[closed] there are places I remember;

[sorser]

Who: Stephen and Thancred
When: End of May
Where: Thorne Castle (Stephen's room)
What: A talk between friends.
Warnings: None! Will add if needed.

(( this was a cut of fakery ))

Comments

[sorser]

[He needs time to think.

Alone.

And there is much to think about. Almost too much, everything that happened in that non-reality, that non-future, how they might have evolved as Summoned, how the world changed, what it meant for them now and the Singularity and their relationship to the monolith. Their relationship to the whole of Abraxas.

Yes. There is much to think about. But Stephen Strange is stuck on one thing and one thing alone: how he had abandoned his responsibilities as a sorcerer of Earth, how he gave it no second thought whatsoever in that future-time, so much that his memories whispered away into nothing at all. Until he was Stephen only in echoes of it, a name that might as well not have applied to him at all. Who is he to carry the relic of the past, when he turned it away so wholly in the end?

He doesn’t know how to reconcile this in his head. Stephen has long thought that he’s been rooted in his responsibilities, that he is stubborn and determined enough to not falter even in the long, long onward march of time. Did he not prove as much to Dormammu? Did he not go through the endless loop of alternate futures when he wielded the Time Stone to find the one reality in which they defeated Thanos?

How is this possible?

By the time Thancred knocks on his door, he’s almost forgotten he’s agreed to seeing his friend. There’s a delay until he opens the door, but when he does, the sorcerer looks him up and down, tired and distraught by his own thoughts, and waves him in.]

Thancred. Hey.

[funbreaker]

[ With Thancred's head also filled with simply too much, it's difficult to know where to begin. He doesn't think that cloistering himself away will necessarily do any good, but interacting with any of his fellow Summoned brings its own baggage — and lots of it. As much as it might be tempting to set the events of the past three weeks (or eight hundred years, depending on how they count) aside, he finds it's not so simple.

He doesn't know much right now, but he does know this: he can't remain in this flat by himself anymore.

The absence of Urianger, which he'd felt so keenly before they were dragged into the heart of the storm and which he'd seemingly forgotten far too easily in that "dream," makes itself known as soon as he steps back into what should be their shared space. Staying here doesn't feel right anymore.

When he asked Stephen if he could come by to see him, that had perhaps been the catalyst for it. It's not only that, though. Despite the concoction of false memories about Stephen (or the All-Seer, as he'd called himself) that now swirl in his mind, he's still someone who Thancred trusts. If there's anyone he would turn to in order to pick this all apart, it's him.

Stephen opens the door to his room, and Thancred takes a long look at him, as if studying every line and shape and wrinkle that makes up his face. He no longer is struck with that sense that there are multitudes hidden beneath a false front, that Stephen has become something more, something unknowable.

And, well, there is a relief in that. Thancred heaves out a sigh and steps inside, studying the room that is exactly as he remembers it. He doesn't often visit Stephen here, preferring to find him in his office, but given the request he has for him — this felt more appropriate.

Of course, it's also a more intimate space, and he can't quite shove aside the recollections of their more private moments together as gods, some of which had been so metaphysical that he can barely wrap his mind around it now.

... Perhaps better not to lead with that. Though it does leave him lingering near the doorway, uncertain of where to place himself, and what would be an overstep now that they're back to normal. ]

It's occurring to me now I should have brought along some hard liquor to go with our chat. Would you mind doing the honors?

[ Stephen should have never revealed to him that he can just make food and drink with a flick of his wrist. ]

[sorser]

[Tired as he is, Stephen is just as he seems: an exhausted mortal. And there’s a groundedness in that, despite his discontent, that feeling of being himself again. Of seeing Thancred on the other side and knowing he is Thancred just his close friend, not some divine entity, plain and simple.

A comfort to have him here, a welcome interruption in the flood of his thoughts that have left him weary and stressed and overwrought with thinking too much.]

Of course. Come in.

[He ushers him into the bedroom, and while it is a more intimate space than where they usually meet, this hasn’t quite registered in Stephen’s thoughts just yet. Likely it will, in time, when recollection of the rather salacious ways they got to know each other of gods returns to him in a wave, but.

One thing at a time.]

Sit wherever you want. My room is your room.

[He sweeps hand to indicate it, and truly, Thancred might choose wherever: a chair at his desk. A place on a chaise lounge at one end of his room. The foot of his bed, for all he cares.]

I’ll do the honors as long as you let me pick. [A few swipes of his hand, and a pair of goblets appear in each, held by their thick stems.] I’m thinking… very strong.

[funbreaker]

[ Given that these rooms are originally set up to sleep four people, there is thankfully more than enough space for hosting someone. Stephen has managed to keep the room for himself, at least thus far, which means that it is rather spacious.

Spacious enough to perhaps contain a roommate. When Stephen delivers the sentiment of this room being as good as Thancred's already, it does reduce some of his uncertainty about what he's going to ask of him.

Not that there's any reason to be nervous. Even if Stephen were to turn him down, preferring his privacy, Thancred would not take it as a slight. There are plenty of other options available to him, though staying with a close friend would be his preference.

He moves to sit on one end of the chaise lounge. Sitting at the desk feels too formal, and the bed is too familiar, implanted memories aside. ]

I like the way you think. Something to take the edge off is precisely what we need right now.

[ He heaves out a sigh, then lifts one hand to rub at his eyes. ]

Urianger usually endeavors to keep me away from the bottle. [ But that won't stop him now. His hand drops to his mouth, and he watches as the glasses fill up. ] ... I don't know if you heard, but he's no longer here. Gone without a trace.

[sorser]

[Just like that, each cup is filled with amber liquid that might as well be the equivalent of whisky bourbon. Is he overdoing it by filling a goblet full of the stuff? Quite possibly; but they deserve it, and they can nurse it for however long Thancred decides to stay here, besides.

He crosses over, takes a seat, and hands him his drink. Stephen's mind whirs at the news, his brow pinching. If he had heard of Urianger's departure, it had been lost in the mire of his more present thoughts. Yet it makes its way to the forefront now, for how much it affects Thancred, lancing up through all else.]

I didn't know. Probably gone back home, then. I'm sorry.

[With a frown, he takes a drink, considering.]

After everything that's happened, losing someone you were close to from home is the last thing you need.

[funbreaker]

[ Even if Stephen did know at one point (and frankly, Thancred can't quite recall if he told him either), he certainly doesn't blame him for losing that in the midst of everything else, a veritable minefield of memories that they have to now sort through and categorize. ]

It's for the best, I suppose. Returning home is the goal for us, even if the Singularity or whichever force was behind that storm wished to make me forget all about that.

[ That's the part that's sticking in his side like a thorn, that's forced him to lay up in bed at night unable to turn off his thoughts. He shakes his head slowly back and forth, then braces his elbows on his thighs as he takes a long sip from the goblet. ]

I didn't forget only Urianger, but everyone back home who mattered to me. [ His jaw clenches. ] Even Ryne. [ As soon as she was forgotten, that urgency to return back to his star and find a means of traveling to another had faded away, allowing him to become rooted in Abraxas.

He glances up at Stephen, and even among all the weariness washed over his face, there is a hint of steel. ]

I refuse to believe that would truly happen.

[sorser]

[He understands the feeling of that loss. Stephen has experienced it more than once, of course — the reality that those from his world might be swept away back home at any moment. Stark. Peter. Others.

But Thancred strikes at the newest wound, another layer of difficulty. The idea that they might have forgotten so far into the future, that the Summoned might have changed into something more than mortal and, in this ascension, their past lives meant little. Their homes were their homes no longer. Their responsibilities…

Forgotten.]

I forgot, too. Everyone, everything… that mattered to me from my past.

[Thancred doesn’t need to hear it; he knows himself, he saw it in Stephen just as the same applied to him. But he has to say it, as though it might eject some of the guilt and frustration from his own mind. It doesn’t, not really, but there’s still some comfort in commiseration.

The steel in his friend’s eyes quiets him for a moment, though, gaze raking across the man’s face. Stephen does what any person would do right now: takes another long, hard drink.]

...What did we become, Thancred? And I don’t mean gods. But our— [He doesn’t want to speak for him, so an addendum:] —my identity is so rooted in the past. The lessons I learned, the things I had to do. Sacrifices, pain. Celebrations and joy. Without it, I’m not even Dr. Strange anymore. I don’t know what that thing was in the future, but it wasn’t me.

I’m supposed to be stronger than that. Time should be a non-issue. [For a man who once protected the Time Stone itself.] It’s…

[He shakes his head.]

I’m just trying to say that I understand.

[But is it strictly the Singularity's fault? He doubts himself. He doesn't know.]

[funbreaker]

[ The admission from Stephen is no surprise. For all that he'd supposedly known and seen all, how could he have forgotten so much? It makes so little sense, especially when both of them are duty-bound to their homes. It's why Thancrd can't just accept that this is how anything would ever play out in reality.

But Stephen then asks perhaps the most important question of all: what did they become? In some ways he'd remained the same, but with every significant memory scrubbed out of him save for Himeka, could he claim to have been the same person at all? It doesn't feel that way, not in the aftermath.

The fact is, Stephen could have spoken for him. Thancred is much the same, defined by his past failures, his mistakes and how he's learned from them. He takes another gulp from his drink as Stephen speaks, somehow stopping himself from downing the whole thing in one go. He knows that wouldn't lead anywhere good. ]

Time shouldn't be enough to wash it all away. I didn't suffer those mistakes and learn the hard way simply to forget. [ He grits his teeth and shakes his head, like an angry dog fighting against a muzzle. ] It's almost as if to become a god, you must lose everything you once were. If that's the fate that awaits us, Stephen, I will put my all into resisting.

[ With Stephen still standing, if only a short distance away, Thancred reaches out to curl his fingers around the wrist of his free hand and grip tight. As if anchoring them both to this time; this moment. ]

Or maybe it was simply a cruel joke someone played on us. Either way, I assume we're aligned on this point.

[sorser]

[The gesture is small, but resonating. The connection grounds them in this time and place, and Thancred’s declaration that they will resist becoming only a shell of their former selves… It feels like a promise.

All at once, Stephen’s throat tightens. The many taut wires which feel as though they string through his muscles, keeping him upright, snap one by one. He sits next to him, finally, his drink jostling in its cup — the sorcerer does his best to swallow down the ball bearing in his throat.]

...Of course we are.

[He turns his wrist, angling his hand so that he can grip Thancred’s more tightly. Reassurance, comfort, and steel for them both.]

I’m not going to forget ever again.

[He can’t. He still has people waiting for him back home. He intends to fulfill his responsibility here by making certain the Singularity’s connection to all magic and worlds does not endanger Earth, but someday he will return to his duties. He can’t abandon them.]

And I want to fight forgetting. I’ll help you, if you help me.

[Maybe it’s best to think of what happened to them as a warning of what can happen, rather than what will happen. One more possibility in a million of them — if Stephen frames it in this way, then maybe it’s nothing terribly new to his experiences.]

[funbreaker]

[ Thancred wouldn't admit it, but he had been hoping that Stephen would take a seat beside him after he reached out. There's only just enough space for two of them on the chaise lounge, but it's enough. Besides, there's some comfort in feeling Stephen's solid presence next to him, or in the way that the cushion dips slightly under his added weight.

They're here. They're both here. This is what is real.

When Stephen turns his wrist, Thancred intertwines their fingers, as if they're knitting together this promise between them with each finger that interlocks. He heaves out a breath and nods firmly. ]

We'll find a way to remember, even if this world and its magic wishes to erode it all away.

[ He can't simply accept a fate that has supposedly already been written for them. Given how many people he's met among the Summoned who have decided that they want to stay here, even before these events took place, it's a relief to find that Stephen remains set on returning home to see to his responsibilities there.

They're bound together in their need to buck against this so-called destiny, and at Stephen's next words, Thancred leans forward for a moment to set down his glass on the floor, freeing the hand that isn't already gripped onto Stephen's. ]

We'll do it together, then.

[ He straightens and reaches his hand out to frame one side of Stephen's face, his thumb dragging down his jaw, brushing over facial hair. He stares into Stephen's clear eyes, a quiet ask of permission, before he leans in to press their lips together.

And while he has all sorts of memories of what they got up to as gods, he shoves that aside, remembering their first kiss — when they were very much themselves, very much human. That also unfolded here in Stephen's room after Thancred walked him back from a much-needed outing. They're a little less drunk this time, and he's a little more certain as a result — wanting to seal the deal of the promise they've made, but also to bring to mind a memory that's truly theirs, and not imposed on them by this place. ]

[sorser]

[It’s a promise, then, made not in steel but in the quiet moments of an evening, sequestered away in their room with little space between them. Stephen gutters out a breath at the reassurance, feeling so, so tired in the wake of what can only be called relief at having Thancred’s presence beside him. Thancred’s willpower to bolster his own in a time like this one.

He was never alone, of course. He’s always had the support of those close to him in this world — but Stephen’s such a solitary creature at times that he needs the reminder. And what a reminder this is.

Dumbly, perhaps, Stephen just grips the neck of his drink when his friend cups his face, eyes meeting his own. There’s indeed a clarity in his gaze that will always remain, never mind how downtrodden they are with current events, no matter what this world throws at them — and that clarity is easy to read, saying that yes, he does wish for Thancred to kiss him.

When their lips meet, he feels a bit like a silly teen. Physiological responses kick up in his body that are all too keen in his mind. The first time they kissed, they were indeed a bit drunk, and it was all a haze. And the false memories of 800 years, while unforgettable, certainly have no place in the now.

Now he’s pointedly aware of the hard beating of his heart inside his ribs, the flush of heat that tries to creep up to the surface of his skin. A tinge of excitement, despite everything.]

Mmph.

[Eloquently spoken, what with Stephen’s lips otherwise disposed. With a bit of magic, he floats his drink away to rest on the table, without every pulling away. And then he leans in, his free hand rising up to curl around the back of Thancred’s neck, deepening the kiss in nothing short of approval.]

[funbreaker]

[ Thancred has kissed many people in his lifetime — sometimes for work, sometimes for fun, sometimes simply to quiet his mind. It's second nature for him, and he has such a wealth of experience that he can tell without any words exchanged if the person he's kissing is enjoying themselves.

He feels the way that Stephen's body alights, his face growing warm and some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as he accepts the kiss. And then Stephen presses in.

Perhaps a short but sweet kiss to both ground them and to somehow commemorate their promise to each other would have been enough, but Thancred finds that he wants more. Maybe this is the simplest way to turn his mind off right now, and maybe even more basic than that, it's just want he wants in this moment.

When Stephen's fingers brush against the wound-up muscles at the back of his neck, Thancred makes a noise of relief and encouragement, turning their kiss open-mouthed. His licks into Stephen's mouth before he can think better of it, and suddenly this chaise lounge feels far too small for the two of them.

There's a solution to that, however. Thancred moves his hands to the cushion and braces against it, breaking the kiss briefly to push himself up so that he can position himself squarely in Stephen's lap. It's perhaps overly bold, assuming too much when they haven't even exchanged any words, and yet he trusts Stephen to stop him if need be. Either way, it makes their positioning on this ill-equipped piece of furniture a tad more comfortable.

And so he goes back to kissing him, learning Stephen's taste and the shape of his mouth through his own actions, rather than through unclear memories supposedly experienced by someone not truly him. ]