen set up his hands, moving to do a spell… and sent the unsuspecting lizard into the dungeon.
Stephen laid his head back, utterly exhausted and relieved in his post-battle victory. Limping and clutching his side, he made it through the portal and leaned against the wall for a moment of respite.
“That was way more tedious than it needed to be,” he groaned, “and there are still more.” Sighing, he collapsed into the nearest chair.
For Stephen, napping was always a task. By the time he fell asleep, it would be time to wake up again. Part of it was his fault: he spent years and years training his brain to stay up in order to get a few hours ahead of studying.
It worked out for med school, but as he got older, every hour of sleep counted.
It made it even harder as The Eye of Agamotto detected a presence and Stephen had to wake up from his much-needed nap. Sighing, he sent a portal to transport the kid (and whoever the hell he was fighting) to the Sanctum.
As the boy landed in the dungeon, the other threats roared and banged against their magical confines.
Not wanting to scare the boy, Stephen placed a hand on Parker’s shoulder, to which the boy jumped with a frightened yelp. So much for not scaring him.
“Be careful what you wish for, Parker.”
The kid just stared at him blankly, utterly confused about the situation. “Can you please explain to me what is going on?”
“That little spell you botched where you wanted everyone to forget that Peter Parker is Spider-Man, it started pulling in everyone who knows Peter Parker is Spider-Man from every universe, into this one.”
The half-human, half-octopus man spoke up. “Who are you, where am I?”
Before Peter could even think about opening his big mouth, Stephen interrupted him, explaining, “I think it's better if we don't engage with him, because, frankly, the Multiverse is a concept about which we know frighteningly little.”
The endless possibilities of the Multiverse kept Stephen up at night. It reminded him of what the Ancient One said when he was but a learner.
“We use the Mirror Dimension to train, surveil, and sometimes to contain threats,” The Ancient One explained while summoning the Mirror Dimension, “You don't want to be stuck in here without your sling ring.”
“Hold on. Sorry, what do you mean by ‘threats’?”
“Learning of an infinite multiverse includes learning of infinite dangers, and if I told you everything else that you don't already know, you'd run from here in terror.”
Stephen drank his now-cold cup of coffee, welcoming the beverage despite its disgusting temperature.
Between sips, Stephen finally dressed his wounds, putting antibacterial cream on the deep gashes and an ice pack on his aching leg.
Behind him, the cloak massaged his temples and tense shoulders.
“I'm so done,” Stephen groaned.
The cloak nodded in agreement.
“I should probably check on the kids. There's no telling what shit they're getting into.” Stephen winced as he got up, painfully reminding him of his age.
The cloak was quick to mount the sorcerer's shoulders before they portaled to the undercroft of the Sanctum.
Stephen instantly detected the presence of another interloper. “Oh, great. You caught another one.”
“No, wait. Strange, he's not dangerous…”
Stephen cut him off, sending the new guest into the last remaining cell. All the trespassers were caught.
At last.
Whether Peter's poor judgment said the man was good or not, it was up to the multiverse to decide. Even an inherently “good” person could cause catastrophic multiversal disturbances.
As Peter reassured his new bestie, Stephen summoned the Machina de Kadavus, holding the rusty relic in his hands.
“What is that?” Peter asked.
“It's an ancient relic: the Machina de Kadavus. I trapped your corrupted spell inside, so once you've finished the proper ritual, it will reverse the spell and send these guys back to their universes.
A chorus of “but we’ll parish” and “I don't wanna die” rose up within the dungeon, and Peter was obviously taking the villains’ manipulations to heart. “Strange, we can't send them back. Not yet.”
Ugh, what now? “Why?”
“Some of these guys are gonna die.”
“Parker, it's their fate.” The words sounded bitter, but oftentimes, the truth was bitter.
Peter, looking utterly distraught, took a deep breath. He wore a look of disappointment, of broken trust and disgust. “Come on, Strange. Have a heart.”
The familiar words stabbed directly into Stephen's chest, where it would have hurt him if he hadn't spent his whole life repressing his emotions. Sure, it appeared that he didn't have a heart, but that couldn't be further from the truth.
“Tony Stark is dead, you should care more!” Pepper screamed, “My husband is dead and it's all your fault!”
“It was his choice. He chose to sacrifice himself,” Stephen explained, more to himself than Pepper, “Death is what gives life meaning. In Stark's case, his sacrifice meant more than his life.”
“You lie! Doctor, have a fucking heart!”
Stephen stood there, taking the blame, taking the bashing of his name and the pain he felt in his heart.
Stephen had heard that before. He stood there like he did with his brother.
“You missed our father’s funeral,” Victor Strange chastised, tears in his eyes.
“I know.” Stephen avoided eye contact, choosing instead to sort through a stack of papers on neuromuscular diseases.
“Come on, Stephen. Have a heart.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“You wouldn't know, you were never around.”
Stephen took a step back, utterly appalled at the accusation. “You have no idea what I have done for this family!”
“Like what? Killing Donna?” Victor mumbled, trying to keep the emotions away. Their father trained them well, but Victor wasn't as good as Stephen, who kept an unfaltering stoic face.
Stephen tightened his jaw as if it were a dam that could hold his tears at bay. “Get out,” Stephen said through gritted teeth.
“Or what? You'd kill me too?”
It took everything for Stephen not to snap. “Get. Out.”
At some point, Victor lunged at Stephen, who was quick to dodge it and push his younger sibling back in an act of pure instinct.
After that, Victor left in a blind rage, running into the street, never to be seen again.
The past didn't matter; what mattered was that Peter needed to listen!
“In the grand calculus of the multiverse, their sacrifice means infinitely more than their lives,” Stephen started, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry, kid. If they die, they die.”
Stephen began the ritual, taking extra care to concentrate. He blocked all of the superfluous noises out, save for the sparkling sounds of his magic and the resulting clicks of the Machina de Kadavus.
At last, the top opened, hissing in Stephen's ears as a way of telling him it was ready to do its master’s bidding.
One more simple rune left.
Something blocked his connection to the relic, and before Stephen could even open his eyes, he knew who did it.
“Peter, Don't!”
The kid ignored him and reigned the box in, completely throwing Stephen off balance. Stephen, desperately holding on to the spell, had little time to brace himself as Peter shot him with the gauntlet and shoved him into a cell.
Upon feeling the irritating grains of sand, Stephen knew he was in the same cage as the sandy guy.
“This is why I never had kids,” Stephen grumbled.
As quick as he was put in the cell, he left, portaling to the outside of the Sanctum. He had to stop the boy.
Stephen wasn't sure how he ended up in the Grand Canyon, of all places.
He fought the kid (what kind of man was he?) in an attempt to retrieve the box. Sure, he had no intention of doing harm, but he should have fought harder, should have taken the kid down when he had the chance.
It was better to hurt one kid than destroy the entire fabric of reality. Stephen still hadn't found the delicate balance of not harming his opponent while also fighting enough to win the battle. He did it with Thanos, so why couldn't he do it with the kid?
To be fair, the mirror dimension should have contained Spider-Man. Heck, the astral punch should have contained Spider-Man, but neither did. Though a young man, Peter was a formidable opponent for the older, sleep-deprived sorcerer.
His spider sense was nearly magical, foretelling him of threats to come and allowing him to have more connection to his astral form than Stephen thought possible. What was embarrassing was that it wasn't even the Spider-Man powers that defeated Stephen, it was math.
Math! Stephen was a neurosurgeon, he had to have at least 20 hours of math to graduate with his PhD and MD, and that was just in med school. Operating on the nervous system was a very delicate process, with mathematical equations and formulas used to get precise measurements and avoid paralyzing- or killing, for that matter- the patient.
He knew math and he shouldn't have been stupid enough to underestimate the kid. Now he was stuck in his own mirror dimension, with no sling ring and no way to escape.
On the bright side, the Grand Canyon was beautiful, its orange and brown layers of earth piling up to create intricate valleys and slopes. The layers of the rock added to its appeal, showing off its age as wrinkles would a human. The wrinkles of the world, the ups and the downs: all shown in one geographical location… a location in which Stephen was trapped in.
He was starting to get hungry, his stomach rumbling and echoing throughout the small, compact space. He was also tired. Maybe he could take a nap.
Behind him, the cloak strained against the web fluid keeping it bound. It was ironic, how Stephen and his cloak took the place of a fly, helplessly waiting to be eaten by the spider that trapped it in the sticky web.
Stephen couldn't move his arms despite how hard he fought. Not yet accepting his defeat, he jerked left and right, tightening his muscles to find any weakness in the web. There weren't any.
Stephen sighed, sagging down into the netting. It was frighteningly similar to a hammock, comfortable enough to sleep in, but still uncomfortable enough to make his elevation glaringly apparent.
After a brief respite, Stephen began pushing and pulling again, the action rubbing against his frayed nerves. He became a thrashing bug, desperate to get out of the quiet prison he got himself trapped in.
Many winces, pants, and brief pauses to catch his breath later, Stephen finally wrenched his tingling hands free. From there, he cast the Flames of Faltine, burning through the web fluid in a bright display of burning string over the Grand Canyon.
The cloak caught Stephen, taking him to more stable ground, where he sat over the magnificent landmark.
There wasn't really anything he could do; he would have to wait until someone saved him. “Might as well go sightseeing!”
After a while of admiring the beauty of the canyon and pacing near the edge to stretch his legs (and to let the cloak fly around), Stephen closed his eyes and meditated.
It wasn’t until the Cloak shoved him that he realized he had fallen asleep. Yawning and gathering his belongings, Stephen got up, standing upright, not in fear but in confidence.
“Stand tall, Stephen.”
“But sir, I’m tired,” 11 year-old Stephen whined.
“I know, son, but you have to be ready to defend yourself.”
“I don’t think my friends will hurt me!”
“I never said they would, but you need to stand tall, not in fear, but in confidence .”
As a sorcerer, it was crucial to always be ready, but Stephen still felt his posture sagging, despite the good posture his father drilled into him.
Stephen was getting too old to deal with multiversal threats and rogue kids and shit.
As he stepped through the portal, Stephen noticed Peter’s two friends. “Where is he?”
Not waiting for a response, Stephen took his sling ring and the Machina de Kadavus (both of which were rightfully his).
“Wait, wait, wait!” Peter’s girlfriend pleaded.
Simultaneously, Ned began, “Before you do anything, Mister… Doctor Strange, sir, well… Peter’s plan is working!”
His plan? What’d he do now? Stephen should have just stayed in the Grand Canyon. At least then, he had a good view. “What plan?”
“He’s curing them.”
Stephen turned to watch the fight below them, where a puff of iridescent green smoke rose high into the dark night.
“Dr. Connors?” Peter asked hesitantly.
The creature, once a giant, talking lizard, emerged from the cloud of smoke, only to reveal a very human man.
“Welcome back, sir.”
Stephen couldn’t believe it. The kid actually did it? And without any multiversal reaction or destruction of reality? Sure, it was against the laws of nature, but Stephen broke those all the time. The kid really was following in his footsteps, for better or for worse. “Well, I’ll be damned…” Stephen shook his head, turning to face Ned as a realization came to him. “Did you just open a portal?”
“Yes.. yes, sir. I did.” The kid looked so frightened. Was Stephen frightening? He must have been taking after his father, with his chiseled cheekbones and consistent scowl he wore.
He hummed, having too much to do to ponder a potential future sorcerer, and walked off, through a portal, towards the heat of the battle.
He dropped down, catching sight of Peter, who was quick to take off his mask to gasp for air.
Peter looked awful. His face was a quilt of black bruises and bloody scratches. More concerning though, were his bloodshot red eyes, the origin of the irritation made evident by his cheeks wet with tracks of dried tears.
Grief. It was a look of grief, a look familiar to Stephen. It was a look Stephen saw when he looked in the mirror.
“Strange, wait, we’re so close-”
“Skip it! I’ve been dangling over the Grand Canyon for twelve hours!” Was it actually twelve? Stephen didn’t know for sure, but that was beside the point.
“I know, I know, I, uh, um, uh…” Peter trailed off as two other people joined them on the bridge.
Stephen didn't have the heart to listen to the boy as he continued to stutter; rather, he was too distracted by the identities of the two interlopers.
They all had similar faces to Peter, but they were not without differences. Still, their identities were all given away by their blue and red spandex suits. They were all Spider-Man. From the multiverse.
“You went to the Grand Canyon?” One of them asked. He was definitely the oldest of the three, but he still looked in great health despite being in battle.
“We could've used your help!” The other spoke up. He appeared to be younger than the previous one, but still older than Stephen’s Peter.
They were all like brothers, the youngest, middle, and oldest obvious, both in appearance and attitude. They all shared one thing; a look of naive compassion.
The real Peter was quick to step in. “No, no, no, it's okay, it's okay! Uh, these, these are my new friends, this is Peter Parker, Peter Parker, Spider-Man, Spider-Man, they're mes from other universes. They're here to help.”
Stephen barely listened. There were multiple Peter's? He could barely handle one, and the multiversal consequences of having multiple variants of the same person in one universe was not to be underestimated.
“This is the wizard I was telling you about,” The real Peter explained to his bro- friends, friends.
“Look, I am really impressed that you've managed to give them all a second chance, kid, but this has to end now.”
“Can Spider-Man come out to play?!” A shrill, manic voice called. Said manic voice was from a man, dressed as a goblin, on a flying hoverboard.
The goblin flung a plethora of fidget-spinner things that the octopus man blocked. What side was he on?
The octopus man sent one of his mechanical tentacles to grab the hoverboard and hold it in place.
With his target restrained, Stephen conjured an Eldritch whip and took the Machina de Kadavus back, ignoring the battle that ensued between the villains.
Something was wrong- Stephen could feel it- but he couldn't let his feelings get in the way of duty. He was a soldier for the greater good.
Always the greater good.
“The man that was gruesomely decapitated a year ago was found innocent today,” the news blared, frightening young 7 year-old Stephen.
His father forced him to watch the news every night to ‘learn about the world'. He had seen more horrors than kids his age should have seen.
“Sir! I'm scared!” Stephen sobbed.
Eugene ignored him.
“The police responded to the allegations, stating, ‘It was for the greater good.’”
“Why would they-”
“Someone always has to get punished, that's just the way of things,” Eugene explained apathetically.
“But what if there's-”
“-There's no other way.”
“STRANGE, NO!”
The world erupted and Stephen flung backward. Although the cloak caught him, the spell that was in midcasting flew to the far corners of the horizon, flying over New York and slicing into the fabric of reality.
The explosion rocked the bridge and the sky, sending the renovated section of Statue of Liberty down with a loud crash.
Tuning out the chaos to concentrate, Stephen barely realized as the cloak left his shoulders, no doubt to help one of the kids that had fallen.
It was time for a plan.
He was in the operating room, concocting a plan of action. He was in his mind palace, putting the missing pieces of the complicated puzzle together. Just as he had restored the severed nerves and solved the puzzle, he had to solve his current conundrum.
Standing on the torch of the infamous Statue of Liberty, Stephen watched in pure apprehension as reality cracked, making way for swirls of purple and blue multiversal portals to open across the vast sky.
Desperately, he stitched them together, tying knots to close the wounds of the world, but it was no match for the rapidly advancing rips. Still, Stephen summoned his notorious stubbornness and pulled harder, using his magic to fix the holes of reality.
The mass amounts of power wielded by Stephen's hands made him nauseous, causing him to sway. Sweat dripped into his eyes and his head felt like bursting, but Stephen kept trying.
Just as Stephen felt his knees wobble and saw the ground doubling, his cloak returned, sending him into the air.
The cracks widened, revealing various silhouettes. Judging by their large sizes and odd shapes, they sure as hell were not good guys.
“What's happening?” Peter asked from below Stephen.
What wasn't happening?
Stephen's arms ached, his hands throbbed, and bile rose in his throat. We wanted to collapse, to lay down and puke all over the sweet, sweet ground of New York, but he had a job to do. “They're starting to come through and I can't stop them.”
“There's got to be something we can do. Can't you just cast the spell again? But, like, the original way, before I screwed it up?”
Stephen's heart pounded in his chest and his vision was graying on the edges. “We're too late for that. They're here! They're here because of you!”
“What if everyone forgot who I was?”
“What?” Everything froze: Stephen's pain, his concentration, his anger. He was trapped, held hostage by emotions and his paternal instincts for the kid.
Surely he didn't mean it. Surely he didn't want the entire world to forget Peter Parker.
“They're coming here because of me, right? Because I'm Peter Parker? So cast a new spell, but this time, make everyone forget who Peter Parker is. Make everyone forget… me.”
Stephen shook his head. “No.”
“But it would work, right?”
“Yeah, it would work. But you got to understand that would mean everyone who knows and loves you…we… we'd have no memory of you. It'll be as if you never existed.”
Stephen couldn't help the tears that pricked at the backs of his eyes. He did love Peter, just as any decent human being would grow to love a boy left in their care. He was like a son to him. He wanted to give the boy a hug- an action Stephen never got from his father- and reassure him that it was all going to be alright, that there was another, less painful way.
The problem was: there was no other way. There wasn't on Titan, and there wasn't now.
“I know. Do it,” Peter reassured.
It was then that Stephen realized: Peter was no longer a kid. It was evident not just in his age, but also in his maturity.
Peter was no longer the naive boy Stephen met on Titan or the immature boy that visited the Sanctum a day ago.
He was a man. A hero. A selfless, mature hero that was finally willing to accept the harsh truth despite trying over and over to prevent it.
“Well, then go say your goodbyes. You don't have long.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Not ‘sir’ again. “Call me Stephen,” he smiled. It was the least he could do. The kid deserved it.
“Thank you, Stephen.” The name came easily out of Peter's lips, as if the name belonged there. Peter was grateful- that much Stephen could tell.
Stephen scoffed. “Yeah, still feels weird.”
“I'll see you around.” Peter swung away, desperate to get one last goodbye from his friends.
“So long, kid,” Stephen murmured, full of guilt and sorrow.
Despite the trauma and despite the pain, Peter was willing to suffer the consequences of his actions and proceed to move forward with selfless sacrifice.
The boy didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to suffer the worst sacrifice of all: being forgotten by all those he loved.
Stephen barely managed to set aside the guilt enough to finish the first phase of the spell- to send the ‘villains’ back to their rightful universes. As a doctor, he learned to continue the operation or maneuver he was doing despite his emotions, so that's what he did.
Part of the crack closed as if bound by stitches.
For phase two, he successfully returned the other two Spider-Men to their respective universes, watching as they waved to each other with newfound comradery.
Another part closed. One chunk left.
Stephen took a deep breath as he wrote the rest of the spell. He glanced once more at Peter, making sure to give the hero enough time. Maybe Stephen secretly hoped Peter would change his mind. Maybe he hoped he could stall enough to concoct a better plan.
Neither happened.
Peter nodded.
It was time.
As Stephen made the final incantations and set the spell into the world in a cloud of bright orange, he couldn't help but allow an indignant tear to roll down his face.
It wasn't fair- for anyone- but such was life.
Clinging desperately to his memory but finding it slipping like sand through his fingers, he accepted the bitter, bitter truth:
Someone always got punished. There was no other way.