My family is not as picture perfect as we seem to be on the outside. I havenāt seen my mother in months, I know my brother only through pictures and very brief interactions every now and then when he could bother to come to our father for help, and my father keeps his work closer to his heart than his family at times. Our portraits show the lie of who the Stranges pretend to be, pristine features, eyes bright, smiles pulling at taught features as my mother tries her damndest to keep her hand against my fathers own. They filed for divorce two months ago but the public doesn't know yet, it's been hushed to keep the face of the mystical protectors looking perfect. No one wants the earth's protectors to be unable to keep their own life intact.
Stephen Jr. smells like pot, we all pretend not to notice. He runs around pretending to be our father in dimensions where heās kicked the can early on. He calls himself Doctor Strange because thereās no one around to say heās not. Dad doesn't say but it pisses him off. He blames Clea, claiming that if she hadnāt let him vanish then he would have had a better attitude now, that he would have been a better son. Stephen Jr. hates me, but I donāt care. That makes him hate me all the more. We ignore one another, finding no reason to bother breaking our radio silence. Though now, as a photographer prepares to take our portrait we look as if weāve been best friends since diapers. Dadās had to pull us off one another before, broken noses and busted knuckles as a ghetto southerner meets a backstreet junkie who called her a bastard bitch. None of us will forget that, the slight twist in stephen Jrās nose makes sure of it.
Yet still, even after throwing the first punch, I remain the āposter childā of our family. Mom loves her son, dad loves his daughter. Every family deals with favorites, the Stranges arenāt excluded from that stereotype. It could be worse, I know that very well. We could be like Will and Tommy, or Wanda and her brother. Thereās several members of superhero teams that have had it so much worse than I have so i try not to let the resentment between my brother and I get to me. We all hold the family together for a few moments as a flash ties the moment down. We all pull away, smiles fading and hands pulled back to their sides as the different members of our small but broken family disperse. I wonāt see my brother again for quite some time, after that, heāll end up dead. Mom will go back to her dimension, fight with my great uncle Dormammu for quite some time, maybe lose the throne in the process before claiming it once more. Dad will remain sorcerer supreme, ruling over his students as a king in his own right. And me? I stick around, making friends with young mages along the way until the time comes for me to take up my father's mantle.
We donāt tend to try and look happy around one another when thereās no one around to convince, itās just better to let the tension stay where it is instead of straining it and causing it to snap.
