( catch-all ) can we just start over

[sorser]

WHO: Stephen Strange & Various
WHAT: Post-canon update shenanigans and other things.
WHEN: Throughout the month of August.
WHERE: Thorne & the Horizon

(( closed starters below! PM this journal or hit me up at aurajen if you want to plot something! ))

Comments

for wanda.

[sorser]

[It had been like awakening from a years-long dream, heavy with the breadth of experience and emotion and spellwork and even shreds of humility, long needed. Memories flooding in a slew of recollection, buffetting against the mind; it would be nearly enough to drive a man mad should they not have given themselves proper time to let it settle, let it decompress within.

Stephen Strange, ironically, does not like giving himself time. Especially not when the connections of then and now meld together like pieces of a broken blade resmithed again, giving him new context. Wanda had gone missing, a troubling thought before. Wanda had gone missing — a fearful thought now, and one that has Stephen flying into action only moments after he could sort through what he now knows. What time has gifted him, or so it feels.

It does not take long before he’s in the Horizon, seeking her. Finding nothing but crimson, billowing mist where there once was a swath of trees and a small little cabin overlooking a glittering lake. Stephen glances about, frowning deeply, his hand thumbing at the scarf around his neck — a borrowed thing, sent by a raven from Thor, belonging to Wanda herself.]

Where’d you run off to…?

[He mutters before his hands fall into their usual form of spellcasting; the easy, familiar gestures of uncomplicated magic, borrowing a plucked thread from the scarf itself. The location spell follows his fingers and hovers mid-air, warbling and amber, until Stephen spreads his hands and a halo of energy pulses outward.

This energy shimmers against a form in the distance, standing solitary against all else in the barren nothingness. He can see it now — a door. Stephen waves a hand to reveal it fully, and there it stands, stoic as a sentinel, and he is sure there must be someone on the other side.

He approaches and doesn’t bother to knock, reaching out to turn the knob and see what awaits him.]

for wilhelm.

[sorser]

[He was late for his previous lesson with Wilhelm; for all intents and purposes, on the heels of new and somewhat concerning updates and goings-on, he had ghosted him completely.

And now, with a few books gathered up in the library, stacked on a desk, he sends the young man a message.]

So. [Ssssssooo, is the tone hidden within.] A lot's happened. I missed our arranged time last week. That's my fault.

I'll make up for the lesson that we missed if you have the time today. Meet me in the library if you feel up to it.

-Stephen Strange

[Things have to shift back into normality once more in Abraxas, don't they? Routines set back into place where they had been momentarily upended? Well, that's the hope.]

for thancred.

[sorser]

[In the evening, perhaps out of the blue, Thancred will receive a message from Stephen.]

Could really go for a drink right now.

[Bafflingly, it is left at that. Yet given Stephen is so rarely the sort to ask for an outing for no reason at all, much less be the one to instigate it in a casual way, one must assume that this drink is sorely needed.

(It is.)]

[carmesi]

[wanda had felt the way her hex was dispelled, unlocked by magic she very well recognizes. it is magic she has clashed against with before, waged against—stephen strange. it was only a matter of time, she thinks as she brings focus to herself, draws away from the warmth she had found in matt's place, and enters her own domain.

past the door, a crumbling throne is revealed—the leftover ruins of wundagore, obsidian black rock and cracked darkhold spells. the wind whips harshly at any who stand here, the blizzard raging on fiercely, as the howls of desolation and cursed ground echo shrilly.

she stands here as the scarlet witch, her head crowned, her clothes reminiscent of the last recall of her time in her world. as much as she's hid her appearance—the exhaustion, the tears, the inflicted harm of her own isolation—wanda stands here now, true, in front of stephen strange. her back still stands straight, pride above all, and she turns to him, faces him as he approaches.

it was only a matter of time, she repeats to herself again. she promised she would do this in her own time, in her own space, whenever she felt ready. but with the master of the mystic arts, whom—as she plunges into his mind—knows of her crimes? this is one meeting she cannot put off.]

Stephen.

[she greets him, and the howling wind stops, the storm calming in the wake of her unconscious command.]

I knew you would find me.

[sorser]

[He steps through the door, and it disappears behind him. What greets him is a familiar sight, though now brought to ruin — crumbling pillars, the dilapidated carvings of a throne room on the verge of destruction, as though time itself has stopped, freeze-framing the moment in which Wundagore fell. The blizzard rages behind him, howling and decrying his very presence, but Stephen’s gaze latches immediately onto the woman standing there, so proud and unflagging in his presence.]

Wanda.

[The wind dies down. The memory of this place feels all too fresh, even if the last time he visited he was inhabiting a rotting corpse of himself. Now, Stephen arrives as whole and hale, but where she keeps her head held high, he just looks… tired.

And wary, from the slope of his shoulders, from the pinch of his brow. He has much he wants to say, all of it trying to spill past the barrier of his churning mind, but now that he stands here, the weight of all that’s happened between him suddenly feels far too heavy.

He straightens his shoulders, all the same.]

If you knew I was coming, then I have to be honest with you: I preferred the cottage.

[Instead of this place, lingering in shadow and what he assumes—oh, what he hopes—is regret. At least then they have a place to start, conversation to ground themselves in.]

[carmesi]

[wanda tilts her head downward, an amused huff of air escaping her as he says he preferred her cottage. it draws significance—the way her cottage from this world was the very same that she had used, back home, to trick stephen into thinking that everything within it was real, to mask away the corruption of the darkhold that had encroached upon her in those two, long years.

she looks back up at him.]

I don't have it in me to return to that place.

[the place where it had started—this feud with them, the chase across the multiverse.

slowly, wanda starts walking towards him, stepping over crumbling blocks of stone. when she stops, there are still a few feet between them, but at least she's done that—breached the gap between them. when she speaks, her words are strained, her throat tight with emotion.]

Nothing I say will change what I did. [pausing, she swallows.] Do the others know?

[sorser]

[Wouldn't it be simpler to return to that place, that little cabin, the time when they were both stuck in this world without recollection of events that had yet to happen -- but even Stephen feels as though there are changes wrought through him he cannot undo. Wanda's experiences have twined with his own, for good or ill, and that is something they'll both have to live with. Choices made, consequences hewn from them.

Hers were worse, of course. So many dead, so much damage done, a madness laced through her mind courtesy of the Darkhold. It is hard for the tension to not ratchet up by a degree when she closes the space between them. Hard for Stephen not to close himself off with his body language, tempted to cross his arms, but he somehow manages to keep them at his side.]

I haven't told anyone anything. [And this is true. But so is the addendum:] Yet.

[They will be due an update. Even if she has spoken with the others--and certainly she has with one or two, by now--they will have questions, and he will have his own mode of answers.]

I wanted to talk to you first. To see how you were... [Doing? God, that makes this sound like a social visit.] ...mentally.

[Pauses, tries again:]

If I need to be concerned moving forward, since we're back in this world for a second time.

[carmesi]

[it does not escape wanda the way stephen tenses at her approach, the way his mind races to a number of possible scenarios, unable to really decipher what her intentions are. there is — fear, surprisingly, laced somewhere amidst it all, but suppose that is normal for someone as of recently chased through the multiverse by a witch who could only be defeated through causing her own undoing.

her hands lift to perch in front of her, a nervous thread of fingers placed together as he offers the proverbial yet, clarifying in no uncertain terms what he really is here for.

wanda is certainly unwell; she has the lucidity to see that, even if she feels like she is being split apart at times, between the darkhold's control and herself, though it is long gone now.

(a niggling thought in the back of her mind—is it really gone? she stares at stephen for a moment too long, meeting his eyes, a small pinch of muscle between her eyes before she strays her gaze away.)

she takes a few steps away, towards the edge of the mountain, but not far enough that stephen won't be able to hear her.]

Right now, I have found a place to be by myself, in nearby woods. [she means her physical form] I have [she pauses, finding the words,] struggled between the Darkhold's influence and my own understanding of my actions. [she is tired, so tired. she sighs, tilting her head downward.] I plunged into a dark place. There are things it whispered to me for two long years that I'm sure will continue to unravel over time. [because she feels it, this darkness inside her.] But—

[she turns back to stephen now, slow and deliberate steps.]

They are not mine to have. They never were. [her voice grows a little louder, sterner.] You were right, Stephen. My children are not real.

[not for her—all magic, an illusion to put a bandaid over her grief.]

Do what you think is necessary to silence your worries. I don't care. I have nothing left for me.

[sorser]

[His gaze follows her to the edge of the mountain, framed by the whiteness of the snow-laden terrain beyond — perilous, rocky, untraversable. It is hard to take this place in without memory tainting the quietude of the moment. Knowing that Wong once lay just below that ledge where she stands, or America’s fearful look on that heavy stone slab that rests just beside him. That so much conflict culminated in this place, and Wanda herself had been swallowed whole in the wreckage that followed.

Still, he shears all that away from his mind. Focuses on what she has to tell him now — now is what matters, after all, even if the presence of the past is so close it still casts a long, uncomfortable shadow.

You were right, Stephen. My children are not real. Words that should be a relief, a truth he had tried so hard for Wanda to acknowledge past the haze of the Darkhold’s corruption. But he finds that even he is not so coldly practical to rejoice in this belated revelation.]

You always think that I’m here to dole out some kind of punishment, don’t you?

[The recollection feels so far away, now, like a distant dream, but he remembers. Wanda’s hesitation when they meet in Abraxas for the first time, thinking that Stephen had come to police her actions of the past. In a way, it echoes what is happening now, as though they are caught in a strange, irreversible cycle.]

I think we’re well past that point now. Me and you… [He trails off, then picks up again.] I won’t lie to you. I can believe what you’re telling me now; I can see as plain as day that you’re hurting. But what you did— [He catches himself. Does he really need to reiterate her crimes?] Trust is going to be hard to… to glue back together.

But you are wrong about one thing.

[carmesi]

[is that not why he's here? to threaten her with the impeding knowledge the others will receive of what she's done, in precise detailing? for all that they've been through—all the real danger she put him, wong, and america in, in the end stephen was the last person she could try and find redemption with.

well, a corpse of a dreamwalking stephen strange.

wanda is past wanting redemption though. it is why she closed the darkhold, brought the fortress down onto herself to seal it, once and for all. a small price for all she had done.]

No lunchboxes for me.

[she mutters with a sigh, straining to keep her neck upright, as if this whole conversation is giving her a stress migraine. trust is the last thing she deserves, in any case. her recollections are shattered all over her consciousness, but she does remember raining terror onto many here in abraxas while she fell splintered in many parts. it is not just stephen's trust she has lost—or gotten close to losing.

the thought alone caves in on her like a myriad of rocks, all over again.

but wanda does keep her eyes steady on him as he pauses, as if trying to give himself a flair for the dramatic—or perhaps give her an expectation for hope?]

What? I did the right thing in the end, and that was never in doubt? [she scoffs—she might be wrong.] Face it, Stephen. You see me as a threat, and you'll rightfully tell the others the same.

[her expression steels for a very short moment, letting through the façade a very real hurt expression, tears that she manages to hold back as she diverts her attention elsewhere for a moment.

an eyebrow twitches upwards, questioningly.]

Is that it?

[ordinar]

[When Stephen didn't appear for their weekly lesson, Wilhelm began to worry. First, that he'd somehow done something wrong, then more logically that something had happened to Stephen. That a man so exacting and fastidious would just neglect an appointment doesn't bode well, a dark cloud blotting the horizon. His thoughts turn to Wanda, who'd fallen into a period of silence and returned from it sadder, dimmer.

The message puts him at ease. His answer comes just a few minutes later:]

It's okay. It's good to hear from you again. Yeah, I'll be there soon.

[And so he is, easily finding Stephen in the usual corner of the library. Wilhelm stands before him with his hands neatly folded, all practiced formality, as he would when a teacher enters the classroom.]

Hi. [A beat, marked by fidgeting fingers.] I hope everything is okay?

[funbreaker]

[ The message is quite sudden, to the point that Thancred cannot help but be suspicious. There have been no recent changes around the castle save for some new Summoned coming in, and this may be related to that, but what if it's something else? Thancred's curious and doesn't hesitate to send a reply.

Regardless of what has brought this about, he would never turn down a drink with Stephen. ]

Then a drink we shall have. Or multiple drinks, if the mood strikes. Where would you like to do this?

[ If Stephen insists on the Horizon, that in and of itself will be a clue. ]

[sorser]

[No lunchboxes for either of them, really. Stephen’s seen too many versions of himself guided down the wrong path out of bullheadedness alone to think he deserves child-friendly marketing just because he’s managed to avoid misstepping — and some might even chalk that up to debate, too. His use of the Darkhold bent the rules once more; the physical consequences of this are borne, yet currently hidden.

He frowns at her, and shakes his head.]

No.

[Yes, she did make the right decision in the end. Yes, Stephen is still wary of the Darkhold’s influence on her, if there is a powder keg in her mind just waiting to be lit a second time, though he hopes she does not conflate that with loathing.

But none of that is what he meant. None of that changes as they move forward.]

You said you have nothing left for you, but that isn’t true. You’re here now, aren’t you? Pretty sure no matter what I tell the others from home, they’re going to be worried about you. They’re going to want to support you moving forward.

This place, whether you want it to be or not, is a second chance. Don’t waste that, Wanda.

[carmesi]

[no, he posits, and wanda can see the machinations of his thoughts streamlining as he considers things—his thoughts not entirely hidden from her as she catches hints of his wariness.

worry or not, she will always be a source of external concern—not for how she is. not entirely, anyway. there will always be a concern of whether wanda maximoff is a threat to those around her, if the remnants of dark magic will spill forth from her at the smallest show of potential broken delusion.

how could stephen understand, anyway? to lose so much, to want so much, and every step towards success leading to nothing but sacrifice. she had been patient, she had been kind, she had kept her own grief to herself, but the universe, it seemed, held less than pleasant designs for her life.]

You have a life to return to, Stephen. Should I be grateful to be here, knowing what I will never have?

[—an ordinary life, where her biggest problem is worrying about the pile of laundry that's been sitting in the dryer. but no — wanda doesn't want an answer from him. it would be futile, to try and encompass this emptiness inside her that's reached further limits she didn't know existed; like claws scratching on chalkboard, it's just the calcified outer layer of skeleton gnashing in a never ending thrum, no shields, no defenses, nothing to cushion the pain.

she breathes shallowly for a moment, the world around them stilling entirely with every breath she takes.]

I want to ask a favor of you.

[stepping forward, she walks up to the sorcerer, the separation with them so minimal that wanda could whisper her words and he would be able to hear them nonetheless.]

You may think I don't deserve it—and perhaps I don't. But don't talk down to me anymore, Stephen. [her powers, as they are, she knows they could overwhelm him. but this isn't— it isn't about that— so it's not a threat.] I am at least owed that decency.

Even if you've lost all respect for me.

bats eyelashes at.

[vixening]

[ perhaps stephen missed one of his and yennefer's relatively frequent study sessions. or maybe it was an evening sharing a bottle of wine. or, maybe, it's the simple fact that something has changed in him, a sudden growing older, that yennefer recognizes. something that takes her back to her own weeks, locked away in her room, wondering what the singularity had done.

either way, one day stephen will be going back to his study. or his classroom. or through the door to some hallway in the wing only he is allowed to enter. wherever it is, there will be a student who catches up to him, one that he recognizes as one of yennefer's apprentices. she looks a little harried, like this is only one item on a long list of things she needs to do before the sun sets, and she will hand him a note and rush off without really waiting for a response.

when he decides to read it, he will see yennefer's casual scrawl, not quite trying but looping all the same. ]

You owe me a bottle of wine.
The gardens. Tonight.

[ she doesn't give him a chance to accept or deny - just a heads up that she will be expecting him. ]

[sorser]

[Wilhelm's line of thinking would not be completely wrong. Stephen's disappearance during their last appointed lesson is very much related to Wanda, beyond simply needing to pay her a visit. Time and experience had lurched forward for them both, then supplanted them right back into this world a second time; even without the context of what happened--and god, had so much happened--this yo-yoing effect makes him weary, has made it hard for even Stephen to focus.

But he's stubborn. Given no other choice in the matter, he will fall right back into his old Abraxian habits and lifestyle, even if it kills him. Force the pieces back into their proper places, because what else is there to do? To everyone here, he had not been gone at all -- a discrepancy he will have to deal with, surreal as it feels at his core.

He offers Wilhelm a smile that's tired and strained at the edges, but nonetheless sincere enough.]

I had to pay an old friend a visit. [Even labeling Wanda as an "old friend" doesn't feel quite right, another piece of the puzzle gone askew.] Make sure she was all right. I... uh.

[Eloquent. He gestures at him to sit while he tries again.]

Time's a little jumbled in my head right now. I'm sorry if I sound off while I'm trying to get my footing again. ...You're going to have to remind me where we left off.

[sorser]

I think this is, unfortunately, a multiple drink kind of mood.

[And even in jest, this is not something he would relate to others so easily. It is better to keep control, to keep looking as though he has everything sorted in his own mind, than to unravel the mess of everything that's happened, leaving it out in the open for others to pick through.

But with Thancred? He thinks he can make an exception. He needs to speak about this more openly before it drives him insane.]

Do you have time for a Horizon meet-up?

[sorser]

[Yes, she should be grateful, he thinks, that there are those here still concerned for her; does she not realize the tizzy she put so many into when they noticed she had gone missing? To ignore that, to say that it has no weight in the face of her grief and more poignant losses feel like willful blindness on her part. Maybe that's still the issue: grief, insofar untended, still raw, and still affecting her in ways that Stephen cannot unravel with his rationale.

That’s the most frustrating at all. A rift he cannot cross, no matter how hard he tries — at least, it certainly feels that way.]

This is our life now. This world. Don’t discount its effect on us.

[But he will leave it at that because the rest of her request seems to baffle him.]

Lost all respect? [He echoes the sentiment as though he might not have heard right.] Since when?

[Wanda’s the Scarlet Witch herself. For all his power, Stephen Strange has learned a dash of humility in the years since he’s taken on magic and knows where his limits lie; he is not even Sorcerer Supreme any longer. What would he have lost respect for? Her power? Certainly not. Her motivational shift that tore through many universes, leaving bodies in her wake? That is to be blamed on the power of corruption, one that she tried to undo at the last moment; worthy more of a sad sort of empathy than disgust.]

COME HERE YOU

[sorser]

[The note's practically plunged into his scarred hands before he understands what's happening, eyebrows raising in surprise as he whirls on a heel to track what he's reasonably sure was Yennefer's apprentice passing him by. He doesn't even get the chance to ask what it's for, she's already turned disappeared 'round the corner of the castle hall, and Stephen can't help but think to himself, Poor girl needs a break.

He's reading the note only moments later, his curiosity demanding that he pause everything else to see what's so important — and a familiar script looks up at him, scrawled plainly on the note itself, not so much asking for his presence than expecting it.

Looks like it's time to add "find a nice bottle of wine" to his to-do list for the day.

Nighttime comes quickly enough; time never slows for those overburdened with ongoing tasks in the castle, but the gardens offer a semblance of peace and quiet found nowhere else. As though time itself has stopped for those seeking refuge from the hustle and bustle and expectation hung so heavily above their heads, stilled completely in the open, pleasant area hemmed with bright blossoms that climb wooden lattices and hang from well-kept archways.

Stephen passes under one such archway, seeking out Yennefer. As requested, he carries a bottle of wine by the neck, its label scrawled with gold-leafed lettering and harkening back to a year he certainly has no real context for. But it's of a vintage, high quality, and he's sure his company for the night would expect absolutely nothing less.]

[carmesi]

[it is grief, still raw and untended, that warps wanda's mind into believing the worst of herself—of her presence here in this world. it is so much of it, and it doesn't feel like love is persevering. that much feels like a bandaid over the inconsolable pain that ruptures her apart.

even if, in finding something warm and affectionate in this world, it could shift the way she sees herself, her actions, and whether she is deserving of anything good, the truth is that part of her still thinks— of how others may return home, to something more, whereas her options are either to return to nothing but a void, or remain here with the growing worry that she will lose those willing to love her at any moment.

stephen could not possibly understand, is what wanda tells herself. the way he thinks, sees the world, so blindingly in contrast with her own perception.

her expression shifts momentarily, uncertain if he is being truthful or not. there is shame here, and she can't help but feel wholly deserving of the scathing words and judgement from others. it is hard to see the kindness when it feels like she's the rotten apple in the pile.]

You — [she pulls back from speaking momentarily, gaze shifting, the obvious gearings of someone who is trying very hard to not break into a crying mess. she manages, but barely, her voice navigating a deeply hurt, emotional quality.] You make me feel like I'm not good enough. [—to have this kind of feeling tied to stephen strange... wanda could laugh at herself. but it's not about him; it's about every man in her life who has only ever seen her as a tool or a weapon or something so dangerous, she must not know how to handle herself.] I hear your words— and it's just... disappointment, or chastising.

[a deep breath, blinking away at the pool of tears in her eyes.]

You spoke to me respectfully when you thought I could help you and America. Like an equal, though we had barely spoken before. [a stark difference, from tony, from hayward.] As soon as I revealed my intentions and the hex, your words— You said I was calling myself a witch, like it was stupid. And you and Wong used it as an insult. [when it is what she is—just as much as he calls himself a sorcerer. why must his title hold respect, and hers a reason for derision? she emphasizes:] It is what I am, Stephen.

Tony always spoke to me like I was a child, when I was well over my twenties. You men keep treating me like I don't know what is best for me, and perhaps I don't — clearly, what we've lived through may prove that.

[but—]

But I'm also my own person.

[you make me feel like a child who isn't allowed to forget their mistakes, is what she doesn't say. she is not trying to forget them—those mistakes, those lives she took—but it hurts when that is all he sees in the eyes of others: fear; it hurts when that is all she hears in their words: relentless reminders.]

It's the way your words cut, Stephen. Like there is no sympathy there for me.

[they've talked about this before, hadn't they? back when she saw his memories and he hers—when she tried to explain to him why his choice to give thanos the time stone destroyed everything she had left in the world.]

Did you not flinch just now when I approached you at first?

[because oh, she noticed.]

[funbreaker]

[ Multiple drinks, requesting a talk in the Horizon rather than in the castle or even in one of the taverns surrounding it — none of this bodes well. Thancred has seen Stephen injured and frustrated with himself, has seen him aching with pain from too much time spent on a saddle, has even seen him sleep-deprived and at the end of his rope trying to decipher an incomprehensible text. Yet this is markedly different. ]

I do. Shall we meet at your place this time?

[ They've primarily spent time in Thancred's domain, but if Stephen is in this sort of mood, being close to home (in a sense) might be best.

Or mayhap that will only make it worse. That remains to be seen. ]

[sorser]

[To his credit, he lets her speak. Lets her say her piece until the very end. But by the end of it, Stephen’s face has shadowed itself with a frown, wrinkles marring his brow, making him genuinely look the age he feels. He can’t wholly force the incredulity out of his words.

This is a lot to unpack; he feels like he’s walking on eggshells.]

I flinched because—as much as I wish it weren’t the case—the memory of Kamar-Taj in ruins is still fresh in my mind. We’ve been working on rebuilding it now, did you know that? And every time I look around, watching students practice, or work towards putting the place back together brick-by-brick, I can’t help but notice how many less of us there are now. So yes, I’m a little hesitant, Wanda. And I don’t think it’s fair that you expect otherwise from me so soon.

[What kind of person does she think he is? An automaton? A man who moves through life like it were a checklist, frowning at the things and people that do not fall into line accordingly? Or worse, someone better than that?]

I’m not— [He tears this part out of his throat as though his pride will not allow it. But his pride needs to be softer, more malleable, and he must concede a little.] —a saint. I’m still just human.

[But that flaring moment of indignity is gone in a flash, leaving only more exhaustion in his wake and an empty feeling at his core. Wanda looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and Stephen feels like portaling himself into another realm altogether if he could. He sighs long, reins himself back in. Raises a scarred hand to scrub at his face, his next words having lost their edges.]

I don’t mean… to sound the way I sound half of the time. More than half. [God, did she compare him to Tony Stark?] Christine used to tell me the exact same thing… [He lets that thought trail off, die on the vine.] But I’ll make it clear now: I’ve never once lost respect for you, Wanda. Would I have made any better decisions in your shoes?

[He scoffs.]

I think the multiverse has already answered that for us.

[carmesi]

[—there, that pang of guilt, fully aware of her actions in kamar-taj and the lives that she took without a second thought. it is easy to zero in on her own pain, ignoring what's been left in the wake of it all. stephen gets to see the results of her actions, and he is right to not let her forget it.

she also notes his indignity and decides to just let it pass, especially when he tries to sum it all up by trying to explain to her that he's just human.

perhaps a way of noting that her impression of him, as this superior of hers in some way, is one he recognizes and sees that she's mistaken about. it seems to deflate him some, as he starts to explain.

unlike stephen, however, she was unable to see into the many different stephens in the multiverse. she raises an eyebrow, seeming to understand what he means. whatever he glimpsed while traversing the different worlds, it must not have been elating for him, to see himself projected as someone who can very well be corrupted by dark magic.]

I'm — sorry. For the things I've done.

[has she already apologized? it feels like she's constantly doing that. but she means it, even if there is nothing she can do here to properly prove it.]

I'm sorry for hurting you and those around you. [your friends, colleagues, pupils—whatever they may have been] I just... [lost my way? felt so incredibly alone, and it was used against me?] I don't know what I can do to make anything better.

[to stop feeling that tug, of chthon, of the dark magic he created—]

Don't spare any details to the others. They deserve the truth.

[sorser]

[No, he thinks his domain will do just fine. He has not visited his Horizon-Sanctum since he awoke from that almost ceaseless flood of memories; he feels overdue to pay his home-away-from-home another visit, surreal as it may be.]

Yes. Swing by sometime tonight. The door'll be open.

[He sends a more specific time, makes sure that he is there to meet Thancred whenever he drops by the Sanctum. As stated, the doors swing open whenever he chooses to arrive, ushering him into the foyer, where Stephen sits near the unlit fireplace. Glasses glitter on a neighboring sideboard, placed neatly next to bottles filled with amber.

The sorcerer stands and waves him in. The urge to step forward and greet him like an old friend is strong, but Stephen steels this impulse and says, instead-]

Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Or some version of it.

[The second time, naturally, but the first Thancred would appreciate it while in possession of his memories.]

[sorser]

[Perhaps someday he'll enlighten her. Tell her about the Stephen who caused an incursion through overuse of the Darkhold. Or another, whose world was a cold and barren wasteland, who sought to kill him mere minutes after his visit. The belief of others that Stephen Strange was only ever a man who would cause destruction wherever he tread, in the wake of the decisions he made for others — the Illuminati certainly thought as much, clapping him in anti-magic irons as soon as they caught whiff of him.

But that discussion is for another time. Her apology feels like a shard of ice splintering right through him — and he knows exactly what it is: the useless feeling of being unable to do more than just stand here and make Wanda feel worse.

Maybe he still isn’t too far departed from the usual gamut of Stephen Stranges across the multiverse, after all.]

I know you regret it. [He never doubted that from the moment he stepped into her domain. That was never up for debate. Learning how to move forward is the crux of the issue here.] You don’t have to apologize to me.

[(Apologies feel like putting a bandaid over a bullet hole.)]

I’ll tell them what I think they need to know. Nothing more, nothing less.