so i had two big assignments due friday, with a 7 1/2 hour shift of work in the middle. i got both in on time (one with 1 min to spare :)))) ) and they were p not great - saturday another 7 hour work shift - now i have a video due tomorrow that i haven’t started and im sick :))))))))))
Requested by @awesomea353 (and several others, who I pasted at the bottom :D)
Summary: When a new wizard/doctor joins your team, it becomes much harder to keep your secret.
Warning: whump, sickness
Note: Holy crap, I’ve never had that much response to a story before. I’m glad you guys like it :D I guess I’ll have to just keep upping the angst and pain.
His hands weren’t as dexterous as they used to be.
They shook, and tingled and ached when he began the compressions on your chest. He was going to feel the pain later, but he wasn’t thinking about that. It didn’t matter right now.
It had all been so sudden--how did he let this happen? One. Two. Three. Four…
It had been a long time since Stephen Strange performed CPR.
“STARK!”
He forced your heart to beat against its will, listening to the cartilage crack in your sternum. You were still motionless beneath his hands. All the color had left your face, and no breath passed your lips. Every sign of life was gone, as if something had slowly siphoned it out--which it had.
“Stark, get your medical team ready!” He paused in the compressions only long enough to throw off his yellow glove, feel for a pulse at your neck…
Nothing.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…
Tony chattered back at him through the radio, but Stephen wasn’t paying attention.
He had seen this coming. Almost from the first moment he’d met you, he’d suspected, he’d known what was wrong. Why hadn’t he done anything?
“Breathe,” he muttered at you. Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six-- “Breathe.” He felt a weak flutter beneath his fingers.
After thirty compressions, Stephen cursed. He grabbed your face, tilted your head back, and sealed his mouth over yours.
Breathe.
Stay with…
Flatline!
Three, two, one...clear!
Breathe. Breathe…
Voices.
It felt like you listened to them for an eternity before finally drifting back to consciousness.
It took far too much effort to drag your eyes open...and, after that, far too long to realize that you didn’t recognize your surroundings.
You were in a bed--a huge, cherrywood, four-poster bed, and buried up to your neck in heavy quilts that smelled like your grandmother’s house. The room was decorated in dark colors, and warmed by an enormous, crackling hearth at the other end.
It definitely wasn’t Avengers Tower.
You tried to think. No light was peeking through the curtained windows, so it had to be nighttime; that seemed odd. Had it been nighttime when you were in the…?
The battle.
Your breath caught in your throat. Where were the Avengers? Even more pressing: where were you?
Move. Leave. Now. You pushed back the covers, and that simple effort left you gasping. Your muscles were weak, as if you’d just run a marathon. When you looked down at your hands, you found that they were wrapped in heavy white bandages from your elbows all the way to your fingers. You wiggled your fingers experimentally...they were stiff, and clumsy, but at least you could feel them.
The sight of the bandages made you pause. How had the battle ended...had someone injured you? Was that why you felt so weak?
While you paused to think, the floor started to tilt beneath you. It took a few seconds of recovery before you could continue.
Your hands and fingers were no help as you climbed slowly from the bed; you could feel them, but that didn’t stop them from trembling. Finally you were on your feet, panting, with your back against the bedpost.
Blood roared through your ears, overpowering your senses for a few seconds, and you had to close your eyes until it passed. The sound of the voices slowly returned. Right...the voices. You had to find them.
The door was next to the bed, but even walking to it seemed an insurmountable distance. You gulped back nausea before releasing the bedpost, and stumbling toward it like a drunken sailor.
It pushed open beneath your shaking hands. That was good news, at least--you weren’t locked in, so you probably weren’t somebody’s prisoner.
Probably.
But, even if you were: would you have the strength to fight them off?
As you stepped through the door, holding yourself up against the wall, you became even more confused: beyond the bedroom lay what appeared to be the upper gallery of an old, wood-paneled...museum? Where the hell were you?
You heard the voices again, much louder now. Good--you were going in the right direction.
You started to circle the gallery, your shoulder scraping along the wall. As you walked, you studied your surroundings.
Whatever this place was, it was beautiful. There were glass cases full of unusual museum artifacts: weapons, books, tapestries. Up ahead, shadowed by a strange round window high in the wall, was an enormous grand staircase. At least four people could climb it side by side. It started at your level, and descended to the one below. Did it lead to the exit? You walked toward it.
When you reached the top of the stairs, you finally discovered the source of the voices. Leaning against the rail, talking to another man in a low voice, was Tony Stark.
He saw you immediately. “Kid,” he said in surprise.
The other man turned; it was Doctor Strange. At the sight of him, your stomach twisted in knots.
The look on Strange’s face made you think, for a moment, that he was concerned about you (or maybe he was just frowning at you. Too soon to tell).
“You should be resting,” said Strange, his voice stern. He was wearing his red cloak; the corner of it fluttered gently in your direction. His hands were gloved, and he was rubbing them as if they were in pain.
Dozens of questions flooded your mind. When you spoke, you intended to be confident and demanding...but you were cold and shaky. You were huddled against the wall to stay upright. “...Where am I?” Your voice came out a rasp. You grimaced.
“New York,” said Doctor Strange, crossing his arms. “The Sanctum Sanctorum.”
“The Sanct…the what?” You’d never heard of the place. “Why are we here? What happened to the battle? We were--”
Your foot slid out from under you. Doctor Strange stepped toward you quickly, but you found your balance again.
“Whoa, easy--don’t worry, we won,” said Tony. “They surrendered.”
You closed your eyes, and sighed in relief. We won. At least you hadn’t ruined that.
“You gave us all a real big scare out there,” Tony continued. His smile was tired as he said it. “Everybody was worried.”
“Scare?” You frowned in thought, but still came up empty. “...What happened?”
Tony and Strange looked at each other.
“You don’t remember?” said Tony.
“You collapsed,” said Strange. “You were overdrawing on your powers...you went too far.”
He made eye contact with you then, and you couldn’t read his expression. His brow furrowed even more, and you swallowed.
“Okay. How long was I out?”
Strange grimaced. “Five days.”
“Five--”
“You were in the hospital,” he explained. “I...pulled a few strings with your doctor, and had you released here.”
You still weren’t entirely sure where here was. You shook your head slowly in disbelief. “But I’m out of the hospital, so...I can go home?”
“Well...actually.” Tony adjusted his tinted glasses; he put his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his feet. “You’re gonna stay here.”
You stared at him as if he’d hit you between the eyes. “...what?”
"This is the best place for you to get better,” said Tony. “They’re good at this kinda stuff.”
You looked around at the strange museum, and raised an eyebrow doubtfully. “But...what about the team?”
“Don’t worry.” Tony was probably trying to comfort you when he added, “We’ll be fine without you.”
He might as well have punched you in the chest.
“Just for a while,” Tony promised. “You really need to take a breather, kid.”
You shook your head rapidly and looked down, noting (ignoring) the way that your legs trembled beneath you. “But I’m...I’m fine.”
“Fine? You can barely stand, and you think it’s just fine.” Strange let out a small, harsh laugh. “Your body needs to heal. You have to take time off for that.”
And suddenly, you felt yourself getting defensive. “Oh, take time off? Leave the team in your capable hands?” you snapped, glaring. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Tony looked at you in bewilderment. Strange fixed you with a hard, even expression, and suddenly you wanted to hide. Was there enough room inside one of those museum display cases?
“Maybe you were too busy collapsing on the battlefield to notice,” Strange said, slowly measuring every word. “But, your heart stopped. As in: stopped beating. Twice.” He rubbed his hands again, but never tore his eyes off you. “So, yeah...I would love it if you quit working yourself into cardiac arrest! I think that would be great.”
You pushed yourself up from the wall, shaking. You told yourself it was from anger. “I didn’t see you doing anything out there to help me,” you spat. “All you were doing was--was showing off.”
Strange clenched his mouth shut. His fists tightened inside his yellow gloves, and you would have sworn they were trembling. He stared at you without expression. He had to be furious; that, at least, gave you a little bit of satisfaction. Strange wasn’t going to take your job that easily.
You took a shaky breath, swaying, and turned to Tony. The poor man was staring back and forth between you and Strange.
“I’m sorry, kid...” Tony smiled apologetically. “It’s for your own good. Don’t worry, you’ve got the best of the best looking after you.”
“Who?” you muttered, blinking to clear your vision.
Tony raised his eyebrows at you. “I thought you…uh--” He cleared his throat. Then he pointed at Doctor Strange.
For a few seconds, you stared at the wizard blankly. Then your blood froze in your veins. “...you?”
Strange grimaced. “Yeah.” He gave you that unreadable expression again.
You stared at him, eyes wide. “...oh.”
Forget hiding in the display case--maybe you could just shrivel up, and become one of the artifacts.
Tony rocked on his feet, and clapped his hands together. “Okay, uh. I’m gonna--go…” He started for the stairs. “Team’ll probably come by, they wanna...see you...try not to kill each other, okay? Okay...yeah...feel better, kid.”
He headed for the door. The Cloak waved him goodbye. He left you and Strange to stand at the top of the stairs, staring at each other.
You looked at the floor--wondered how much longer you could keep standing. The silence quickly grew unbearable. “Doctor…” you began, slowly.
He cut you off. “Listen.” His voice was very slow and controlled. “You have absolutely no idea how to use your powers--and I do. If using them correctly--using them safely--means that I’m ‘showing off,’ then...fine, so be it.” He looked at you for the first time, pinning you with his pale eyes. You wanted to say that he was angry; but there was something else in the expression that you couldn’t place.
“Either way,” he continued, “I’m going to make sure that you learn what you’re doing. Because if you keep stretching yourself the way you did on that battlefield? It. Will. Kill you. And...I can’t let that happen.” He took a deep breath.
Your eyes were round as dinner plates by the time he finished. You swallowed. “I…” But all you could really do was stare at him. Your pulse was fluttering again. Maybe letting go of the wall hadn’t been such a good idea.
The Cloak of Levitation was fluttering nervously, patting Strange’s neck and arm. You suddenly realized that the Cloak was trying to calm him down--and that it seemed to work.
Strange looked away, shaking his head. “...sorry.” His eyes darted up to yours, only for a moment. “We can start in the morning...you should still be resting.” His voice grew gentler. “Do you need help back to bed?”
You blinked. “No, I...n-no.” Even if you were starting to feel faint. Shakily, you put your hand on the wall, and turned back toward your room, trying not to feel mortified.
How wrong had you been about the wizard?
He stayed where he was, watching you move unsteadily to the door. When your hand touched the knob, he called your name.
You looked back, swallowing, abashedly meeting his eyes. “...yeah?”
Strange clasped his yellow-gloved hands together, studying his boots. “I just, wanted to say. You only have to learn from me...no one says you have to like me.” He looked up, and gave you a small, tight smile. A sad smile.
It only made you feel a thousand times worse.
“...goodnight.” Before you could reply, Doctor Strange turned away, walking to another door on the opposite side of the gallery. His Cloak fluttered in your direction as he went. Your eyes met once more, then the sorcerer disappeared into his room.
As soon as he was gone, you slumped against the door and groaned. In less than twenty minutes, you had insulted, snapped at, and misjudged the one person who was willing to help you--the one person who might be able to save your place in the Avengers.
You covered your face with your hand.
Off to a great start.
EDIT: Read part 3 now!
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would you guys rather: have the next chapter of Stretched Thin as soon as I finish it, or wait longer so I have the rest of the story mostly done? (there will be six chapters total)
ALRIGHT. I'VE KINDA MISSED THE 2ND PART OF STRETCHED THIN. (because tumblrdothell didn't notify me) BUT OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS. IT WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!! The start was just angst all over again. And the little hints, that Strange is in pain, because of the CPR and that he is (maybe?) hurt by the readers words and. Ah. I. Just. Wanna. Hug. Him. The End was just hurt. Much hurt. Much much hurt. But I liked, NO LOVED IT! I can't wait to read the 3rd part. So keep up the good work and have a nice day.
I’m so glad you love it!!
Angst!! Recovery!! Doctor Strange’s cheekbones!!
I really love it and I’m glad other people do too! Part 3 is next on my to-do list, after I finish what I’m working on now…
