#wizardstrange

America’s in denial. 

That’s the nicest way of saying it. She’s in denial because it’s the easiest thing to be — and easy has never been something that she’s been allowed to have. Life is hard. No one knows that better than the orphan who became adrift in the multiverse because she hurt the people who loved her more than anything. America’s lost, and she’s lost, and she’s been lost. It took a long time to find people to love again. Once she did, she vowed to never lose them or let anyone hurt them. Stephen, Clea, Wong. They’re her people now. America isn’t adrift even if she’s still lost. 

The denial: something could possibly be wrong with Stephen Strange.

Ever since she heard about the explosion, she’s been in pieces. America should have been there. She should have been there. She could have done something — like open up a portal and gotten everyone to safety. Maybe if she’d been there, Stephen wouldn’t have died. But no, she had been in Kamar-Taj with her stupid sling ring trying to do some stupid magic that doesn’t come naturally to her. By the time Wong came to her with a somber countenance it was too late. Stephen, Sam, Clint. All of them. Dead.

Ever since the resurrection, America’s tried to not be a pain. She doesn’t want to be clingy, but she also doesn’t want to let anyone out of her sight. The search for her mamá’s has been sidelined entirely. Instead, she sticks around the Sanctum and makes excuses as to why she can’t return to her room at Kamar-Taj. For the most part, Wong hasn’t pressed her. He knows America isn’t a permanent student there.

When she finally finds Stephen, there’s an exhale of relief. He’s alive, he’s fine. He has to be fine. “Hey,” she shoves some dark hair behind an ear. “I was looking for you. You want to grab a slice?” All she needs is to spend some time with him to alleviate her nerves.

Collected by a child. That’s how Clea learned of everything that transpired: through the mouth of a minor. Of course, America Chavez is no ordinary girl. She traipses the multiverse freely; it’s a power that Clea herself wouldn’t mind having. But she doesn’t. Even though she can go to and from the Dark Dimension easily, it’s her home ties that make it possible. Her magic is limited no matter how powerful she becomes. It’s for this reason that she had sought out Stephen Strange after he caused an entire incursion. They had been together a short while before everything had fallen apart, and Clea had yet to reconnect with him. He was far from impressive in her mind, but an important player none the less.

America hadn’t begged, but she had been firm in her demands. Clea would leave the Dark Dimension and return to see Stephen. Something is wrong, she had explained. Something is wrong but I don’t know what. Why America had come to her was Clea’s first question. Stephen had gotten quite close to her variant — yes, Clea knew about that — but America said that reality’s Clea was too close. This Clea lacked the love and had more clarity. In the end, Clea had acquiesced. She would return to New York and talk to Stephen.

After being told by America where to find the former Sorcerer Supreme, Clea used her blades to tear open the dimension so she could slip through into what seemed to be a study. It’s cozy in a way that makes her uncomfortable. Someone clearly occupies the space. 

(which is to say that what you wrote was amazing and i’m about to cry thank you for tagging me sjdkdj

I’m sorry. I just had to write it. It had to be done and I’m sorry! But thank you ashfhe I worked hard lmao

I’ve been a very fluffy mood so I’m hyped you enjoyed it!! <3

Okay, maybe she hadn't been the kindest. Kindness, in some ways, wasn't in her vocabulary. It wasn't in her innate nature to soften blows or sugarcoat unpleasantries. Softness was not favored in the Dark Dimension; kindness too easily became synonymous with weakness in the minds of the Faltine, and they had bred out any inklings to lean that way throughout the centuries. Before she had even met him, Clea had known that Stephen Strange had messed up. He had created an incursion and now someone had to fix it. Clea had enlisted herself to be that someone, but her annoyance ran high.

Why, then, did she feel the softness creeping in?

It had begun at the Baxter Building. The fanged spider-hero — Miguel O'Hara they called him — had come at Stephen for his errors. He hadn't been wrong, exactly, in his judgements, but he hadn't entirely been fair either. A streak of protectiveness had begun to burn in Clea that she hadn't expected. This would be no surprise to her mother; Umar had long believed her daughter to be too soft. Maybe that's why she had entangled herself with Stephen Strange and his problems: despite her best efforts to the contrary, Clea cared.

The kitchen she found herself in was an unfamiliar one, as was the Sanctum Sanctorum the multiversal refugees — or so they had been called — had taken shelter in. It made more sense to stay there than the Avengers Compound that had been offered. The downside, of course, was co-populating with a multiversal variant of herself that was married to a Stephen Strange with a sickening devotion. So far, she had been able to avoid them with varying degrees of difficulty.

On this morning, however, Mr. & Mrs. Strange were not in the Sanctum. Clea hadn't asked where they were going. Instead, she had busied herself. A royal by birth, the kitchen had never been a place for her to spend her time. Still, she would make do. An apology for almost throwing Stephen under the bus wasn't on the table; she hadn't actually done anything. Still, a part of her longed to be comforting and not hostile. They needed to be allies in this strange ( no pun intended ) situation they had found themselves in.

"You've slept half the day." The words were spoken over her shoulder as Clea summoned two mugs to pour the boiling water into. She was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know how to work the coffee pot, so tea it would have to suffice. "You didn't happen to dream up any missing memories, did you?" Stephen had seemed on the verge of a panic attack with the accusations being thrown at him — accusations he claimed to not understand or fully remember.

Some victories are bittersweet. The spell has been reversed and the magic of Pleasant Hill that had once plagued its victims has been negated by the surprisingly benevolent acts of Ripley Ryan. Everyone should be celebrating, but a dark cloud looms on the horizon. Cloud isn’t the word for it. It’s smoke billowing from an explosion, heavy and thick in Clea’s lungs. The acrid overtones are unpleasant as they haunt her dreams and threaten to choke her out entirely.

Clea Strange did not die. Her heart has continued beating and her lungs constrict in her chest. She did, however, watch Stephen died. It had been in her arms that he had expired. Ever since then, Clea had been resolute in her desire to see him resurrected. Death had folded once before, and she could again. The Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension would have waged war once more, but the mutants had made it surprisingly easy. They had resurrected freely in a supposed gesture of good will. The nation of Krakoa was far from friendly in Clea’s eyes still, though, and she is hesitant to believe this gift does not come without strings. 

The swishing of skirts herald her arrival as Clea enters the room. She’s been busy with her husband fixing the barriers and spells that were dissolved or broken when he died, but she knows she needs to take time to check in with Stephen. He was so prominent and present when she was suffering. The worse thing she could do — other than breaking his heart once more — would be to abandon him after a traumatic event.

Clea Strange was on a warpath. Wanda knew why, of course, but that didn’t mean she could do anything to help. If anything, she felt like the bearer of bad news. The invitation to the Sanctum Sanctorum felt more like a summoning than anything else, but Wanda had remained cordial. She had accepted the tea offered to her and let the spiced overtones fill her nose. Taking a sip, the witch waited patiently for Stephen to finish speaking.

Wanda’s recent involvement with Krakoan resurrections had been kept under wraps. Somehow, it had gotten out that she had exposed the Eldritch Orchard and helped expand mutant resurrections, effectively transforming her from the Pretender to the Redeemer. That didn’t mean that Wanda had all the answers, however.