[ Julia's hands hit the mosaic parquet floor, and the impact hums through the Sanctum like a ripple through water, a wave of sheer presence roiling up the stairwell and down the hallways and crashing against Stephen Strange's door. He's in the middle of combing through the shelves when it feels like the whole building shudders, the chandeliers and light fixtures trembling.
Because the building knows. It always knows. The Cloak of Levitation perks up in the corner like a hunting hound which just heard a distant whistle on a different frequency, except that Stephen can hear the bare edges of it too. Help me, whispered to the bricks and the wood and the leylines beneath them, and the Sanctum, in answer, tips the floor beneath Stephen's feet to yank him askew and get his attention.
It's a more dignified entrance than the first time he'd come rushing out from the washroom, but Stephen hurries through a portal even more quickly this time, hopping through it and landing on the foyer in front of her.
Because of course it's Julia. The Sanctum recognised her and let her in, and after so much time spent living together, he recognised her signature in turn.
Except that he hasn't seen her in months. Stephen had wondered how she was doing on her quest and if she was safe, particularly when he sensed the subway token vanish from this dimension (yes, he'd put a tracking spell on it, of course he had), but he trusted her to know what she was doing. If she were ever in absolute dire straits, he knew she still had that token in her pocket and could call for help if she needed.
Today, it seems she's finally playing that card.
He stoops to a knee beside the woman, a hand on her shoulder, his voice more frenetic than even he would've expected before the words slipped out. She isn't openly bleeding anywhere, she looks fine at first glance, but if magic has taught him anything, it's that the damage can be invisible— ]
[ She can't feel the power of the Sanctum even as it reverberates through the heart of the sanctuary; her soul aches to be cut off from it, to know that this beautiful beacon of good has been severed from her senses. That numbness is as painful as the burning in her soul, her nerves sparking like her injuries are physical when in fact she doesn't have even a bruise on her.
But then Stephen is there as if out of nowhere and the relief she feels is so sharp that she could cry. He's here and he'll save her, she knows he will. There's no one she trusts more at this moment. ]
I need help. [ Her words catch and crash into each other, each syllable like knives in her throat. ] A potion— My memories, they're trying to—
[ A frantic desperation enters her voice and she reaches out to him, her fingertips grasping at his shirt, her hand trembling as she tries to hold on. ]
[ Julia clutches at the folds of his shirt, and Stephen catches her hand. She's not making much sense, and so this time he doesn't stop to ask for permission before he closes his eyes for one long slow beat; and when he opens them again, he's peering at her through his metaphorical third eye.
And what he sees is—
—honestly bizarre, all radiant golden light but tarnished like a statuette gone to rust, a lamp dimmed; there's ragged trailing edges where she's been severed and her magic ripped out, the corners of her psyche frayed like it had been roughly hacked through, burned through, the stump of her magical senses cauterised. It smells of burned wood, burnt flesh, hot metal. And in her head...
It's a quick glance, so he can't see all the details of the spell, but there's something there, seething and practically chewing through her neurons. He's going to need a steady workspace to take a better look at it. The equivalent of wheeling Julia into an operating room to dig his fingers into her brain and get a closer look at what the fuck is happening in there.
In the meantime, though, he holds her hand like a steadying anchor. ]
There's something in your head. What can you tell me about it?
[ They've constantly been excavating different sides of each other, and now she's seeing yet another angle to Stephen: today it's the surgeon, crisp and businesslike and to-the-point, like a professional mask slamming down over his expression, because anything else would let his own panic and concern for her run away with him. It's an old muscle and an ancient instinct; it practically sounds like he's about to head to the sink and start scrubbing up. ]
[ He's the rock she needs, steady and solid as everything she is slowly unravels. If he'd started panicking with her, she wouldn't have been able to hold it together, but instead, his professional demeanor gives her the strength she needs to pull herself together and hold on just a little longer. ]
There was a potion, it tasted like... mint and dirt, I think. And a spell in Greek, but I don't— [ She'd known something about it, information learned from her awareness of Alice, but it's hard to put the pieces together. Her hand tightens around his, exhaustion and adrenaline both vying for dominance within her. ] It's experimental. Wipes our memories, replaces them with new personas.
[ But there was something else, something important. Alice had taken it and all her actions after were guided by the knowledge that... she would forget soon. Very soon. It's what she'd said as she destroyed the keys, taking away the universe's hope for magic because of her own desperation and misguided beliefs. ]
It's fully effective in 24 hours. I don't know how long it's been. [ The answer is four hours, but her awareness of time is as dull as the rest of her senses. ]
It's one of the worst things he could imagine. More than any physical peril, more than any bodily injury, having your mind erased is a uniquely terrifying prospect for a man like him who values and relies on his intellect. The only thing worse than losing his hands would've been Alzheimer's. And the idea of her essentially losing that part of herself and being replaced by a stranger — Julia's cleverness, her sharp wit, her sense of humour, her memories, her pain, everything that made her her — is even more intolerable. Unacceptable.
He needs to act quick.
So Stephen just nods, quick and curt, and then opens another portal. The Cloak of Levitation unclasps itself from around his throat and wraps itself around Julia's shoulders instead, buoyant and helping carry her along; it could've just wrapped her up like a burrito, so having her wear it instead is a bit more dignified. Stephen hauls them through the portal and then they're in one of the many libraries of the Sanctum, except this one has several long tables dominating the center of the room. The cloak deposits her on the flat surface and then Stephen leans over her, hands pressed to either side of her face, fingertips against her temples.
As much as he likes to lighten the mood (and even used to, in the operating theater when the patient couldn't hear him and he was amongst other doctors), it isn't the time for jokes. So he stays brisk: ]
Stay with me, Julia. I'm going to go digging around in there to see if I can halt it. This might hurt a little; we might not have the time to be gentle.
[ Because by the looks of it, each additional minute is another minute of the spell devouring her brain, and he doesn't want her to lose any more than she already has. ]
It's the oddest thought to pierce through that haze of fear and panic, cutting through the fog of exhaustion threatening to suffocate her. Back when Richard had first tried to convince her of the existence of a higher power they could actually reach, he'd given her a spell— a prayer, and she'd floated off the ground in the most ethereal bliss she'd ever experienced. This isn't like that, but it's probably the closest she'll ever get now that her power is gone.
Her power is gone. The spark she'd grown into a flame has been extinguished, the proverbial oxygen sucked out of the room, and she doesn't even know if she can still do normal magic now that it's back in the world. Maybe, with any luck, she'll still be able to tap into the dimensional magic Stephen lives and breathes, but she doesn't even know that with any certainty. And she can't afford to let herself worry about any of it right now when so much more is at stake.
The table is hard beneath her but she barely notices. Her world narrows to those scarred hands and the face she's come to know so well. ]
I trust you. [ And she does, without hesitation. But there's no hiding how scared she is, either. ] Stephen, if this doesn't work, if I forget — it's not your fault.
[ He won't listen, she knows he won't, but she still has to try. ]
No. You're not going to forget. You're going to be fine.
[ That hard declaration is an impossible promise and the first betrayal of his feelings, how invested he actually is, and how much he cares about the outcome here. Stephen's heart clenches in his chest, and he wonders if this might be a little how Christine felt when he was injured in magical battle and bared open on her operating table.
Unlike the trauma surgeon, though, he's never had to operate on someone he knew personally. He takes a deep breath. ]
Hold tight.
[ And Doctor Strange dives in.
It's like his first psychic examination of her, that first day Julia had come to his office for help, except this time it's more invasive. He presses his fingers to her temples and it's like they're burning fire, searing through her skin as he digs deeper to find the cause. When he adjusts his vision and attunes his senses, it's like turning the radio dial to a different frequency, and Julia's mind lights up with information. Her neural map opens beneath his hands, a glowing topography. And for the first time in his life, Stephen discovers the overlap between sorcery and magic and actual neurosurgery.
And he chases that thread; once again catching the scent of bark and leaves and loam, except this time it's underlayered with smoke and ash, like a grove of trees scorched to the earth—
There's magic and there's magic, but this is also a literal vial of liquid that she swallowed. Which is currently in her system, a wrecking ball primed to blow through her memories. It's a dark shadow in the nooks and crannies of her mind, a spell slithering along. Stephen hones his attention down to a thin, razor-sharp line, starting to cut and sear around that shadowy mass, until he can reach for it; he seizes it like he's grasping a weed in a garden, and he pulls.
This is going to hurt.
And it hurts her.
It's like yanking on a nerve, pulling it out by the root, grasping it with magical pliers and hauling and hauling until he can try to rip it free from where it's attached to her mind, from where its sticky-grasping tendrils are trying to swallow her whole. ]
Pain is an old friend to Julia Wicker, much like it is to Stephen Strange. Well, perhaps not a friend, but certainly an enemy. An acquaintance, then, or a companion down the long road. Pain has reminded her that she's alive, that she can still feel anything, and she's found herself accepting that it will always be with her throughout the rest of her life.
Right now, though? Pain's just a bitch.
As numb as she is, she still feels that tugging in her mind, the pulling at something that's woven its way into her and doesn't want to let go. At first, it's just a stinging compressed under the lingering pain from horcruxing herself into the keys, but then it becomes a sharp burning, what's left of her reacting as the magic is crudely extracted.
The sound she makes isn't quite a scream, but only just barely. The guttural cry leaves her throat aching, the sound scraping her raw as it tears its way out of her. All she can do is wrap her hands around the edge of the table and hold on, clenching her muscles tight so she doesn't move and break contact with the man trying to save her. Who knows what that would do them both.
If she goes down, she's not taking him with her. ]
[ God, he hates this, he hates this— normally his patients are sedated and dead to the world. They're not awake and aware and biting back screams, their whole body locking up, tendons flexing and bucking beneath him. Stephen maintains his grip on her, leaning over the table and over Julia, maintaining that connection to her mind as he swims even deeper like a deep-sea diver. Pursuing each squirming root of magic where he can find it and carve it out of her, leaving a battered wasteland behind, but at least ensuring that he hunts down every last piece. He doesn't want to leave anything behind which might be an insidious seed, waiting and biding its time before sprouting again when they're not expecting it.
And it's pernicious. It hangs on; it doesn't want to let go; it wants to burn out her memories and implant its own new identity in her stead. But Stephen continues to burn it out even as she bucks beneath him. The cloak, unprompted, slides over to cover Julia's entire body; it presses down on her like a weighted blanket, striving both to offer comfort and to keep her from thrashing right off the table. ]
Just a little longer, [ he murmurs, head bent over her, lips brushing her ear. ] Almost done.
[ This is her punishment for bringing back magic. Nothing in her life is ever rewarded, each and every good deed is only met with increasingly worse consequences. She'd helped saved Fillory and all of magic had been lost. Now she's helped to bring it back and her body is being torn to shreds, her soul burned right out of her. Only the part of her that earned her godhood is able to hold on to the feeling that it had all been worth it in the end.
Is this the end? What if this doesn't work? What if she forgets who she is or worse? She won't be able to help her friends anymore. She won't be able to tell Stephen how much she'd wanted to help him. She'll just simply... cease to be.
His voice in her ear and the firm pressure over her body anchor her mind to the here and now, keeping her from falling over the edge to a place she might not return from. Just a little longer. She can hold on just a little more. Clenching her eyes shut, tears slip from the corners of her eyes and down her skin to disappear beneath Stephen's fingers. ]
[ The doctor doesn't rush, even though this is agony. Because memory loss is a kind of death, and he can't afford any slip-ups here. His hands might not be steady anymore, but his magical senses are firm and unwavering as he combs through Julia's mind with methodical attention-to-detail, until in the end, he has to call it and decide that that's enough. That he thinks he's eradicated every last shred of it. That he believes in himself enough to conclude it's done.
So he lets go, and that pain finally subsides. Unthinkingly, and mirroring her motion of weeks and months before, he brushes some disheveled hair back from Julia's forehead. And he finally unclenches his jaw and sinks back into one of the wooden library chairs, his elbows against the table beside her, his quivering hands scrubbing at his face. He looks more harrowed than he would've ordinarily let someone see, but it's been a while — years now — since he's had to plumb through someone's mind with so much delicacy, even while he was razing and burning. It's the closest thing to surgery that he's done since becoming a sorcerer.
And then, because despite Stephen's belief in himself, he does still have a trembling fear that maybe he went too far and ripped out too much and left her vegetative and with no memory after all, he has to check: ]
Name? Where were you born? Where are you now? Can you name a few items in this room?
[ When the pain ends, it's like flipping a switch. It just stops, leaving a sensation like an afterimage of looking directly at light — she remembers the impression of it but the source has vanished as if it was never there, to begin with.
Or maybe she was just in too much pain before the magical brain surgery that she doesn't notice the addition of any lingering effects. Either way, it's suddenly easier to breathe and think and be. Her muscles loosen and tremble slightly as the tension seeps from her body. ]
Julia Wicker. [ Because of course, she answers his questions, her voice quiet and a little hoarse. ] Montclair, New Jersey. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Stephen Strange, the Cloak of Levitation, and a very uncomfortable table.
[ Turning her head to look at him properly, the smile she offers him is a ghost of what she usually manages but at least it's something. ] You did it. Thank you.
[ Bone-deep relief, which comes out as a touch of levity: lowering his hands and clasping them in front of him, scrutinising her from his (bedside? tableside?) seat. She'd remembered who she was. She's still cognisant. Good. ]
I actually haven't done magical surgery like that before. I guess there's a first time for everything.
[ Maybe Stephen shouldn't admit to that vulnerability, that gap in his expertise — he certainly wouldn't have if this were a regular operation and a regular surgery and his realm of expertise, lord of his domain at MGH — but they're already past the crux of it, so whatever's gonna happen now is gonna happen. What's done is done. ]
[ There's that sense of humor she's been missing fiercely all these months away. It hadn't all been doom and gloom, but as the quest progressed, things had gotten... hard, especially on her own quest, if that's what you could even call it. Her journey toward becoming what she is now. Or was. She's not quite sure what she is after Blackspire. ]
You're the only person I trusted to do it.
[ He's the only person she trusts, period, right now. Wong and some of the other sorcerers, sure, but only on a superficial level. When it really mattered and the stakes were astronomically high, only Stephen makes that list. But she can't just leave it at that; the corners of her lips turn up in a smirk and she lets her own humor peek out. ]
[ Mind magic was one of the most delicate and precarious and dangerous to toy around with. He'd fucked up spells before: a rushed job with the Runes of Kof-Kol, the multiverse ripping at the seams, an ensuing strange blank spot in his own memory that remained annoyingly vague no matter how much he raked it over the coals. So if he's actually managed it this time, and saved Julia from an even worse fate and an even worse blank slate? Thank god. ]
"Not fucking it up" is a fantastic celebratory toast. It's so universally-applicable. I'll have to keep that one in mind and break it out whenever relevant.
[ He reaches out, rests his hand on hers. I missed you, he thinks, but pivots and amends the phrasing at the last second: ]
It's good to see you. I'd wondered how you were doing. [ I worried. ] Should we get you to a more comfortable bed and then you can tell me who the hell spiked you with an amnesia potion?
[ Another quick adjustment, oh god, he keeps shoving his foot in his mouth when he's frazzled like this: ]
To your bed, I mean. The Sanctum left it untouched. Your room is still here.
[ Fuck, she's missed him. Even with him sitting right beside her, she can feel the ache of his absence still lingering, that emptiness she hadn't realized was so profound until now. Focusing on the quest had kept her moving forward, distracting her from that hole in herself, and now that she's back, the idea of leaving again is devastating. ]
Bed sounds good.
[ She can't help but smile at his quick scramble to correct course — he's so cute whenever he does that. Turning her hand over beneath his, she wraps her fingers around his scarred ones and gives a gentle squeeze before struggling to sit up. She's halfway up when a thought suddenly occurs to her and she looks at him with fear and worry written across her expression. ]
Is it safe for me to stay here? Not for me, but— The people who did this, it's the Library and Irene McAllistair. If they come looking for me...
[ Will they come looking for her? They couldn't possibly expect her to come here, of all places. And even if they do realize where she fled to, would they really come knocking at the Sanctum's door and risk stirring up trouble with the Masters of the Mystic Arts when they would be certain their spell worked and she wouldn't remember a thing about what they'd done?
The Library is powerful, even more so now that they apparently control the Wellspring. Honestly, Julia doesn't believe the Order will risk damaging any relationship they have with the Masters by hunting down one wayward magician. Irene McAllistair, though... She's one of the rich and powerful among magicians and Julia's really fucked with her shit lately, and since the entitled tend to feel like they can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it, who knows when she might go off the rails. ]
I don't want to cause problems for you and the other Masters.
[ Surprise flickers across his face at actually recognising the players involved. Fillory and its denizens was largely a blank spot for him, but the Library of the Neitherlands was a valuable resource, a relatively close multiversal partner; the Masters occasionally made use of their facilities for research. But at Julia's doubt, he instantly shakes his head, not a question in his mind. ]
If they come looking for you, they'll find a closed and locked door and a barricade. The Sanctum and the Masters take our role as sanctuary seriously. We've taken people in and sheltered them from worse than the McAllistairs.
[ He thinks of America, sheltering at Kamar-Taj and all of the sorcerers banding together to protect her, regardless of the fact that they didn't even know her yet. It hadn't gone well, but... Irene McAllistair might be a talented magician and a known name (her family was the sort of rich moneyed echeleon Stephen might have recognised even before being steeped in magic), but at the end of the day, she was still just a magician. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch. ]
Trust me: as far as bogeymen go, we can handle them. And if the worse comes to worst, the Sanctum temporarily relocates. It's not actually just a building in Greenwich Village. [ Which was probably apparent by the fact that it was bigger on the inside than out, occupying a pocket dimension of its own — he could move it to the moon, if he liked — but it's worth saying aloud. ]
[ Some part of Julia wants to protest, insist it's too much trouble and risk just for her, but another part of her sinks into the comfort of being protected. She wraps it around herself like a warm blanket and, for the first time since she stepped into the Sanctum tonight, she really feels like she's home. ]
Thank you.
[ To Stephen. To the Sanctum. To the cloak. To every single Master and apprentice who has devoted themselves to the protection of those who need it most. The universe is a better place because of them and so few will ever know it. Their good deeds with go unacknowledged and they know that — that's not why they do it. She'd been so close to being able to live a life like that, but now...
Shaking herself out of those thoughts, Julia forces herself the rest of the way upright, struggling a little but still managing. She swings her legs over the side of the table, looking down at her boots that dangle above the floor, and then sighs heavily. ]
I don't think I can walk on my own. Would you mind...?
[ Whether she's talking to Stephen or the cloak, it doesn't really matter. She needs help and she's reaching out for it, just like he had that night with the spider. ]
[ And they're not just dependent on the cloak or the portals. Now that no one's bleeding or having their sense of self dribbling out through their ears, and it's safer to operate the spells (parameters, sometimes it does all come down to parameters, just like the magic she's used to), Stephen stands up and sets his hand on her shoulder. He doesn't need the physical contact, but it's mostly just to steady her. Because he concentrates, and then without even a visible gesture, it's like he tugs the universe just a few inches to the left —
The Sanctum simply rearranges itself around them in a small gust of displaced air, and instead of sitting on the edge of the library table, Julia's suddenly sitting on the soft edge of her bed instead. Familiar bedspread made and tucked in at the corners, the room a little musty from long inattention, but otherwise looking exactly as she left it (and still, as ever, those trees in the wallpaper). Stephen's standing beside her bed now, and his hand is still braced against her shoulder so she doesn't just wobble and fall over.
He'd been more brusque and inconsiderate when doing the same thing with the Asgardians' visit, like yanking the rug out from under Thor and just letting the god reel and trip over himself into bookcases and down the stairs — Stephen can be spiteful at times, it's a character flaw — but he tried to make the transition easier for Julia. It's a little disorienting, having the entire world simply shuffle itself around you and finding yourself in a new location between heartbeats. ]
[ It is disorienting, but mainly for the fact that she hadn't initiated the shift herself. For the last few weeks, she'd been able to transport herself and others in the blink of an eye, moving much like a Traveler but with infinitely better control because she'd been able to see where she was going before she arrived. She'd been able to see everything, she'd been connected to everything...
She's not connected to anything anymore. Julia is a tiny speck on a rock floating in space once more, her ability to be more and do more torn away by her own hand. The universe had been at her fingertips and she'd given it up of her own free will. ]
Showoff.
[ She doesn't regret her decision — how could she? Even with the Library taking control of the Wellspring, magic is back in the world and the power imbalance isn't an impossible problem to solve. But there's still sadness in her voice where she intended gently jibing humor, and she can feel her throat tightening with emotion. ]
I'm sorry.
[ What is she apologizing for? Not being strong enough to take her fate without tears? Because there they are, blurring her vision and burning her skin as they slip down her cheeks. For placing her pain upon him again, the way she'd done months ago? Because she reaches up to grasp his hand on her shoulder, taking away his easy escape route in her silent request for his continued presence. Or is she apologizing to herself for all she could have been and now never will be?
[ While she reaches for his hand, he leans in with the other one and carefully swipes the tears from her cheeks with curled knuckles. Brushing them from her skin with a tender touch that perhaps not everyone might've expected from the aloof doctor. ]
Don't apologise.
[ Stephen doesn't even know what she's apologising for, but he delivers the command decisively anyway, granting her a direction. He takes a guess at what might lie behind her apologies, and manages to land on at least one of the reasons: ]
Truly, I've brought far worse things chasing my heels to this building's doorstep. Believe me. If you thought that spider-demon was a problem...
[ He's trying to cheer Julia up with that levity, that downplaying of the Library potentially nipping at her heels, but his voice softens and turns serious again a moment later. And he lets go of her hand, but he exchanges it for sinking to the mattress himself, perching on it beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder. ]
[ His knuckles against her cheek feel almost like a blessing, some form of grace being bestowed upon her to soothe her weary soul. It gives her the strength, along with his order, to pull herself out of the hole before she can spiral too deep.
She'll have to ask him for some of those stories later, maybe when she's headed toward another dive into self-pity and needs a good distraction. He can be pretty good at that when he puts his mind to it. ]
We did it. [ She looks at his knees beside hers, feeling too tired to turn to look at him properly. ] It took a while, and it didn't happen like we'd planned, but we did it. Magic's back.
[ Funny, she doesn't sound happy about it. Magic being back is a good thing, she'd done this because she'd believed that with her entire being, and yet... The darkest part of her has to wonder if it was worth the cost. ]
[ And likely just as expected, Stephen sounds puzzled. This was everything she'd been working towards for so long; it was the culmination of what she'd been fighting and studying and striving for, and yet she doesn't sound anywhere near as triumphant or happy about it as he expected. His question is slow, prompting: ]
So you succeeded? It was a victory?
[ But even as he says it, he immediately knows that there's something he doesn't know yet. Some wrinkle in the plan, some catch in how it played out. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks. He'd seen it over and over in his own life: success, but at what cost. ]
Seven keys unlocked the backdoor to magic. Prometheus created them because he knew one day it would be needed, but it took all his divine power to do it. The quest was to find the keys and we did it. We were so close, and then—
[ Q's pain in the face of what Alice had done still reverberates through her, the memory ingrained in her soul. His anguish had called to her with such strength it had been impossible to ignore. Iris had told her to let go of her connections but that was the one thing Julia was incapable of doing. She sighs heavily and lifts a hand to wearily rub at her eyes. ]
The keys were destroyed by someone who thought she was doing the right thing, and the only way to remake them was with the power of a god.
[ There are specks of glitter on her fingertips as her hand falls to her lap and she realizes how ridiculous she must look. Like she'd gone somewhere in costume, a lowly hedge witch pretending at being a goddess. ]
[ If Julia were still in possession of her full godly powers, Stephen would have been able to pick up on it. Like when his general monitoring had picked up on Thor and Loki's arrival on Earth, all the magical sensors clamouring and wailing at the weight of the gods' presence, so he'd been able to reach out and contact them and bring them to 177A Bleecker Street. But now, with Julia — the specks of glitter, that low radiant light when he'd peered into her aura, like a campfire which had been violently doused with water, nothing but smouldering embers left behind — he can't fully put his finger on what's different. He hadn't seen her in her complete radiance, and now, diminished, her signature is back to regular mortality. Similar to what they'd worked with during her whole tenure at the Sanctum, when she'd been a magician with only that little golden spark left behind, that touch of godliness... and now there isn't even that. ]
You didn't have another run-in with Our Lady of the Underground, did you? Or her— son?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ourladytrees) wrote2022-06-18 12:21 am
no subject
Because the building knows. It always knows. The Cloak of Levitation perks up in the corner like a hunting hound which just heard a distant whistle on a different frequency, except that Stephen can hear the bare edges of it too. Help me, whispered to the bricks and the wood and the leylines beneath them, and the Sanctum, in answer, tips the floor beneath Stephen's feet to yank him askew and get his attention.
It's a more dignified entrance than the first time he'd come rushing out from the washroom, but Stephen hurries through a portal even more quickly this time, hopping through it and landing on the foyer in front of her.
Because of course it's Julia. The Sanctum recognised her and let her in, and after so much time spent living together, he recognised her signature in turn.
Except that he hasn't seen her in months. Stephen had wondered how she was doing on her quest and if she was safe, particularly when he sensed the subway token vanish from this dimension (yes, he'd put a tracking spell on it, of course he had), but he trusted her to know what she was doing. If she were ever in absolute dire straits, he knew she still had that token in her pocket and could call for help if she needed.
Today, it seems she's finally playing that card.
He stoops to a knee beside the woman, a hand on her shoulder, his voice more frenetic than even he would've expected before the words slipped out. She isn't openly bleeding anywhere, she looks fine at first glance, but if magic has taught him anything, it's that the damage can be invisible— ]
Julia? What happened? Are you alright?
no subject
But then Stephen is there as if out of nowhere and the relief she feels is so sharp that she could cry. He's here and he'll save her, she knows he will. There's no one she trusts more at this moment. ]
I need help. [ Her words catch and crash into each other, each syllable like knives in her throat. ] A potion— My memories, they're trying to—
[ A frantic desperation enters her voice and she reaches out to him, her fingertips grasping at his shirt, her hand trembling as she tries to hold on. ]
no subject
And what he sees is—
—honestly bizarre, all radiant golden light but tarnished like a statuette gone to rust, a lamp dimmed; there's ragged trailing edges where she's been severed and her magic ripped out, the corners of her psyche frayed like it had been roughly hacked through, burned through, the stump of her magical senses cauterised. It smells of burned wood, burnt flesh, hot metal. And in her head...
It's a quick glance, so he can't see all the details of the spell, but there's something there, seething and practically chewing through her neurons. He's going to need a steady workspace to take a better look at it. The equivalent of wheeling Julia into an operating room to dig his fingers into her brain and get a closer look at what the fuck is happening in there.
In the meantime, though, he holds her hand like a steadying anchor. ]
There's something in your head. What can you tell me about it?
[ They've constantly been excavating different sides of each other, and now she's seeing yet another angle to Stephen: today it's the surgeon, crisp and businesslike and to-the-point, like a professional mask slamming down over his expression, because anything else would let his own panic and concern for her run away with him. It's an old muscle and an ancient instinct; it practically sounds like he's about to head to the sink and start scrubbing up. ]
no subject
There was a potion, it tasted like... mint and dirt, I think. And a spell in Greek, but I don't— [ She'd known something about it, information learned from her awareness of Alice, but it's hard to put the pieces together. Her hand tightens around his, exhaustion and adrenaline both vying for dominance within her. ] It's experimental. Wipes our memories, replaces them with new personas.
[ But there was something else, something important. Alice had taken it and all her actions after were guided by the knowledge that... she would forget soon. Very soon. It's what she'd said as she destroyed the keys, taking away the universe's hope for magic because of her own desperation and misguided beliefs. ]
It's fully effective in 24 hours. I don't know how long it's been. [ The answer is four hours, but her awareness of time is as dull as the rest of her senses. ]
no subject
It's one of the worst things he could imagine. More than any physical peril, more than any bodily injury, having your mind erased is a uniquely terrifying prospect for a man like him who values and relies on his intellect. The only thing worse than losing his hands would've been Alzheimer's. And the idea of her essentially losing that part of herself and being replaced by a stranger — Julia's cleverness, her sharp wit, her sense of humour, her memories, her pain, everything that made her her — is even more intolerable. Unacceptable.
He needs to act quick.
So Stephen just nods, quick and curt, and then opens another portal. The Cloak of Levitation unclasps itself from around his throat and wraps itself around Julia's shoulders instead, buoyant and helping carry her along; it could've just wrapped her up like a burrito, so having her wear it instead is a bit more dignified. Stephen hauls them through the portal and then they're in one of the many libraries of the Sanctum, except this one has several long tables dominating the center of the room. The cloak deposits her on the flat surface and then Stephen leans over her, hands pressed to either side of her face, fingertips against her temples.
As much as he likes to lighten the mood (and even used to, in the operating theater when the patient couldn't hear him and he was amongst other doctors), it isn't the time for jokes. So he stays brisk: ]
Stay with me, Julia. I'm going to go digging around in there to see if I can halt it. This might hurt a little; we might not have the time to be gentle.
[ Because by the looks of it, each additional minute is another minute of the spell devouring her brain, and he doesn't want her to lose any more than she already has. ]
no subject
It's the oddest thought to pierce through that haze of fear and panic, cutting through the fog of exhaustion threatening to suffocate her. Back when Richard had first tried to convince her of the existence of a higher power they could actually reach, he'd given her a spell— a prayer, and she'd floated off the ground in the most ethereal bliss she'd ever experienced. This isn't like that, but it's probably the closest she'll ever get now that her power is gone.
Her power is gone. The spark she'd grown into a flame has been extinguished, the proverbial oxygen sucked out of the room, and she doesn't even know if she can still do normal magic now that it's back in the world. Maybe, with any luck, she'll still be able to tap into the dimensional magic Stephen lives and breathes, but she doesn't even know that with any certainty. And she can't afford to let herself worry about any of it right now when so much more is at stake.
The table is hard beneath her but she barely notices. Her world narrows to those scarred hands and the face she's come to know so well. ]
I trust you. [ And she does, without hesitation. But there's no hiding how scared she is, either. ] Stephen, if this doesn't work, if I forget — it's not your fault.
[ He won't listen, she knows he won't, but she still has to try. ]
no subject
[ That hard declaration is an impossible promise and the first betrayal of his feelings, how invested he actually is, and how much he cares about the outcome here. Stephen's heart clenches in his chest, and he wonders if this might be a little how Christine felt when he was injured in magical battle and bared open on her operating table.
Unlike the trauma surgeon, though, he's never had to operate on someone he knew personally. He takes a deep breath. ]
Hold tight.
[ And Doctor Strange dives in.
It's like his first psychic examination of her, that first day Julia had come to his office for help, except this time it's more invasive. He presses his fingers to her temples and it's like they're burning fire, searing through her skin as he digs deeper to find the cause. When he adjusts his vision and attunes his senses, it's like turning the radio dial to a different frequency, and Julia's mind lights up with information. Her neural map opens beneath his hands, a glowing topography. And for the first time in his life, Stephen discovers the overlap between sorcery and magic and actual neurosurgery.
And he chases that thread; once again catching the scent of bark and leaves and loam, except this time it's underlayered with smoke and ash, like a grove of trees scorched to the earth—
There's magic and there's magic, but this is also a literal vial of liquid that she swallowed. Which is currently in her system, a wrecking ball primed to blow through her memories. It's a dark shadow in the nooks and crannies of her mind, a spell slithering along. Stephen hones his attention down to a thin, razor-sharp line, starting to cut and sear around that shadowy mass, until he can reach for it; he seizes it like he's grasping a weed in a garden, and he pulls.
This is going to hurt.
And it hurts her.
It's like yanking on a nerve, pulling it out by the root, grasping it with magical pliers and hauling and hauling until he can try to rip it free from where it's attached to her mind, from where its sticky-grasping tendrils are trying to swallow her whole. ]
no subject
Pain is an old friend to Julia Wicker, much like it is to Stephen Strange. Well, perhaps not a friend, but certainly an enemy. An acquaintance, then, or a companion down the long road. Pain has reminded her that she's alive, that she can still feel anything, and she's found herself accepting that it will always be with her throughout the rest of her life.
Right now, though? Pain's just a bitch.
As numb as she is, she still feels that tugging in her mind, the pulling at something that's woven its way into her and doesn't want to let go. At first, it's just a stinging compressed under the lingering pain from horcruxing herself into the keys, but then it becomes a sharp burning, what's left of her reacting as the magic is crudely extracted.
The sound she makes isn't quite a scream, but only just barely. The guttural cry leaves her throat aching, the sound scraping her raw as it tears its way out of her. All she can do is wrap her hands around the edge of the table and hold on, clenching her muscles tight so she doesn't move and break contact with the man trying to save her. Who knows what that would do them both.
If she goes down, she's not taking him with her. ]
no subject
And it's pernicious. It hangs on; it doesn't want to let go; it wants to burn out her memories and implant its own new identity in her stead. But Stephen continues to burn it out even as she bucks beneath him. The cloak, unprompted, slides over to cover Julia's entire body; it presses down on her like a weighted blanket, striving both to offer comfort and to keep her from thrashing right off the table. ]
Just a little longer, [ he murmurs, head bent over her, lips brushing her ear. ] Almost done.
no subject
Is this the end? What if this doesn't work? What if she forgets who she is or worse? She won't be able to help her friends anymore. She won't be able to tell Stephen how much she'd wanted to help him. She'll just simply... cease to be.
His voice in her ear and the firm pressure over her body anchor her mind to the here and now, keeping her from falling over the edge to a place she might not return from. Just a little longer. She can hold on just a little more. Clenching her eyes shut, tears slip from the corners of her eyes and down her skin to disappear beneath Stephen's fingers. ]
no subject
So he lets go, and that pain finally subsides. Unthinkingly, and mirroring her motion of weeks and months before, he brushes some disheveled hair back from Julia's forehead. And he finally unclenches his jaw and sinks back into one of the wooden library chairs, his elbows against the table beside her, his quivering hands scrubbing at his face. He looks more harrowed than he would've ordinarily let someone see, but it's been a while — years now — since he's had to plumb through someone's mind with so much delicacy, even while he was razing and burning. It's the closest thing to surgery that he's done since becoming a sorcerer.
And then, because despite Stephen's belief in himself, he does still have a trembling fear that maybe he went too far and ripped out too much and left her vegetative and with no memory after all, he has to check: ]
Name? Where were you born? Where are you now? Can you name a few items in this room?
no subject
Or maybe she was just in too much pain before the magical brain surgery that she doesn't notice the addition of any lingering effects. Either way, it's suddenly easier to breathe and think and be. Her muscles loosen and tremble slightly as the tension seeps from her body. ]
Julia Wicker. [ Because of course, she answers his questions, her voice quiet and a little hoarse. ] Montclair, New Jersey. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Stephen Strange, the Cloak of Levitation, and a very uncomfortable table.
[ Turning her head to look at him properly, the smile she offers him is a ghost of what she usually manages but at least it's something. ] You did it. Thank you.
no subject
[ Bone-deep relief, which comes out as a touch of levity: lowering his hands and clasping them in front of him, scrutinising her from his (bedside? tableside?) seat. She'd remembered who she was. She's still cognisant. Good. ]
I actually haven't done magical surgery like that before. I guess there's a first time for everything.
[ Maybe Stephen shouldn't admit to that vulnerability, that gap in his expertise — he certainly wouldn't have if this were a regular operation and a regular surgery and his realm of expertise, lord of his domain at MGH — but they're already past the crux of it, so whatever's gonna happen now is gonna happen. What's done is done. ]
no subject
You're the only person I trusted to do it.
[ He's the only person she trusts, period, right now. Wong and some of the other sorcerers, sure, but only on a superficial level. When it really mattered and the stakes were astronomically high, only Stephen makes that list. But she can't just leave it at that; the corners of her lips turn up in a smirk and she lets her own humor peek out. ]
So that's for not fucking it up.
no subject
"Not fucking it up" is a fantastic celebratory toast. It's so universally-applicable. I'll have to keep that one in mind and break it out whenever relevant.
[ He reaches out, rests his hand on hers. I missed you, he thinks, but pivots and amends the phrasing at the last second: ]
It's good to see you. I'd wondered how you were doing. [ I worried. ] Should we get you to a more comfortable bed and then you can tell me who the hell spiked you with an amnesia potion?
[ Another quick adjustment, oh god, he keeps shoving his foot in his mouth when he's frazzled like this: ]
To your bed, I mean. The Sanctum left it untouched. Your room is still here.
no subject
Bed sounds good.
[ She can't help but smile at his quick scramble to correct course — he's so cute whenever he does that. Turning her hand over beneath his, she wraps her fingers around his scarred ones and gives a gentle squeeze before struggling to sit up. She's halfway up when a thought suddenly occurs to her and she looks at him with fear and worry written across her expression. ]
Is it safe for me to stay here? Not for me, but— The people who did this, it's the Library and Irene McAllistair. If they come looking for me...
[ Will they come looking for her? They couldn't possibly expect her to come here, of all places. And even if they do realize where she fled to, would they really come knocking at the Sanctum's door and risk stirring up trouble with the Masters of the Mystic Arts when they would be certain their spell worked and she wouldn't remember a thing about what they'd done?
The Library is powerful, even more so now that they apparently control the Wellspring. Honestly, Julia doesn't believe the Order will risk damaging any relationship they have with the Masters by hunting down one wayward magician. Irene McAllistair, though... She's one of the rich and powerful among magicians and Julia's really fucked with her shit lately, and since the entitled tend to feel like they can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it, who knows when she might go off the rails. ]
I don't want to cause problems for you and the other Masters.
no subject
If they come looking for you, they'll find a closed and locked door and a barricade. The Sanctum and the Masters take our role as sanctuary seriously. We've taken people in and sheltered them from worse than the McAllistairs.
[ He thinks of America, sheltering at Kamar-Taj and all of the sorcerers banding together to protect her, regardless of the fact that they didn't even know her yet. It hadn't gone well, but... Irene McAllistair might be a talented magician and a known name (her family was the sort of rich moneyed echeleon Stephen might have recognised even before being steeped in magic), but at the end of the day, she was still just a magician. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch. ]
Trust me: as far as bogeymen go, we can handle them. And if the worse comes to worst, the Sanctum temporarily relocates. It's not actually just a building in Greenwich Village. [ Which was probably apparent by the fact that it was bigger on the inside than out, occupying a pocket dimension of its own — he could move it to the moon, if he liked — but it's worth saying aloud. ]
no subject
Thank you.
[ To Stephen. To the Sanctum. To the cloak. To every single Master and apprentice who has devoted themselves to the protection of those who need it most. The universe is a better place because of them and so few will ever know it. Their good deeds with go unacknowledged and they know that — that's not why they do it. She'd been so close to being able to live a life like that, but now...
Shaking herself out of those thoughts, Julia forces herself the rest of the way upright, struggling a little but still managing. She swings her legs over the side of the table, looking down at her boots that dangle above the floor, and then sighs heavily. ]
I don't think I can walk on my own. Would you mind...?
[ Whether she's talking to Stephen or the cloak, it doesn't really matter. She needs help and she's reaching out for it, just like he had that night with the spider. ]
no subject
[ And they're not just dependent on the cloak or the portals. Now that no one's bleeding or having their sense of self dribbling out through their ears, and it's safer to operate the spells (parameters, sometimes it does all come down to parameters, just like the magic she's used to), Stephen stands up and sets his hand on her shoulder. He doesn't need the physical contact, but it's mostly just to steady her. Because he concentrates, and then without even a visible gesture, it's like he tugs the universe just a few inches to the left —
The Sanctum simply rearranges itself around them in a small gust of displaced air, and instead of sitting on the edge of the library table, Julia's suddenly sitting on the soft edge of her bed instead. Familiar bedspread made and tucked in at the corners, the room a little musty from long inattention, but otherwise looking exactly as she left it (and still, as ever, those trees in the wallpaper). Stephen's standing beside her bed now, and his hand is still braced against her shoulder so she doesn't just wobble and fall over.
He'd been more brusque and inconsiderate when doing the same thing with the Asgardians' visit, like yanking the rug out from under Thor and just letting the god reel and trip over himself into bookcases and down the stairs — Stephen can be spiteful at times, it's a character flaw — but he tried to make the transition easier for Julia. It's a little disorienting, having the entire world simply shuffle itself around you and finding yourself in a new location between heartbeats. ]
There.
no subject
She's not connected to anything anymore. Julia is a tiny speck on a rock floating in space once more, her ability to be more and do more torn away by her own hand. The universe had been at her fingertips and she'd given it up of her own free will. ]
Showoff.
[ She doesn't regret her decision — how could she? Even with the Library taking control of the Wellspring, magic is back in the world and the power imbalance isn't an impossible problem to solve. But there's still sadness in her voice where she intended gently jibing humor, and she can feel her throat tightening with emotion. ]
I'm sorry.
[ What is she apologizing for? Not being strong enough to take her fate without tears? Because there they are, blurring her vision and burning her skin as they slip down her cheeks. For placing her pain upon him again, the way she'd done months ago? Because she reaches up to grasp his hand on her shoulder, taking away his easy escape route in her silent request for his continued presence. Or is she apologizing to herself for all she could have been and now never will be?
It's probably all of the above. ]
I'm so sorry.
no subject
Don't apologise.
[ Stephen doesn't even know what she's apologising for, but he delivers the command decisively anyway, granting her a direction. He takes a guess at what might lie behind her apologies, and manages to land on at least one of the reasons: ]
Truly, I've brought far worse things chasing my heels to this building's doorstep. Believe me. If you thought that spider-demon was a problem...
[ He's trying to cheer Julia up with that levity, that downplaying of the Library potentially nipping at her heels, but his voice softens and turns serious again a moment later. And he lets go of her hand, but he exchanges it for sinking to the mattress himself, perching on it beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder. ]
So... What happened? How did your quest go?
no subject
She'll have to ask him for some of those stories later, maybe when she's headed toward another dive into self-pity and needs a good distraction. He can be pretty good at that when he puts his mind to it. ]
We did it. [ She looks at his knees beside hers, feeling too tired to turn to look at him properly. ] It took a while, and it didn't happen like we'd planned, but we did it. Magic's back.
[ Funny, she doesn't sound happy about it. Magic being back is a good thing, she'd done this because she'd believed that with her entire being, and yet... The darkest part of her has to wonder if it was worth the cost. ]
no subject
So you succeeded? It was a victory?
[ But even as he says it, he immediately knows that there's something he doesn't know yet. Some wrinkle in the plan, some catch in how it played out. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks. He'd seen it over and over in his own life: success, but at what cost. ]
no subject
[ Q's pain in the face of what Alice had done still reverberates through her, the memory ingrained in her soul. His anguish had called to her with such strength it had been impossible to ignore. Iris had told her to let go of her connections but that was the one thing Julia was incapable of doing. She sighs heavily and lifts a hand to wearily rub at her eyes. ]
The keys were destroyed by someone who thought she was doing the right thing, and the only way to remake them was with the power of a god.
[ There are specks of glitter on her fingertips as her hand falls to her lap and she realizes how ridiculous she must look. Like she'd gone somewhere in costume, a lowly hedge witch pretending at being a goddess. ]
no subject
You didn't have another run-in with Our Lady of the Underground, did you? Or her— son?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
end ♥