Stand As Heroes » Quicksilver

chapter twelve

12 x my life somehow gets even more strange (pun intended)

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[ FORTY-FIVE-AND-A-HALF HOURS LEFT ]

[ Megan's POV ]

Okay, first off, waking up to find yourself looking down at yourself is terrifying.

Add to that that there's some other semi-transparent-guy floating in front of himself? Double terrifying.

I felt like I ought to have been having a panic attack. But I wasn't. Not that I could feel, anyway. Needless to say, I was confused. I looked between my body and the other guy's floating form rapidly.

He had an intricate goatee, like Tony's but different, and dark hair with gray on the sides, and he was dressed ... well, like some sort of fancy wizard. He had a red cape on, for crying out loud. But it didn't look like Thor's or Vision's, it looked older ... different.

"Am I dead," was the first thought that came out of my mouth as I fell-slash-stepped away from my physical body and essentially ended up hovering upright over the floor. Oh, gosh. "Who are you?"

He smiled slightly, and it wasn't a sinister smile, plus his eyes — in spite of holding evident, sharp intelligence — looked kind. Like he'd been expecting my reaction. When I asked who he was, though, he laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were Stark's kid. That was the first thing he asked me, too."

My brain was still set firmly in panic mode, which was why I asked, "He asked you if he was dead?"

Wizard-guy laughed a little freer that time before he shook his head. "No, he asked who I was. And no, Megan, you're not dead. You — we — are currently experiencing astral projection. That's why you look transparent."

I swallowed as I tried to absorb this new information. Now that my panic was subsiding, I took a look around myself, and recognized that we were in an examination room. A more attentive look revealed it was the Facility's medical center — such became even more evident when I turned and saw Wanda and Bruce on the other side of the glass, speaking amongst themselves in tones I couldn't hear.

"I'm Doctor Stephen Strange," Wizard-guy continued. I turned back to look at him. "I'm a friend of Thor's. He thought that maybe I could help you."

I looked down at where I — my body — was laying on the table. I didn't look great. Paler than normal, and because I knew to pay attention to the subtle detail, I could tell even with my eyelids closed that my eyes were glowing gold. Otherwise I couldn't discern that much; couldn't feel my own heartbeat, or even temperature. "Astral projection is weird," I decided aloud, though my voice was steadier this time. I turned back to Stephen Strange. "Can you help me?"

He seemed to consider the question for a moment, and he watched me — the astral me — thoughtfully as he did so. "I think so. I'm going to try. But I will say, Megan, that to me it seems at least part of this depends on you."

I bristled and immediately felt defensive. "What does that mean?"

"It means that your problem does not seem to be entirely due to your genetics," Strange said plainly. His expression softened then, as did his tone, and while his next words were still blunt they were spoken much more gently. "I won't lie, that's definitely a contributing factor, but it isn't the only factor. Part of the problem is you."

I scowled. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, well, neither does astral projection, to be fair," Strange said with a wry smile. "Yet here we are."