While art is subjective, your hate for Stephen Vincent Strange was pure and simple. An arrogant, crude and tasteless man. One of close-minded thinking and a lack of creativity.
This was the type of person any artist like you would despise.
~~~
All...
Stephen's magic had summoned a wet cloth for your forehead, dipped in some sort of concoction detailed by the book. It seemed to slowly extract a green wisp which was then transferred into a vial, the stopper made of dark silver with runes carved into its top.
The team watched in anticipation as he tended to your mental wounds, not knowing what to do besides stand around and wait for his conclusion.
"Nothing threatening," he whispers in relief, "Nightmare didn't find anything too important to use against her," Stephen explains, "apparently, whatever Y/n fears is equal with each other," but they seem to still not understand, "to Y/n, losing Tony, for example, is just as bad losing Sam, she sees both equally as horrific and... nightmare-ish,"
"I feel loved, I suppose," Clint shrugs, "what about the kid? Surely that creepy dude knows losing Peter would be the worst thing ever for Y/n,"
"Apparently it would be the same as losing Wanda or Pietro. Nightmare didn't mention Peter- no offence to the kid," he then adds on, "it probably saved Y/n, if he found something that turned out to be her deepest, darkest fear then... well, who knows? Demons are unpredictable,"
Wanda kneels down beside him, taking your hand, "so does she have to stay here?"
"Maybe... just to keep a watch in case anything changes," he knew it was for the best that you were under a watchful eye. It would give him peace of mind. Besides, you would be back in the tower and your own bed by tomorrow evening if nothing suddenly appeared.
"Alright," Nat places a hand on Wanda's shoulder, "we should get back, we can come back tomorrow for an update," with reluctance, the team soon left you in the trusty care of two sorcerers and a cloak, only one being medically trained in a professional setting; luckily it wasn't the cloak.
"Alright, up you get," Stephen carried you gently in his arms, "Wong? Mind making some tea?"
"What else am I here for?" he secures the saddle back on the wall, binding it with magical chains.
He shook his head, elbow soon against the handle of his bedroom. It was a large enough space, in fact sometimes it felt too large. It felt empty. His iPad was moved away by the cloak as Stephen nudged back the duvet just for you. "Y/n? Can you hear me?" he asks once, waiting for a reply.
"Hm?" you slowly adjust in the bed, the sheets feeling almost foreign. "What's going on?"
"It's me," he sat on the edge of the bed, "do you remember anything?" he took out a small light, "do you mind if I check you for a concussion?"
"I'm fine, you idiot," there didn't feel to be a single thing wrong with your body, all you were was exhausted. "Let me sleep,"
"You're still in your uniform, you know?" he stands up, going to find an old hoodie for you to throw on, "I'm going to give you one of my hoodies, which I expect back, alright?"
"Fine," you grumble, not enjoying the fact you were woken up from a nice and deserved nap. Then the fabric hit your face, covering the warm light from the lamps which was just a bonus.
"I'm going to leave the room, then I need to check you for any magical injuries, got it?" he says, walking to the door. "Y/n?"
"Check up, got it," you give a thumbs up, taking your time to get up with an audible groan. Eventually you did place the shirt on, garments thrown to the ground and body slumping back under the covers. Two knocks ring into the room, and when Stephen heard no stalling, he knew you had probably fallen back asleep.
He sighs when his suspicions were correct, the tray he now held being placed by the bedside. "Y/n, just let me do my job, then you can have some healing tea and sleep for three days if you want,"
"Weeks," you turn his way, "make it quick," sitting up slowly, you rub your eyes and allow him to run his magic around the crown of your head and down your spine. He will admit, you in his Columbia University hoodie was something he never thought he would see, but here you were with the sleeves falling further over your hands than they should.
"Well you're not dead," he states obviously, passing the mug over which you sip reluctantly at. "Now you can sleep, but if you need anything then I'll just be at my desk," he points to the corner of the room where the lamp was on and laptop on sleep mode.
"Shit... is this your bed?" you suddenly realise, "I can go back to-"
"Just sleep, okay? If I need a nap I'll kick you off," he jokes, putting the mug aside and patting your shoulder. "Night,"
"Goodnight..." guilt did trickle in for the situation he was now in but with his persistence, what could you do?
~~~
Midnight had struck and so did a chilly breeze. The window had been left open and to your dismay, you were right within its path. Your feet touched the cool floor, treading lightly to pry it shut before realising you were in fact not alone in the room. Stephen was fast asleep at his desk, the uncomfortable position likely to give him horrid back pains in the morning.
"Stephen," you slowly place your hand on his shoulder, shaking it while the cloak suddenly rushes over, "hey, clown, get up and to your bed,"
"Go back to bed, Y/n," he grunts back, shifting in his sleep, "I'm fine here,"
"No you're not," prodding his head with your finger a few times, he eventually catches it and glares up, "bed, now."
"Fine, fine, but if I kick you in my sleep then I don't want to hear a single word of it," he stood up, taking a moment to crack his back in the process.
"I'll kick right back," you jump back in bed and curl up, sipping at the now cold tea.
Stephen passes by you to his closet which was within another section of the large room, a part of the wall hiding him as he changed. Though you saw no point as he soon walked back, sweatpants drawstrings pulled tight and chest bare; not that you hadn't seen him shirtless before but it still caught you off guard. He stretches again, ruffling his hair up prior to settling in under the covers. "Happy now?" he places his hand behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
"Nah, I miss the empty bed, get out," you nudge his leg before chuckling, "night, idiot,"
"Night," he gives an amused huff.
~~~
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Woke up at 6:30am to update, you're welcome, Mark 😎
