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Chapter Text

A young man with salt-and-pepper hair and laughter and frown lines a decade beyond his years suddenly appeared, tucking an odd two-fingered golden ring into his pocket as concern stirred in his bright gray orbs. His wispy bangs were blown back, tussled by the breeze. Though he had a hulking mien, his movements were cautious. Every blade of grass was palpable beneath his feet, and the falling white petals that brushed his cheeks were pristine.

It should have been winter. And yet…no snow dotted this place, and his fitted dark coat and maroon scarf almost felt too warm for Stephen Strange. His pupils were contracting now.

At last, finally, the object of his search flashed in his peripheral vision. Wanda Maximoff stood with her back to him, her silky dyed saffron hair falling in a braid that brushed the top of her green-jacketed back. She was standing upon a ladder without other support as her hands brushed the branches, pruning away the stray dead leaves. Stephen waited for her respectfully with clasped hands until she had spotted him, not wanting to alarm her and cause her to topple.

Her round blue-gray orbs were fixed upon him now as she descended the ladder in silence, half-facing him as stray flyaway hairs caught the sun that illuminated her small freckles.

“Apples, right?” He broke the silence, smiling faintly at his friend as she gazed at him.

“Eventually.” One hand extended, taking a healthy branch she had erroneously cut earlier that day. She brought it to his nose, her soft fingers accidentally brushing his. Wanda watched him inhale deeply, his pale eyes distant as he considered her handiwork.

“Smells…” He trailed off, looking at her as if to conjure the appropriate word.

“Sweet.” The word fled her lips as she broke her gaze. If only she could smell, too…

“I was going to say real.” His voice was not unkind, but her brow furrowed at him.

“It’s all very real,” she replied shortly. “I put that magic behind me after Westview.”

“It’s winter, Wanda. We’re in central Sokovia.” They were walking together now, admiring the trees. “I know those deaths still weigh upon you, Wanda. You did the right thing in the end, but you caused a lot of people pain. But that doesn’t have to be the end. You can still help.”

“How?” Her voice cracked as she arched her head upward, her kind orbs empty.

“There is a teenager who is in danger. She’s just a child, but demons have been chasing her across worlds.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Those demons have the mark of witchcraft. If you assist me in this mission, you can be an Avenger again. You’ll go right on that lunchbox.” The last sentence alone brought a genuine smile to the saturnine woman’s eyes. 

“There are other Avengers, Stephen.” The words caused a smirk to leap to his face. Other heroes, sure, but most could not even fathom the depths of witchcraft, and they were temperamental. No…when it came to cosmic matters, they alone could hold the knife.

“Given a choice between the Archer with a mohawk, and several bug-themed crime fighters, or... One of the most powerful magic wielders on the planet, it's an easy call.” His arm brushed hers as they laughed, facing the fluffy sheep. Wanda shyly bent down to pet several. 

“I think I can help, Stephen.” One hand clutched his shoulder. “Just tell me this: why are you interested in saving some girl you never met when you never helped me in the Hex?”

Deep sorrow altered his features now as he stopped, looking straight into her tear-filled orbs. “All those years, I fought Celestials, defeated Dormammu, orchestrated the death of Thanos himself over five awful years…and yet you were the one I could neither kill nor help. When you did the impossible and sacrificed him…and a future together, I could never stop thinking of the one I could never save. And when you built a new world for yourself trying to create what you had never had, I could never raise a hand to stop you.”

“Why not? Why abandon the fates of those people to me?” Her blue orbs were glittering with tears now. “I looked up to you, Stephen Strange. I saw how a man who was traumatized and tortured could get back up again and again and always do the right thing. You once told me at Tony’s funeral about the man you had to kill even when you held the Hippocratic Oath. The sacrifices every hero must make. But you failed me, Stephen.” She was crying now.

“I did. I did fail you, and I was so overcome with regret that I did not visit you in these months even when I knew where you were. I knew that you had grown too powerful to subdue, and I could not find the will within myself to kill you, especially when you hadn’t killed others. Ever since your Vision died, you were lost, Wanda. You lost your sense of meaning.”

“I became a hero because I stood on his shoulders. And Clint’s, Steve’s, and yours.”  

“You underestimate yourself. You are just as worthy as any of us. And you chose to be a hero even before you grew close to any of us.” One hand was wiping her tears now as she beamed into his palm. “Now…why don’t you show me what this world really is before we go?”

“You know, the Hex was the easy part. The lying, not so much. I just wanted to feel safe…and happy. I didn’t want to be hunted anymore. And I wanted the only beings in my life who ever gave me meaning.” She suddenly moved into his arms, holding him tightly. Their eyes closed as he gently rocked her, one scarred hand supporting her head. I’m sorry, Stephen…

Crimson was underlying the bottom of his eyelids, making him frown as he continued to support Wanda. She was much shorter in stature, and her head was comfortably nestled under his chin. Wanda Maximoff had by far the gentlest embrace of anyone he’d ever held, and yet… Something sharp was touching the side of his face now, causing a cut. He lifted his head, frowning before taking several steps back in alarm, nearly summoning his mandala shields. 

He was in a veritable hellscape. Those lovely trees had blackened and desiccated, the arable soil now dust. Fire littered the area every few dozen feet, and no other life was here.

“What happened to this place?” Stephen whispered as he beheld Wanda’s blackened fingers and the sharp irregular crown that now dug into her temples. Dark eyeliner and scarlet lipstick now graced her heart-shaped face, and a fitted red tunic and dark pants now hugged her soft form. He watched a single tear fall down her cheek before she pointed.

A black tome inlaid with ominous runes floated several paces to their right, crackling with the same crimson energy that fled Wanda’s fingers. Stephen turned back to the Scarlet Witch, his guard immediately raised as he thought of all the terrible things that book had done.

“So you recognize it…you must have seen it before. I took the Darkhold from Agatha and read from it in my astral form. I h-heard my children crying for their mother.” She wiped her eyes.

Stephen was gently grasping her elbow now as his serious gaze pressed onto her. “Those children were never yours, Wanda. You never had children. For all you know, those angels have a loving mother.” He suddenly frowned at her. “Were you the one who–?”

“I sent those demons after America Chavez. It was far more merciful than anything I would have ever done in their stead.” The Scarlet Witch shuddered as if aware of her power. “I know it’s unorthodox, Stephen, but I require the girl’s power. I need to go to my children.”

“That book is making you think irrationally, Wanda. You aren’t yourself! The Wanda Maximoff I know learned from her ways and would never trade one innocent life for another.”

“The Darkhold only showed me the truth. My story doesn’t have to end in tragedy. I can find my children and be with them again. And with the power to travel the multiverse, I can protect them from harm in any realm.” Her blue eyes fixed on his. “You know about their powers, Stephen. You observed them. I felt you talking to me during those commercials in the Hex.”

“There is no way you can know any of those things without seeing that world yourself.”

“But I dreamed about it, and what are dreams if not windows into the multiverse?” She caught sight of the dark marks under his eyes. “You had a nightmare, too. I can feel it.”

“A nightmare…about you. About someone I’ve considered a close friend for years.” He blinked tears from his eyes as he felt her vicelike grip on his arms. “I understand why that book would tempt you. You let Vision and the children you never had go and there was nothing to replace it. No hole to fill that grief. The Darkhold took advantage of you.”

“The Darkhold showed me my destiny. I will take the child’s powers and rule the worlds with my magic, and no threat will ever come to my poor children. They will have their mama again. And if there is truly another Wanda with those angels, as you say…I will make her see reason and stand aside. And if she does not comply, I will make her.” Crimson shone in her blue orbs now, threatening to overwhelm it. Stephen stared at her, then the broken heart-shaped shard of shirt by her collarbone. Her crown and clothes were digging cruelly into her skin.

“Wanda…if you cross this threshold, you will never come back. There was someone else who was ultimately kind and good and fell to the Darkhold. His name was Holden Radcliffe. He created a device that he thought would cure all pain and loss. All grief. It was called the Framework. But it became a Hex of its own, ensnared the unwilling in the worst reality. And at the end of the day, the book was locked away once more and the Framework destroyed, but he was lost with it. Now few people even know his name or the heaven he tried to create.”

“He died where he belonged.” The Scarlet Witch’s blue-gray orbs were now fully crimson now, causing his heart to irreparably sink. “Holden Radcliffe died a happy man. Stephen…if you give America to me, I will give you what you want most. I will give you Christine.”

Stephen shook his head at her, his pale orbs as clear as she had ever seen them. “I don’t love Christine Palmer anymore, and happiness hasn’t been my purpose for a long time. Something steadier has replaced it..” His gaze did not waver as he stood his ground, watching her approach with a steady prowl. Now she was right beside him, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. A near smile was playing at her lips as her hands rested upon his broad arms.

“Then you only leave me one choice.” She cupped his cheek with her right hand, offering him a genuine smile as the imprint of his smirk was palpable against her palm. Her forefinger and middle finger unobtrusively rested against his temple. Panic stirred in his blue orbs for an infinitesimal second before they too were overwhelmed with a crimson that matched hers.

And now she was diving, diving into his mind. She had left that behind, hadn’t she, but the good book had insisted that she do this. It was the only way. Her Stephen would always stand resolutely in the way, as close to a true Avenger as any of the ones that were left. She had respected him for it, but now he was her chief obstacle. Stephen must be bent…or broken.

And here was the perfect vision, yes, the perfect living nightmare. She held the memory.

A version of Dr. Strange who looked about 20 years younger was standing on the edge of a frozen lake, his cheeks ruddy from the cold as he beamed at an unseen figure under his hand-knitted hat with a pom-pom on it. An oversized jacket hugged his lithe form as he skated gracefully onto the lake, laughing as he rushed to the person. A pang unexpectedly hit Wanda’s heart as she beheld his crinkled navy orbs. This beardless Stephen was so carefree, so happy.

“Donna!” The tall young man leapt to his sister, laughing as he spun her. Her blue orbs and smile matched his, though her eyebrows were thicker and her long light brown hair fell down to her waist in a neat braid. She was several years his junior, perhaps a middle schooler.

“You left me out here for so long, Stephen. I thought I would freeze!” She giggled.

“My apologies, sis. My skates took so long to put on. It’s like Mom says…I’m growing like a damn tree!” He beamed at her as he threw a chunk of ice, watching it skip on the surface.

“She and Papa would kill you if they heard that language!” She laughed. “I’m just so glad you’re here. It hurts having you at that boarding school, even though it’s for a good reason.”

“It’s the best way to a top college. Leave my options open, that sort of thing.”

“It sure is. Well, you know your family will always support you with everything. You were given a beautiful gift with that memory of yours.” Dimples flashed on her cheeks. “Wanna race?”

He was already prepared, shouting down a quick countdown as he inhaled gusts of frigid air. Now they were zooming along the slightly uneven ice, neck in neck as the sunset waned into twilight…the sky was such an inky blue, and the full moon twinkled above him. She was beating him at first, though not by much–somehow, her shorter stature gave her an advantage.

“You can’t always win at everything, Donna!” He crowed as he suddenly surged ahead, feeling the moon rays bathe his cheeks in rare craved light. It was far below freezing, but his lungs and heart were expanding, adrenaline was pulsing through his veins, and he had never been so happy to be alive and with his–

A sudden sound interrupted his thoughts, one so unlike any of an animal that he paused.

It was no mating call…that had been–

“Donna!” He turned, thrusting his legs across snow and ice, not minding the cracks beneath him that almost seemed to leer at him. That scream…his poor Donna…

“W-where are you? Did someone take you?” He was looking everywhere he could as black dots swam before his vision, his every breath rattling his teeth as his hands shook.

No …there was a hole in the ice–a Donna-sized hole. Stifling a cry, he threw himself into the churning waters in a clumsy dive, nearly forgetting to hold his breath as he pawed at biting water with his eyes wide open. But frost was threatening to settle on his eyelashes, and it was nearly pitch black down her in the darkness…his lungs began to protect, crumpling like a paper bag as he pushed himself forward, trying to recall exactly how long ago she had screamed and calculating her velocity and water-logged weight with utter fervor—yes, perhaps she was there.

He was grasping another pair of frigid hands now, pushing himself up to the surface. But they were both too large to make it…he pushed her body up through the hole, wincing as crags of ice tore at her pants and produced scratches. Stephen followed her with difficulty, breathing in labored gasps as he massaged his aching chest and turned his tremulous orbs to her.

Donna’s lips were totally, horrifically blue. And now his stomach was lurching.

Donna Strange had asthma...that cold water was like kryptonite for her lungs.

“H-hey, Donna, it’s okay, I’m here.” He was pumping her chest, his waterlogged cell phone abandoned beside him as he reassured her in between shouts for help. No water fled her lungs, for it had frozen already. She was terribly still, causing him to bite his lip so hard that he drew blood. “I’m right here, buddy.” One hand reached for her neck, finding her carotid artery. “I’m right…” The rest of the sentence died in his throat as he nearly collapsed.

No pulse rose to his fingers.

Stephen Strange’s beloved sister…had died.

“Donna…no…” He was sobbing now, holding one delicate hand between his as life as he had known it ebbed irrevocably onto the water below along with her own.

The Scarlet Witch trembled as she held Stephen’s cheek, feeling the tear tracks that had settled under her cheeks. She could not conjure a nightmare future based on this…not when the sitcoms were flashing in her ears again and Pietro was roaring with laughter beside her as her parents bustled about the living room before that inferno had crashed into their house. Their broken bodies were there, as still as Donna’s had been, and she was sobbing in the daylight that had claimed their house. A survivor by no will of her own, just like the man she held captive.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” Her eyes were becoming blue once more as she released Stephen with effort. He stumbled, dazed and shooting her a faint relieved smile as the Scarlet Witch steadied him with a hand on his hip. “Stephen, this book will kill everyone after it kills what is left of Wanda Maximoff. I cannot raise my hand to destroy it, but I hope you can.”

He paled, knowing what he must do. “I can.” He would follow in the Ancient One’s footsteps, drawing from that corrupting dimension. It was all that could be done now. “Just…hold on for as long as you can, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, too. And if this becomes too much for me…you have my permission to kill me.” He smiled wryly at his own words.

“You’re a good man, Stephen.” She stood on her tiptoes, giving him a gentle Sokovian kiss on both cheeks. His lips brushed the top of her head, minding the crown. Both were blushing faintly as he strode to the book, seizing it in his hands. His blue orbs closed as he began to levitate, Wanda watching from a safe distance as she fought the Darkhold’s grasp.

He was shouting at the pain of harnessing the Dark Dimension, as much as he had when Dormammu had impaled him in a thousand different ways. The fact that this poison ran through his veins was anathema to him, the worst pollution for a heart that had become nearly purified under the training of Mordo and Wong. Crimson and obsidian vied for control of his vision as the book became white hot, nearly melting the pins in his hands as he rapidly developed severe burns that made him wince. His very eyes were on fire now.

Stephen Strange was there…he was almost there…he was so close…the pages were beginning to burn away, but his eyes were going to fall out of his head.

His blue orbs turned to the Scarlet Witch, whose own eyes were turning red again.

“I can’t…” He rasped, foaming at the mouth as he made to lift his hands.

But she was with him now, her eyes almost peacefully closed as she covered his palms, somehow cooling him. And her Chaos magic rushed into his body like a bird, passing through him and amplifying his powers for several seconds as he shouted and intensified the spell.

And now the book was gone…gone…and reality was fading back to normal, all hell gone. The snow was falling around them, and the blood from Stephen and Wanda’s hands stained the ground. She stumbled to him, taking the leaves and deftly making bandages…the things she had learned in Sokovia while leaving here all alone after Westview.

“You did well, Stephen.” Her blue orbs flooded with tears yet again as she applied bandages to her own hands after his. “Thank you for saving me at the cost of your own powers.”

“I wasn’t the only one doing the protecting. Is your magic gone, too, Wanda?”

“Every last drop. It’s just us and the weeping willows now. The sheep were fake, too.” They laughed faintly as they clambered towards each other, each tenderly grasping the other’s hands. Every inch of their hands down to the wrist was covered in makeshift bandages.

“I guess it wouldn’t be Wanda Maximoff and Stephen Strange unless we were scaring the living daylights out of each other and the rest of the world,” the raven-haired man joked weakly. Wanda laughed, shifting onto his lap as he hugged her from behind. Her restored orange braid was tickling one cheek now as he held her, rocking the pair back and forth.

“You freed me. My past reared up again and wanted to take me through that book, but you helped me say no. I just wish it hadn’t taken the memory of your poor sister to do it.”

“I think Donna would have been proud to know that the mere memory of her was enough to save this universe.” He spoke so earnestly that she turned in his arms, gazing up at him.

The Cloak of Levitation had fallen around her shoulders now, warming the shivering woman. “That cape always had an impeccable sense of timing,” the Sokovian admitted. “I guess I don’t have the advantage of natural flight over you anymore.” She laughed, lightly blushing.

“It’s a cloak, Wanda! And it does…I would have held you under my coat, but the cloak knows how to help me remain a gentleman. We need to save you for your new love.”

“I already know who he is,” she murmured, her soft arms winding around his neck. He flushed deeply, unable to act or even to think. That silky crimson hair and loving blue eyes were close to him now, her nose brushing his large straight one fondly before her lips gently pressed against his…the only source of heat in this sleepy town was coming from Wanda Maximoff now as she kissed him, one hand wandering through his slick salt-and-pepper hair. She inhaled his mint scent, brightening as he held her snugly against him and returned her warmth.

Now they were holding each other under his cape, an unbroken chain forged in ardor.

“That was sweet. Very sweet.” Stephen’s entire face was crimson. “It looks like you were right after all. Why don’t you take me inside your cottage and make us some vegetable soup?”

She smiled at the athletic man. “I know what self-deception looks like. You’ll get your soup, but you will also get some of my homemade Sokovian cookies. And maybe something else sweet afterward for your troubles.” Her hip brushed his, causing his face to go aflame again as he wrapped one lanky arm around her. She led him inside, a beatific smile on her pale face.

Chapter Text

There was something so pleasant about this little kitchen and the petite woman resting across from him, lulling his sharpened senses into a rare state of complete calmness. A faint smile played at Stephen Strange’s lips as he and Wanda split the last gingerbread cookie, marveling at the freshness of the frosting as they chased down the food with some milk.

“Stephen…I know you said you never came looking for me, but I felt you. I felt your presence in those commercials. That was the only part of the Hex I never changed…they brought some comfort to me.” The redhead swallowed hard, her hands shaking. 

She and Stephen were sitting across from each other at the lone table in the cottage, hands touching. Her cool fingers rubbed the pads of the former wizard’s hands as the empty plate of cookies sat before them. Each was drowsy, if a bit melancholy about all that had happened.

Each had made so many mistakes…could a redemption truly still be in the cards?

“There’s no need to apologize, Wanda.” Stephen took one slim hand, pressing it to his lips. The widow immediately began to tremble, her cheeks scarlet.

“I…Stephen, I’m so tired. The worries and the dreams fading into nightmares…I-I haven’t slept well in such a long time. Neither have you. You’re thinner than when I first met you.” The fact that she had noticed such a minute detail touched him as perhaps nothing else could.

“We went through war, Wanda. The war happening out there–” He thrust a hand, bringing back every memory of Thanos and the regrets they’d made. “And in here.” One hand touched his chest. His blue eyes flashed in her direction, concerned. “How are you handling the loss of your powers?”

It had been all right for him, if he was being honest with himself. His hands smarted more than usual, but no more than directly after the crash. And even if the agony crescendoed…pain was but an old friend to him. It was the recovering widow who caused him far more concern.

“Every part of my body is in agony. I-It took me everything I had to give you those cookies.” She sighed shakily, distress leaping to her blue-gray eyes as shame swept over her. The redhead smiled through her tears as Stephen leaned over to rub one shoulder.

Such a human gesture for a woman straining to reclaim her own humanity.

“You need your rest. I’ll take care of you during these days.” Stephen gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, the only movement that could calm the distressed young lady for the moment. Green pinpricks danced in her eyes, reminding him of the leaves on the trees of that old orchard.

“Y-you shouldn’t be helping me. You should be helping the girl, saving the child. Those demons are out there because of me.” She blinked at him, her eyelashes fluttering before she covered her face. To think that she had been willing to condemn one innocent life for a fantasy.

“We still have my Sling Ring to take us wherever we need to go, but there isn’t anything we can do to help the Masters of the Mystic Arts without powers. I have complete trust in Wong’s abilities and the other members of the Sanctums.” The warm forehead brushed hers, causing the weary blue orbs to open as she regarded Stephen. “Destroying the Darkhold was the greatest thing you could do. Without that book–or you–to tether them, their power weakens.”

“Do you really mean that, Stephen?” Her hand rested delicately on his, noticing for the first time his vulnerability in how much they shook. The magic helped him control his hands.

“Do I strike you as the kind of person who would never be honest with their friends?” She blinked, suddenly remembering the kind words he had offered to her about Vision when they had attended Tony Stark’s funeral. His memory lives on all the more strongly because of you.

“N-No.” Wanda laughed softly, chasing away the sadness of that day with a smile of her own as her eyes glittered. “As a matter of fact, you give me the impression of a prickly man who buried his nose in more books in five years than most of us do in a lifetime.” She had spent many an hour trying to dissect this intransigent man who reminded her of herself in so many ways, though their pasts had been wildly different. All of their stubbornness and creativity.

“Prickly and bookish are right. But I think you have found that there is far more to Stephen Strange beneath the surface.” Stephen helped Wanda rise to her feet and hobble to her room in the far corner of the cottage. Her fingers fumbled for the pajamas, which unfolded under her hands. “I know your entire body is in withdrawal, but you’ll survive, Wanda. You had flesh and blood of your own long before Hydra used the Mind Stone on you.”

“B-but I always had powers, Stephen.” Her hands were shaking so badly that she could not pull off her socks. The large man bent beside her, humbly placing her feet on his lap and freeing her from the garments. His hands still shook when he pulled a fresh pair over her cold feet after massaging them, but he had far more control over his movements than her. 

“An ember, diluted within a whole body.” Stephen blinked as Wanda crawled onto his lap, her body trembling as she hugged him tightly. His hands met at the middle of the hollowed woman’s back, warming her. “Listen to me, Wanda Iryna Maximoff. If I could survive that car crash on a lonely highway with pins in my hands when everything fell apart and still come back to defeat Dormammu and put the plot to stop Thanos in motion, you’ll do even greater things.”

The fact that he had any faith in her at all was so illogical. A man who lived by the dictates of science and had a strict sense of justice, trusting a woman who had set terrible things after her victims. She sensed that it was not love that motivated him here…but then what? Was it the fact that somehow, inexplicably, Stephen Strange saw himself within her?

“Why…why do you believe in me? Look at what’s happened.” Sobs were clogging her throat now as her fingers dug into his shoulders. She had never felt warmth like this, never felt the touch of another human being who could cradle her with more care than for even himself. Everything from the beard brushing her cheek to the scent of gel in his hair brought her to earth.

It was too sweet…and too real. The one who had enslaved the minds of men, women, and children did not deserve this love and care from anyone. Her tears blurred her vision.

“I believe in you because you’ve suffered and you’re still standing. You…you never let the world take your soul from you.” Those brittle sentences made the redhead realize how much Stephen had lost in silence, allowing the grief to eat away at his soul in the dark. There was only one person he had ever told about everything before her, and she had always rejected him.

“I see now that the world was wrong in never caring for you.” One hand cupped his face, bringing a wry smile to his lips as he beheld the beautiful woman with shining eyes.

“The world owes me nothing. When it gave me privilege–the best job a man could ever ask for, money, a family–I squandered it. I only became something after I lost everything.” 

“You deserve love.” The innocent whisper was loosed from her lips as her eyes ran over every fading scar on his sharp cheekbones. “No other hand ever dressed your wounds or held you at night when the nightmares came. But you don’t have to be alone anymore, Stephen.” 

Hope was bursting violently in his chest now, bringing a great light along with it. It was all he could do not to grin at her giddily and take her into his arms at this very moment.

“I hope I can be the man you say you see before you.” He bowed his head, stilling her shaking hands with gentle rubs on the pads of her thumbs. Wanda Maximoff was his sole concern for the moment. Someone needed to care for the woman who had been neglected for so long so she could feel even an iota of the warmth that beat in his heart when he beheld her.

“I very much say the same.” The lady shyly disentangled herself from Stephen at last, sitting kindly beside him. “My scalp hurts. I didn’t notice it until now.” She laughed softly, bending her head so he could loosen her braid. Her warm fingers moved slowly to undo the pattern, enabling her hair to fan out over her shoulders as he regarded her through thick eyelashes.

“You look like the sun.” The light was shining radiantly upon her hair, making saffron and gold underwrite the flames of her thick wavy tresses. Her ears became bright pink. There was nothing she could say, no honeyed words or gestures born of her magic she could give. There was only Wanda Maximoff now, a fractured petal outliving her own fading creations.

“I–I think I can change now without help. My hands are less sore right now.” She sweetly asked the raven-haired man if he had a change of clothes on him. He shook his head. “Well…I wouldn’t want you to have any chance encounters with demons at your apartment, so you can borrow mine. I have some oversized clothes.” She pointed to the far closet. 

The pair faced each other several minutes later, all changed into Wanda’s pajamas. Wanda bit her lip hard as she regarded the faded Hello Kitty pants the former mage was wearing proudly, which were several inches too short. A white t-shirt showed the outlines of muscles she would have never suspected existed, begetting a clumsy pat on the arm.

“I cannot deny it…you have a sense of style.” Wanda laughed, wishing she had better options. He shot her a conspiratorial wink in reply, seeming to have caught the gist of her thoughts. One broad hand brushed her cheek, bringing a burst of electricity to her veins.

“You’re–you’re going to be cold, Stephen.” She, of course, was dressed in a flannel shirt whose sleeves were too long and long black pants. Wanda watched him stretch lazily on the bed, his feet nearly dangling from the edge, before shyly sliding beside him. One warm arm draped over her back as she curled up against him, an ear on his heart.

“Only when you do not consider the wonderful lady keeping me warm,” he replied playfully. A gentle kiss was dropped upon his cheek before Wanda rested against the cocoon formed by his body once more, immediately falling asleep as he stroked her thick hair. She had not called him handsome, but the imprint of her smile against his heart told her enough. 

The curlicues of their nightmares were fading, unable to reach the sleeping pair. The collective guilt possessed by Wanda Maximoff and Stephen Strange was dissipating, replaced by mutual forgiveness and the knowledge that they would do what was right to resolve whatever problems of their making still existed beyond these four squat walls. Stephen Strange would visit Benedict Wong, and Wanda Maximoff would reconcile herself with America Chavez.

Maybe, just this once in their broken world, love was enough for this resting pair.

Chapter Text

Stephen Strange woke the next morning, feeling leaden pain tinged with joy as he regarded the woman who slumbered in his arms. Wanda Maximoff had always been such an enigma to him even in their times together, speaking fleetingly of her time in Hydra as a child. But he supposed there would be little left to say that could not be left to the imagination. The girl with amplified telekinetic powers, donning a faded dark green shirt as she tilted her head, destroying alphabet blocks while her mind was far away. That signature head tilt, innocent at first, then lined with venom as she unleashed her wrath on whoever stood in her way. Hadn’t that been the primary emotion coursing through her when she had taken Ultron’s heart in that train? Stephen had gleaned much of this information from Clint Barton and Cap, ironically.

Misty breath brushed his chest, telling him that the petite woman had woken. She seemed to grasp the edges of his thoughts, running a hand remorsefully through his hair as the light and trees cast a yellow-green tinge upon her round cheeks and white forehead. One broad hand silently rested on her hip in reply, telling her that it was all right, that she was not the Scarlet Witch anymore and had left that crumbling legacy behind with the destroyed evil book.

“There are many things I want to tell you. So many things,” Wanda whispered. It was strange to hear the vulnerability in her voice, the hesitation and unmasked pain. “I just…” She swallowed hard, her eyes filled with tears. She had told Viz all of these things years ago, the only one who had held all the pieces of her life. And she had been unable to protect him.

“I know you’re afraid,” Stephen whispered, moving several paces from her as he faced her on the bed at a respectful distance. His blue eyes lingered on her brilliant hair that robbed him of speech before continuing at last. “I…trust is difficult for me, too, but for a different reason. A less selfless one than yours.” Wanda gave her head a little jerk, her eyes filled with tears. He too had deserved far better. “It’s all right. I cannot speak for you, but part of me is happy that these tragedies befell me so I would be face to face with the beautiful woman in front of me.”

The simple words had such a pronounced impact upon the poor Sokovian that she tore from the bed, feet moving mechanically until she was in the bathroom leaning heavily over the sink. Sobs ripped from her small form as her hands dug into the porcelain, tears gathering at the bottom of the basin. Stephen Strange was no perfect man by a long mile, but times like this brought such joy to her that she was unable to recognize her own body. Her red-rimmed blue eyes flitted hesitantly to the mirror, never eager to hold their gaze in ordinary times. Yet gratefulness was brimming there and the precious knowledge that maybe, just maybe, she was truly safe. With this new presence in her life, she wouldn’t have to run anymore.

One shaking hand closed around a small plastic tube, fingers catching as she took in its near-cylindrical shape. She took another few deep breaths, collecting herself as the tear tracks dried. Wanda was a long way from explaining everything to Stephen because of everything that had happened to her and because of her, but perhaps by beholding what she clutched in her hand, she would see. The redhead exited the room, opening the door with a herculean effort and returning to the sole bed in the little cottage. Stephen Strange still sat there, his compact form bereft of tension as he looked at her steadily. Immediately, the woman began to calm.

“Stephen, I–” She shook her head, not wishing to cry for what felt like the dozenth time. One hand vaguely waved, a hand that had once been capable of so much and thrummed with unfathomable crimson magic but was now ringed with pain. Wanda swallowed hard.

“It’s okay.” The large raven-haired man tucked one strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the imprint of her smile against the heel of her palm for the briefest of moments. She blinked at him, catching the green pinpricks in his crinkled eyes that matched hers before taking his hand as he led her to the kitchen. Her trembling eyes alighted on the plates of food before her. “I made you breakfast,” he offered sparsely by way of explanation.

“You–you must move like a ninja. That or I was gone for a very long time.”

“Or both,” he teased gently, one hand briefly crowning the top of her head as he stroked that soft thick hair. The former neurosurgeon allowed concern to enter his eyes for the first time. “Are you all right, Wanda?” He was gently helping the weary woman settle into a chair now.

She fell silent, taking in the salt-and-pepper hair, thick and well-maintained beard, and the air of slight mischievousness that had not managed to flee him along with his mastery of magic. “More than a long time,” she murmured in reply, one hand skimming the harsh arc set by one cheekbone. Wanda smiled gently in response to the smile lingering there. “I never told you–-I never told you how beautiful you were, did I?” Pink settled into their cheeks as they took a few hasty bites of toast and eggs, only occasionally regarding each other shyly.

“Not many people would share your opinion, Wanda Maximoff,” Stephen replied in his crackling voice that reminded her so much of the fires that had kept her warm in Sokovia.

“It’s true. I…when I look at you, I feel calm. I don’t feel like my mind is running anymore.” A brilliant smile broke from her lips, bringing new light to the pale blue eyes fixed upon her. “I…I will tell you about my life when I’m strong enough. I’m not nearly as brave as you–b-but what I can tell you right now is that you make eggs just like Pietro. Not too much salt or too little. Just right.” She swallowed hard before finishing the last of her breakfast, taking in her companion.

“He must have been quite the special brother if you can remember his cooking after all of these years. I…have a photographic memory, but I recall so little of my own family besides Donna. Must be because I didn’t pay attention to the right things in life.” He smiled wryly, a deep dull pain spreading in his heart at that moment. Stephen would have given anything in that moment to take back all those pithy retorts and slammed doors, that broken expression on his mother’s face as he cut the family off at last. Now he was all alone, only bearing his regrets.

“They forgive you, Stephen. Whoever you wronged…your heart is not where it was when you were a young man.” Wanda watched Stephen finish eating before the pair retired to the couch, Wanda’s fingers wrapped warmly around one broad forearm. He lifted his eyes, gently encouraging her to tell him as much or as little as she liked. “I…I think I might have sinned worse than you in that regard. I couldn’t save anyone even with the power stirring within me then. I was the only person that missile didn’t hit. And then I spiraled into an existence of hatred. I hated Stark Industries and the country that sent those missiles. None of us had any love for them, but I took that bitterness much further than my parents ever would have condoned.”

“You repented too, Wanda. You took yourself out of the equation when it became too much, and with that you took down the worst book in living memory years later. You fought Thanos on your own and bought us time. You defeated Ultron.” Stephen’s beard twitched as he proudly beheld the radiant lady. “Perhaps you are the one who should have been called the Sorcerer Supreme. Your powers far exceeded mine, and you did more good.”

“Says the man who set the pieces in motion to defeat Thanos,” she replied softly. Stephen blinked, sitting up a bit straighter. “I…see things more clearly than immediately after his death. Vision didn’t die because of you. He died because he wanted humanity to live another day and hold a far better future in its hands. You giving Thanos the Time Stone was necessary. In the cruelest things there is necessity. I should know after seeing what these hands did.” Wanda gazed at her open palms, remembering that spurt of energy that had caused her husband’s Vibranium skull to crack under the weight of her hands that had destroyed the stone.

“I know you never really got to interact with him, Stephen…but Viz liked you. He saw the parts of Tony Stark in you – wanting to chase down the villain at any cost, even infinite pain. He saw the beauty in that agony you bore for so long. That crash and Dormammu were just the beginning for you, weren’t they?” He nodded, his own eyes wet now as his gaze did not waver. 

“There isn’t a day that goes by when the deaths of Vision and Tony Stark don’t weigh upon me. Both made the greatest sacrifice that could be asked of anyone, but only one was venerated,” Stephen replied in the softest voice she had heard him use thus far.

“It’s okay. If there’s any core characteristic about Viz…it’s his selflessness. Tony really got his programming right.” Wanda was smiling now, feeling greater peace about her husband than before. That old faith that had kept her alive for so long in the Hydra base was slowly igniting in her once more. “I used to think he was gone forever, but…now I know he’s with Pietro and Iryna and Oleh…and your family, too.” And that infectious feeling of hope was spreading in him, too, as she leaned over, feeling those warm arms wind around her as they rested together.

“You aren’t just a worthy judge of people’s minds, Wanda. You’re also one of their hearts.” He humbly warmed her hands now, marveling at the beauty confined to that heart-shaped face. “I saw you holding something at the table that’s now in your pocket? Did you want my help with something?” She nodded quietly, whispering that he could look. He carefully withdrew the cylindrical tube, turning it over in his free hand. “Dark hair dye.”

“Better for me to have my natural hair color…they may not be alive anymore, but their memory stirs in my features. I…I shouldn’t run away from my link to them, though I was plagued with shame for so long.” Stephen understood perfectly, taking her hand as they strode to the bathroom. The tub was filled with water, and the long thick hair was gently washed by Stephen Strange. She would have normally recoiled from the touch of another after Vision’s death or her time in the Hydra compound, but with Stephen Strange, she was safe.

“Let me know if I press your skull too hard. Okay?” Stephen was kneeling before Wanda, still a great deal taller than the small woman around whose shoulders an old towel was wrapped. The redhead nodded obediently, making herself comfortably as Dr. Strange donned latex gloves and carefully began to apply the dark brown hair dye to Wanda’s head. He began at the roots, thoroughly massaging the area around her scalp. The recovering woman expected to feel pain, yet there was no agony with Stephen Strange. She even began to close her eyes.

“Stephen…” She did not know how much time had passed, but was vaguely aware of its passing as the man wound thick strands of hair between his long fingers to apply dye to section after section. Wanda felt him pause, hovering somewhere over her. “Come closer…rest your cheek next to mine.” The good doctor obliged, the heels of his hands alone brushing the floor so he would not get it dirty. One sharp cheekbone rested against her, providing warmth.

“Tell me something sweet.” She was blushing to the roots of her drying hair now.

“But of course.” Stephen bent over lithely like a reed, his lips nearly brushing her small ear. A smile tugged at his tone as he began to speak. His words were almost inaudible, but a sprinkling of pink dominated Wanda’s face as she gave the large man a little push for being such a conscious gentleman. Laughter seeped into his tone as he continued, cautious love spilling into every syllable as he gently squeezed one hip. Her hand skimmed his chest in reply, a subtle movement that brought a rush of electricity through his entire body within seconds. Blushing, he kissed the woman’s hand before helping her finish the dyeing process.

“That went by far quicker than expected.” Wanda inhaled hard, running a brush through her long wavy tresses before applying a hair dryer to the thick locks. Her blue eyes peeped cautiously at Stephen, who was leaning on the sink as he gazed at her with an expression of deep affection that made her hands tremble. She was such a lovely sight in her tank top, thick curls brushing her slim waist as her round cheeks lifted in his direction. The brunette allowed her gaze to wander over him, taking in the complex crevices of his face and his long body.

“What are you thinking, Miss Maximoff?” He winked at her conspiratorially. She took a few tentative steps forward, her fingers winding within his as he gave her a warm twirl. Now his hip was resting against hers, the gentle slope of his forehead bringing a burst of peace to her.

“I want…I want to go to New York with you. As soon as possible.” She blushed at his raised eyebrows. “It isn’t right for you to be here taking care of me. You have your relationships with Wong and Chavez to worry about, and your home is there. Your parents and Donna are buried there, too. It wouldn’t make sense for you to be here when you could be recover—”

Stephen interrupted her sentence with such a passionate kiss that both Wanda and Stephen’s cheeks were aflame. The brunette nestled within the New Yorker’s arms, her eyes filling with tears as he traced the arc of her lips and cheeks. He was treating her with such love, reverence even. A man who was filling the aching chaos that had reigned in her heart for nearly her entire life. She wiped her eyes, accepting his kisses before offering one long sweet one of her own. The motley pair lingered together, helping each other pack their things–small Hello Kitty pajama pants and all. Then Stephen Strange elegantly extended one arm to Wanda, taking her hand as they advanced through the flaming portal created by his Sling Ring.

Whatever would happen next, they would be together.

Chapter Text

Stephen Strange paced in the workshop, flipping his Sling Ring in his hand as his blue eyes descended deep into thought. His reflexes had improved considerably over the past year and a half as Wanda and Stephen had enrolled in physical therapy after leaving Sokovia. The good doctor was ruminating over his latest creation, perfectly replicating the movement of metal and electricity in his mind’s eye. The shadows of the day were becoming sharper now as noon set in, draping over the spotless parchment-hued floor, yet he continued, unperturbed. 

A sudden flash of brown made the good doctor turn his head, arcing his neck as he looked upward. The satisfying smack of the ring hit his hand, which immediately closed upon the prized object. Amusement flickered in his ice-hued eyes, followed by love. He crossed the room in one bound, the Cloak of Levitation flaring impressively behind him as he wore a smile.

Wanda had slid into the room, catlike. Her legs now dangled underneath her as she regarded her husband with a tilted head on one of the topmost rows of the shelf. The Sokoviaan smiled faintly as one hand brushed her hair back from one cheek before Stephen leaned forward to kiss it. The flash of silver on her left hand briefly captivated Stephen Strange before he turned back to his wife with a gaze of quiet adoration. She shyly offered him a few nuzzles before one hand skimmed his gelled-back dark hair. Both of their cheeks were pink.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked in a warm rumble. Wanda blushed, recalling the freshly picked lilies he had left by her side of the bed that morning.

“I threw up in the bathroom again.” One hand waved to reassure him as his pupils contracted in alarm. “...Before breakfast. I was able to keep it down afterward, but I had to eat it several hours later. You know how I am in the morning.” She blinked tears back as he gently cupped the bottom of her belly, which was protruding more than usual. 

“Steady.” His lips brushed her ear, producing another brilliant smile. Her arms wound around his neck as tears glittered in her eyes. He leaned forward, eager to kiss them away if necessary, but she had already swallowed her tears as her hand met his on her belly.

“T-Thank you for staying with me, Stephen.” She blinked rapidly, overcome by another burst of joy. “This little workshop–those kids we’re helping every single day–starting all of this with you–” Wanda inhaled. “It’s a second chance at life that I never deserved.” She steadied as she felt his cheek against hers. All that had been broken was re-mended again within her.

“Do you know how quickly I wrote off the possibility of my never having a child?” A rare level of emotion rippled in his voice, mingled with pride. “I was in my thirties but looked a decade older. Surgery left its mark on me.” The former neurosurgeon chuckled softly, the laughter lines visible in his face. “And even as a young man…I left everything at the altar of my profession.”

“And…you know I thought it had been impossible for me. I t-think that’s why part of me became enamored with the Hex I cast over that whole corner of the world and myself. I thought it had been over, all over, before it had even began. But I just wanted to bring something precious to the world that was all mine. Something I could nurture and protect.” Her fingers rested on his, her blue eyes tracing the scars and pins forming a maze over his joints.

“And maybe that’s why I rescued damn near every orphan I ever met long before we founded the Strange Emporium.” He laughed, thinking of America and the boy whose face appeared to him in a blur, no matter how far he strained to reclaim all the shards of the memory for his own. “It gutted me to forget the other one. But we will cross paths again one day.”

“I’m sure that whatever happened between you, you acted honorably. You may have even saved his life.” Wanda ran one hand through Stephen’s hair. “And even if he does not come back to you…think of all those kids from Queens and the Bronx who frequent this place. They don’t have to be alone anymore. They don’t have to be abandoned…or weak.”

“The comics were all your idea. I would have never thought of such a thing, having never read comics as a child,” he replied sheepishly. Next to the inventions themselves, it felt like half of the public schools trampled over these grounds to read the latest comic book. 

 “Kids need someone they can look up to.” Wanda handed Stephen the missing blue piece, watching his blue eyes light up. He bent over the streamlined strips of metal, sliding the missing component into place. Wanda assisted him, sewing a long glowing cyan material into the cast. She extended one leg at last, feeling the exoskeleton leap over her and mold to whatever pose she had adopted at the moment. Stephen gave her an approving nod.

“Thank you, my sweet.” A gentle kiss was dropped onto the pregnant woman’s forehead. An eruption of joy stirred in him as she warmly hugged her husband around the waist. “Now, don’t be shy, Wanda. I know you’ve been tinkering with something beyond my back for the child with Aspergers.” She nodded knowingly, sliding lithely to the floor and retreating to her corner of the workshop. Stephen followed, softly humming a nursery rhyme as he smiled faintly.

Wanda now stood before him, her hands cupping something small. They parted, revealing an iridescent flower with several dozen petals. Her applelike cheeks curved upward as she beamed shyly, gingerly allowing her invention to touch her bare skin. Immediately, the petals began to unfurl, then peel away along with the deteriorating center. As they did, the colors lining the edges of the now-abstract object faded into light purple, then back to cream.

“Incredible,” Stephen murmured as he watched the flower recompose itself. “A feat to witness requiring great patience.” She nodded happily, elated that he had grasped the purpose of her invention so quickly. “What happens if another person touches it?”

“Much the same, but the color changes.” Wanda grinned, tossing her brown tresses back as she took her husband’s hand. “Want to check in on our assistants in the front?” He assented, striding with his love as one, modulating his long loping strides to match her shorter near skips.

A teenager with messy brown hair and intelligent matching eyes was already in the front, talking earnestly to a couple protectively clutching a blind baby. The couple had been here many times, desperate for anything that could help their child, but they had been slow to trust. Only talking to a young man seemed to have gotten them anywhere, for Peter was as humble as he was gregarious, interjecting self-effacing humor along with stories about his studies and quests. The boy had decided to lower his mask as Spider Man for his own reasons, a respected choice.

The smiling owners of the establishment gazed to the right, watching their other assistant help a slight boy of about nine years wobble to the nearest table. His leg had been broken in a horrific accident, and while skin and sinew had closed over new metallic bone, the new arrangement of overlapping cells needed to set. The surgery had been very complicated because of the shrapnel, and the boy had been beset by spasms in the leg ever since. Besides his stunted ability to heal or even walk, he had cruelly been bullied and forced to transfer.

“I can still kick their butts for you, Connor,” America Chavez was telling the boy earnestly. As she spoke, the metallic bracelets she wore on her arms to control her powers trembled. 

“Nah, it’s okay, America. They don’t know better. You should see how their parents treat ‘em.” The boy’s green eyes brightened as Wanda and Stephen bent beside him, silently slipping the cast over his bent leg. A relaxed expression immediately entered his eyes as profuse thanks fled his lips. His hand scrabbled in his pocket for the only money he had, but the couple waved him off, their strident voices contained enough not to travel too far. Pro bono, dear. Always free.

“Think you’ve got him?” Stephen asked America. She gave him a fleeting thumbs-up. “Thank you. By the way, your paycheck should be in this week. Banking holidays .” Chavez smiled at him, knowing perfectly well that she and Peter were among the most handsomely compensated of their type in the city. Wanda and Stephen had refused to take more profit than necessary from themselves, deriving it from only donations and offering their services for free.

Now the brunette and raven-haired man were moving towards the baby. Wanda gently took the little one in her arms, giving her a warm hug as her own belly bulged. Stephen began to talk jovially with the parents, who were looking at the owners and assistants with cautious trust. Peter had wended his way to the back, retrieving an invention of his own. It was his first one, and he had spent six months working on it, but Wanda and Stephen were quite proud of him.

“Everything ready?” Wanda asked the teenager anxiously. He nodded, giving her a fleeting smile and respectful nod to Stephen Strange before softly asking the parents if he could insert the small lightweight object into the infant’s eyes. The parents slowly nodded, watching with baited breath as Peter carefully coaxed the girl’s eyes open before slipping contact lenses onto her eyes with a tweezer. The baby was once again nestled in her mother’s arms.

The little one blinked, warm blue eyes widening. They moved slightly to the right, fixing on the daisy pin in Wanda’s hair. They next shifted to Stephen, focusing on his fluffy beard. She let out a great laugh, fingers waggling enthusiastically. The tall man obediently bent down, allowing the infant to pull at his beard. Everyone laughed softly, observing the child for any sign of extraordinary recovery, scarcely even daring to hope for the impossible…

Another grand burst of giggles exited the girl as she turned back to her parents before her blue eyes widened, fastened firmly upon her father. A hush came over all in the room as they realized that some semblance of sight had returned to the little one, some fleeting grasp at the fabric of life that would strengthen over time. A cheer arose among the motley group, children sitting in waiting room chairs clapping hard alongside the owners of the emporium. Peter received a great number of pats on the back and was so overcome with emotion that Stephen brought him to the back so he could regain his composure.

“I’m s-sorry…I never thought much would become of me, Dr. S-Strange…not after everything that happened.” Peter swallowed hard, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

“MIT never knew what they missed, not admitting you,” he replied starkly to the boy without a college education. He was getting the best schooling here, an inventor using his love for science and engineering to help hundreds of children without anyone else in their corners.

“I k-know, Dr. Strange…” Peter was crying again, thinking of all Stephen Strange had gone through, down to the scared boy he had willingly chosen to forget as he undid the spell Peter Parker had ruined. “Sir…there’s so much I could tell you about how much you and Wanda mean to me. I…I always thought that anyone could be redeemed. Anyone could get better. And your wife was living proof of that when she came into your life and mine.”

“What could you possibly have to repent for, you brave young man?” Stephen blinked tears of his own back as he slid cookies Wanda had made for him the day before across the table. He had eaten all but a dozen of them, gaining weight nearly as rapidly as his wife.

“Even being Spider Man was so much easier than holding it back.” And the story of what had become of the spell he had egged a depressed Stephen Strange on to cast spilled from his lips, along with the fantastical tale of all the villains who had crawled into New York City. And as Wanda played with the bouncing children and proffered the Stranges’ inventions to them, Stephen listened to the teenager with amazement, some final void filled in his heart as the hours passed and the might of the afternoon sun hung over them.