An Imaginary Throne // Doctor Strange // Far From Home

Chapter Sixteen // it's not your fault

"NO, PLEASE NO." Stephen gasps into Casey's hair, pulling her close to his shuddering chest as sobs wrack his body. Wanda kneels at his side, an expression of pity defined by her features. It's an emotion that would have repelled him had he the strength to look up and see it.

"Is she?"

"She's gone-"

In her presence, he blinks back his tears, rubbing his reddened cheeks with one hand while the other untangles Casey's knotted hair. Wanda speaks but he can't hear it. Her words grow dense and muffled as he succumbs to the aching of his chest and wishes the pain would take him too.

"Stephen. Stephen!" She repeats and he finally looks up, lower lip trembling.

"How long has it been?"

Stephen exhales slowly, struggling to keep his voice steady when he responds, "A few minutes. Two?"

It was different, to lose a patient and a loved one. All the death he'd seen in the world of medicine and magic hadn't numbed him to the sensation but rather, amplified it.

Wanda stands carefully, planting her feet on the concrete to avoid slipping on the rubble around them, "It's a long shot, but I think I know someone who can help. Can you lift her?"

"She's gone. She's gone, Wanda." He chokes but obliges, climbing to his feet with one hand wrapped around her torso and the other beneath her legs. He staggers forward, face twisted with pain and Wanda has to dart forward when he stumbles, barely steadying him before he hits the ground. She stares in shock at the bloody gash across his midsection, surprised she hadn't seen it earlier.

"Okay, stop. Just stand there." She says, placing one hand on Casey's shoulder and the other on his.

"Fingers crossed this works."

"What-"

A whirlwind of red descends upon them before he can continue, forcing him to squeeze his eyelids shut and breathe through the sleeve of his robes as the dust chokes his lungs. When the air stills, he draws his arm away, eyes widening at the sight of a 50s retro lounge room. With Casey secured in his arms, he sits on the leather couch behind him, mouth agape in disbelief.

"Where are we?"

"Nevermind that," She says, frowning at the blood seeping into the fabric of his seat, "Stay with her, I'm gonna call my friend."

For a moment he watches, incredulous, as she dials a number on the rotary dial of a mustard yellow telephone and speaks indistinctly down the line before averting his gaze to the room. He drinks in the colour, glad to be away from the bleak gray of the warehouse though the increasing amount of ancient technology confounds him.

"You're not actually in the 50s," Wanda says, bringing his attention back to her before redirecting it to a window behind two lace blinds. Seeing how reluctant he is to move away from Casey, she opens them herself.

"We're in New York," She says as he recognises the skyline, realising they're on at least the tenth floor of an apartment complex, "This building is in a sort of time bubble. No one will find us here unless we want them to. To the outside world, this place doesn't even exist."

Stephen jumps when the doorbell rings, the sound chiming across the house for a short moment before Wanda moves for the door. Left alone, he sits in silent apprehension, staring down at Casey and willing the magic that roars through his veins to travel into her and heal the damage, though he knows it's impossible. Voices appear in the corridor and he shifts Casey off his lap, alarmed by the intensity of the discussion. Alive or not, he'll defend her till his last breath, though his concern is short-lived.