Chapter Text
Stephen Strange isn’t expecting any real excitement to occur. He’s settled into the rhythm of life in Kamar-Taj, and besides his unexpected trip to Mount Everest when the Ancient One was making a point, nothing else really of note has happened to him. So while he’s surrounded by sorcerers (and despite everything, that particular fact still makes him cringe on occasion), he thinks he’s got his weirdness meter pretty much leveled out, given the circumstances.
It ends up hitting him with all the force and subtlety of Stormbreaker to the face.
(Not that he knows what Stormbreaker is in that first breath of pain, but he does in the second, and it makes him want to curse the Asgardian out even though Thor has absolutely nothing to do with his current situation.)
One moment he’s running through the exercises he and the other students are being drilled on for the day, the next he’s hitting his knees as millions of lifetimes suddenly slam their way into existence in his mind.
Fourteen million six hundred and six lifetimes, to be exact.
(His back is bowed, his forehead pressed into the unforgiving cobblestone, his eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to will this all away, and a wordless scream tears its way out of him.)
(It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS)
Fourteen million six hundred and five lifetimes that he’d had suppressed after they’d finally defeated Thanos because the agony of them crippled him even on the best of days. Because he’d spent fourteen million six hundred and five lifetimes fighting beside Tony Stark and there’s only so many times he can be forced to watch a man die, watch a man throw his whole heart into saving everyone and everything before something changes. Before annoyance gives way to grudging respect to true respect to longing to heartache because he knows with a deadly sort of certainty that he’ll never get to keep any of the times they stood side by side. Where Tony Stark will look at him and know him because in none of those lifetimes do they come out on top.
(Steady hands settle on top of his violently shaking ones, hands that are vaguely familiar yet completely unknown to him. It says something about his current state of mind that he doesn’t flinch away from the touch when normally he has to be the one to initiate contact or at least be able to see it coming concerning his hands.)
And then the last lifetime, the one where Tony Stark saved them all at the cost of his own life because they’d been too far into their endgame for Stephen to find any other way. A lifetime he’d expected to have to live without Tony Stark in it, so he’d had Wong help him suppress the memories. And that took with it the memories of two sons and a daughter, none of whom felt the same way about him.
(Bile rises up in his throat because he’d been about to erase one son from his mind a second time, only in a vastly more permanent manner. Before he’d been left with a fleeting longing that they might’ve been close once upon a time, no longer were, but could be again if he just reached out a hand.)
(Look how well that turned out.)
He’s drowning in the deluge of it all. Because the human mind isn’t made to endure thousands upon thousands of lifetimes worth of memories. Eventually, something has to give, and Stephen’s worried (knows) it’ll be his mind. And so he screams through the pain and cries over the renewed heartache and begs for an end, any end, to come and claim him before—
“ꞖȐɆǞƬĦȨ ṦȾĔⱣḪƎŇ”
The ni on divine voice stills the building crescendo of pain in his head. Air rattles in his lungs at its command as he inhales sharply. His bones seem to tremble in his flesh at the rather abrupt absence of pain. Still shaking more than his usual wont, he slowly raises his head from the cobblestones to find a woman he would swear he’s never seen before in his life (yet looks familiar beyond belief) kneeling in front of him. She even still has his wrists clasped in gentle yet sturdy grips that don’t hurt them in the slightest. Though she appeared human, something that remains just on the fleeting edge of his mind warns him that she’s anything but.
“Who—?” He’s unable to choke out the rest of his sentence, his throat is so raw.
For some inexplicably odd reason, her brow furrows into a chiding look. “You know who I am, Stephen Strange.” This time, when she speaks, her voice doesn’t carry anywhere near the weight it did before, although there’s still an obvious hint of eternity. “We have spent countless lifetimes together, you and I.”
He swallows thickly, both in an attempt to wet his throat, and also to dislodge the lump that seems to have lodged itself there. “I don’t—”
*
*
*
*
“Who are you?”
“You know I am, Stephen Strange. We have spent countless lifetimes together, you and I.”
“I was in the middle of casting a rather important spell. There are rifts that will tear apart my reality if I don’t finish it.”
“Indeed you were, and to there you shall be returned at the conclusion of our conversation should that be the course you take.”
“Conversation? What conversation?”
“The one we are having right now.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
*
*
*
*
“Are you trying to imply that you’re, what, an Infinity Stone?”
“Very good, Champion mine.”
*
*
*
*
“Despite his so called noble intentions, Thanos did far more harm than good on his crusade to bring about balance.”
“So this universe, this reality, is coming undone without the stones, without you and your…siblings.”
“Indeed it is. Life, Death, and Fate can only do so much to hold the balance, having had the help of my siblings and I since the dawn of creation. The little bit of excitement you were cleaning up that I pulled you from certainly wasn’t helping matters.”
“And how, exactly, is it possible that we’re even having this conversation? The stones of this reality were destroyed six years ago by Thanos. You were destroyed six years ago.”
“Because of who I am, Champion mine, because of what I am.”
*
*
*
*
“You were correct, Stephen Strange, in your assumption that at the point you dared to go toe to toe with Fate that everything was too far gone to change your final endgame. Perhaps, had we known the true extent of damage the Titan’s mad quest would bring, we might’ve tried for a different outcome after the first Snap. As it was, my siblings and I were overwort by what we had been forced to do and so we retreated when Thanos destroyed the physical forms we’d been unwillingly bound to for centuries in an attempt to heal ourselves. The fractures between realities is what pulled our attention back outwards. You and my sister’s Champion were at the center of it all, and despite our eons of knowledge and experience, this is not a choice we would force on a child unless there was no other option. And it was luck, or perhaps the workings of Fate, that you were the other option.”
*
*
*
*
“Should you choose to try again, with the combined power of all my siblings and the blessings of Life, Death, and Fate, I will return you and the other Champions save one to just before the moment where your Kingmaker was struck too low to ever rise up high enough in time to defeat Thanos.”
“Kingmaker?”
“The one who rallied you all, the one who struck the first major blow against the Titan since he began his mad campaign. Your Kingmaker.”
“Tony Stark.”
*
*
*
*
“You look…human.”
“Midgard was our birthplace, although it had no name at the time. What we were called then, as I can see the question already forming in your mind, is not something a mortal of any sort could bear to speak or hear. Eventually, we became known for what cosmic force we hold dominion over, but that was not who we are . So we chose names for ourselves, names whose meanings originate from the planet that now inhabits the area of our birth.”
“Am I allowed to ask…?”
“Indeed you are, Champion mine. They are ours to do with as we please and you, more than anyone, have earned the privilege to call me by it. My name is—”
*
*
*
*
“Zotia,” Stephen breathes out, staring at the humanoid personification of the Time Stone in both awe and horror as bits and pieces of their conversation suspended between universes, between one second and the next, washes over him.
A terrifyingly gentle smile spreads across her lips. “Hello, Champion mine.”
“Stephen!”
Stephen chokes on nothing when his mentor shouts his name, not having heard the sound in two years (fourteen million six hundred and six lifetimes, or twenty-nine million, six hundred thirty-seven thousand, eight hundred ninety-one years, three months, and twenty-two days, give or take a few hundred years because of Dormammu). He can’t bring himself to turn towards her, even though suddenly he’d like nothing more than to do just that.
Zotia’s head snaps up, a fierce scowl erasing her smile as she barks out, “”
Stephen, in the ensuing silence, rallies himself as best he can as the millions of lifetimes continue to settle in the back of his mind. “When did we land?” he asks hoarsely.
Zotia’s eyes slide back to him, rimmed with the shining green Stephen has come to associate with using the Time Stone (with channeling Zotia’s dominion). “The end of what you mortals will eventually call the Avengers Civil War. The Kingmaker is being cradled by Life as we speak, as her Champion is not yet born, but the Kingmaker will again be her father in all due time.”
Tony’s alive. He knew that was going to be the case, but Tony’s alive (He tries to not think about Morgan, about that amazingly special little girl, because that's the only person Stephen can think of Zotia meaning as Life’s Champion. Of course, how she’s going to be born again is a question for the ages, because if Tony remembers, Stephen can’t see him being in a relationship with Pepper Potts again with that much imbalance of knowledge) (He’s not that strong himself, but he never forced himself onto Tony when the man didn’t reciprocate his feelings. At least in those lifetimes, he got Morgan for however long said lifetime lasted in addition to Peter and Harley).
“Death has his Champion well in hand, and is preventing interlopers from interfering with his and Life’s work. Fate is at their Champion’s bedside, ready to protect him until he can stand on his own once again. All of the other Champions save Soul’s are off world, but will inevitably be making their way here in due time, pulled to the siren call of the Kingmaker.”
Despite feeling like he should already know the answer, Stephen asks, “And who has Soul chosen as their Champion?”
Zotia’s expression grows solemn. “The child we would not ask to make a decision that would affect the entirety of their known universe.”
Stephen’s back goes ramrod straight, even with the jolt of pain moving so suddenly causes (he’d do just about anything for his son, even endure immense amounts of pain) (He did on Ebony Maw’s ship, although he didn’t know it at the time). “Peter.” The boy he’d been moments away from erasing from his memories. The young man who Tony never had the chance to remember seeing grow up. The one who’d lost everything and was most likely freaking out at his abrupt change in location and time. “Where is he?”
“My sister is with him, Champion mine. He will be safe until you all can meet,” Zotia says softly.
He can feel his lips curling back into a snarl, but Stephen doesn’t particularly care (He’s faced off against insurmountable odds before. At least this time he feels like he has a chance of succeeding). “Where is my son, Zotia?” he demands, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
She stares at him for a moment that seems to stretch out for eternity.
(For all he knows, it might be. His sense of time has never been the best since Dormammu and what he did on Titan didn’t help at all.)
Then she reaches out to brush her fingertips over the back of his shaking hand, and a location blooms to life in the back of his mind. Before he can start drowning himself in second guesses, he’s on his feet with his sling ring on his fingers and a portal is sparking into life (for the moment he ignores that the portal is made with green magic as opposed to the usual yellow) moments later. His breath catches in the back of his throat at the image that blooms into existence before him. The kneeling form of the boy he could possibly one day truly call son (he’d learn to tolerate any name that the kid saddled him with, if only he would let Stephen into his life again) with a figure awash in golden colors wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders, the faint sounds of hitched sobs nearly drowned out by the bustling city spread out beyond the roof that they’re situated on.
“Peter!”