Work Text:
I'm gonna shake my fetters,
I'm breaking loose.
I’m gonna go back,
I’m gonna go back--
-Glass Animals, Flip
O’Bengh placed a mug of hot tea on the table in front of Stephen as his vision began to blur. He clutched a scroll covered in lilting handwriting and as his eyes watered, the words twisted into soft inky suggestions of letters. O’Bengh had a knack for bringing tea when Stephen needed it the most, after he’d lost track of time in the library and teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Stephen placed the scroll on a stack of books near the edge of the table, far from the tea. He didn’t trust his blurred vision and his hands shook with exhaustion as he reached for the chipped mug.
Stephen wrapped both hands around the too-warm porcelain and brought it to his face despite the sting of heat against his skin. Dark tea leaves and rich bergamot flooded his senses as he inhaled deeply over the steaming liquid. Earl Grey was exactly what he needed to push through the fatigue. Hot liquid scalded his lips and tongue when he drank too much, too fast. He couldn’t remember when he’d slept more than four hours, the mounds of books scattered around him speaking to a relentless pursuit of knowledge that put some of his hundred-hour weeks during residency to shame. There had been some limits then, as a resident couldn’t work the floor with shaking hands. Now...
Now he had to figure out how to prove everyone wrong and save Christine.
Time had no impact on his grief. Something dark and painful twisted in his chest when he thought about her, anguish rising in his throat like bile until he choked, the pain as intense as it was the instant he’d realized she was gone. Stephen lowered his mug and when the tea sloshed over the sides and splattered against the table, it was due to barely restrained emotion, not a lack of sleep.
Stephen had discovered and mastered magic with the same methodical consumption of knowledge that saw him through medical school, except the lectures on pathology and microbiology labs had been replaced with monsters, alternate dimensions, and entities with immense power. If magic existed, Stephen reasoned, there had to be a way to bring Christine back; he just had to find it.
That was his mantra as he counted his breathing--inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight, and repeat--until the repetition slowed his racing heart and his determination allowed him to swallow back the agony that threatened to come up with the tea he’d gulped.
When Stephen could breathe without counting, he finished his tea before reaching for the discarded scroll.
He was going to save Christine.
***
Stephen fought to push through it but after so many days of little to no sleep, he eventually passed out. The forced resets were so deep he couldn't access his astral form. His dreams were hazy events, glittery galas teeming with colors from the sharp contrast of back and white tuxedos against a rainbow’s spectrum of sleek gowns and dresses, to towers of fizzy golden champagne and shiny silver platters of hors d'oeuvres.
His sleeve rode up on his arm as he held a door open for Christine, a Rolex sliding into view on his wrist. He tried to focus on her features as they wandered through the event but Christine never looked at him. She took his arm when he offered it and they waltzed across the dance floor, Stephen guiding her through a close box step before a quick dip. Christine collided with his chest, breathless with laughter from the sudden move, and buried her face against his shoulder. Stephen wanted to pull back and look at her, memorize the lines of laughter that broke up the plains of her face as she smiled brightly, but he settled for holding her close. He pressed his cheek against the crown of her head and tried to catch the perfume she was wearing but he couldn’t smell her perfume. Confusion worried at him, frustration growing when he couldn't make himself pull away to look at Christine properly, but from deep within his mind, unbidden, broken memories rose to the surface: a loud crash and loss of control, spinning before sinking in cold, cold water. Stephen knew the truth then but chose to focus on the visage of Christine, not the memories that threatened to drag his consciousness to the surface.
“I’m right here,” Christine murmured. Stephen tried to pull back and tell her no, she was dead, he’d watched her die over and over as he’d tried to undo it. His mouth tasted like char and he wanted to assure her that he was going to find a way to bring her back, but the words wouldn't come and Christine turned to ash in his arms.
Stephen woke with a gasp, burning hot and soaked with sweat. The sheets on his straw mat clung to his damp skin.
It was worse than the dreams where he was still the best neurosurgeon in America, earning accolade after accolade for the procedures he mastered. Christine was by his side in those, too. Since he’d met her as an intern at Metro-General Hospital, she’d been the only one to successfully call him out when he lapsed into self-absorbed perfectionism. She had been the only person to draw his eye away from his career, matching his sharp barbs with her fierce wit and refusal to back down.
Stephen had thought of Christine as his equal in fervor and drive, and she inspired him to be worthy of her affection. He’d never wanted to better himself for anyone else, never considered his tone or approach until he met her.
In Christine, Stephen found something that paralleled his passion for surgery: love. More than his watches, the awards, the medical journal articles. More than his confidence in the operating room.
Stephen wasn't asked to choose between his career and his love for Christine, but he would have chosen Christine. After Christine's death, surgery ceased to exist for Stephen. His career didn’t matter without her because nothing mattered without her. There was no color in his world. No joy. No hope. Only the gaping loss of the most important thing in his life.
His discovery of the mystic arts created a spark of hope that he cradled within, pushing him to learn everything he could from the other sorcerers and the libraries at Kamar’Taj. If magic could be studied like neuroscience and practiced like surgery, Stephen could find a way to save Christine the same way he had grown to be the best neurosurgeon in the United States: commitment and tenacity.
It didn’t hurt as much when he told himself he'd see her again. The focus enabled him to fight off Kaecilius, spend an eternity bargaining with Dormammu, and step into the role of Sorcerer Supreme when Mordo disappeared.
Throughout it all, Stephen fought with a singular purpose: Christine.
There were moments when the grief softened until it felt like dull background noise. When this happened, Stephen thought he could find peace in the life he was living and let go, even if the pain never completely subsided. Those were long evenings in the Sanctum Sanctorum, Cloak tucked tightly around him as if it could sense his thoughts. Stephen would turn the Eye of Agamotto over and over in his hands and wonder if he’d ever be strong enough to try. Doubt would accompany the idea of complacency, of his path moving him further away from Christine rather than back to save her life.
The grief always came back. When it was too much, when any other version of himself would have given up entirely, Stephen tried to manipulate the Time Stone. It failed and so did the Ancient One's attempt to stop him. Stephen opened a portal with pure desperation and need.
A thick jungle opened up to a sheer cliff wall, a massive entryway carved into the mountainside. The discovery of the Lost Library of Cagliostro eliminated his self-doubt; if he wasn’t meant to bring Christine back, he never would have found the library.
Stephen met the groundskeeper, O'Bengh, was assigned a room, and then began to read. Day after day he read, searching for answers in the tomes and journals of those that had come before him. He kept notes and attempted to draft spells that rarely worked, always missing something when he tried to spin new patterns of runes into existence. Sometimes he’d see the glimmer of energy spark like his first feeble attempts at creating portals, swirls of red and gold that spun once or twice before fading.
Once or twice each week he’d black out due to a lack of sleep, then wake up from discomforting dreams in his tiny room. O’Bengh never told Stephen that he was the one who returned Stephen to his room, nor that he provided any healing, but Stephen always felt better than he knew he should, rested and recharged despite how hard he pushed himself.
Rested, he’d start reading again.
Stephen's first breakthrough after the discovery of the library was the book that detailed the physics of the multiverse and how absolute points worked. Breaking an absolute point was possible, the tome explained, with enough power. The text warned there were dire consequences, that universes with broken absolute points tended to destabilize rapidly until they imploded, ceasing to exist. He thought that if he could wield enough power to break an absolute point, he’d be able to stabilize the universe, too.
Stephen researched power sources next.
When Stephen woke in his room, the books on mythical beasts and creatures were stacked neatly on his bedside table with a pitcher of water, an empty glass, and an orange. Stephen dressed as sweat cooled on his skin and left his dirty sheets wrinkled on the mat. He poured a glass of water before he settled into the chair, sunlight spilling through the window and across his lap, and opened the book he'd found last. The alphabet used inside resembled crude hieroglyphics that had been written with thick fingers dipped in wet ink, smeared and smudged symbols that dripped down the pages. Stephen closed the book and traced his fingers over the impressions in the worn leather cover and murmured a translation spell. The symbols morphed into broken English, revealing the title: Elder Gods.
This could prove interesting, he thought.
***
When he created the summoning portal, he let his hurt fuel his casting. The creature that burst through was all tentacles and long, creeping shadows. Voices whispered around him in a language he couldn't quite make out, growing louder as Stephen asked nicely if the creature would lend some of its power to him. Just a tentacle or two would do, Stephen thought as several began to race across the floor toward him.
Stephen realized he'd miscalculated when a thick tentacle struck quickly, wrapping around his ankle with a firm grip. He tried to cast a fire spell to force it to loosen its grip as it yanked him off his feet, and the rush of being airborne as he was thrown toward the high ceiling was the last thing he remembered.
Stephen knew he wasn't dead when he woke in severe pain. The bright light filtering through his window was blinding. A long shadow passed between himself and the window and someone pressed a cool cloth against his forehead.
“Mystic beings do not bargain,” O'Bengh said as Stephen's eyes gradually adjusted to the room. O'Bengh sat in the chair next to Stephen's bed.
Stephen had learned that the hard way but kept the thought to himself as O'Bengh dipped the cloth into a bowl of water.
The librarian looked concerned when Stephen didn't respond. “Their powers are not meant for man,” O’Bengh continued gently.
“Those beings have what I need,” Stephen growled and hoped O’Bengh wouldn’t want to fight as the Ancient One had. His body felt as if he'd been mangled, but he would fight as much as he could if O'Bengh insisted.
O’Bengh’s voice was soft, his expression knowing. “Is she worth the pain?”
If any absolutes existed that couldn't be broken by brute force, Stephen's conviction was one.
“Every second of it.”
***
Stephen researched as his body healed. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice (and wasn't sure he'd survive if he did).
After a week of hot tea, sponge baths, warm broth, and plenty of reading, Stephen was ready for showers and solid food. Four days later he was ready to try again.
Armed with his research on creatures of varying power levels scattered across dimensions throughout the multiverse, Stephen returned to the underground chamber where he’d attempted the first summoning.
Stephen cast his circle, sent his will to a pocket dimension adjacent to Earth, and yanked on the first minor mystical power he sensed. A small gnome appeared in the circle. It blinked and looked around before chittering in confusion. Stephen didn’t hesitate: he opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and pulled with his will. He felt the creature struggle as it drew nearer, fear increasing with proximity, but it could not get away: its essence sank into Stephen through his chest as a rush of power swept through his body. Stephen gasped and forced open eyes he didn't remember shutting. The dark room was alight with a phosphorescent glow that illuminated soft mosses creeping down the walls and fungi growing between the gaps in the stone bricks. Bright mold spores were caked in the corners of the room and a handful of them floated lazily in the slight air current that passed between doorways.
Stephen blinked and the room was dark once again.
He flexed his hands, felt the tingle of foreign magic spark like static beneath his skin, and smiled.
“Alright, what’s next?”
***
Next was another Earth adjacent summoning, this one from a future timeline. An insectoid creature taller than Stephen appeared in the circle, wrapped in a dark cloak that teemed with latent magic. Stephen grimaced at the creature, but the cloak caught his eye. It looked well-made with a high collar, intricate embroidery work, and an impressive flare. It wasn't the Cloak of Levitation he'd left behind, but it was a nice cloak. Stephen removed it from the creature with a flick of his wrist. As the fabric settled over his shoulders, draping neatly as if tailored, Stephen dismissed the insectoid and examined the cloak, murmuring his approval as he ran his fingers over the neat stitchwork. The Cloak, as he would come to think of it, rippled in pleasure beneath his appreciative consideration.
Stephen straightened his shoulders, the Cloak's collar perked up, and he summoned the next creature.
A raven with three sets of eyes and wings that stretched into the shadows appeared. When Stephen started to absorb its essence, it fought back with sharp quills that sliced through his astral form. Stephen heard a teasing voice speaking directly in his skull, incomprehensible rhymes spoken in a melodic pattern, accompanied by the sound of an inky nib scratching across dry paper, and he took it all within himself. With a deep inhale, the shadows of wings expanded behind him and Stephen could see a faint overlay of dimensions layered upon dimensions, all rife with power for the taking, just beneath his wings--
“More.”
Dragon flames seared through him, burning away all impurities as he became one with the beast, roaring for all to hear. There was a forgotten god forged in the center of creation, with curling horns and a baying yell that announced its pleasure at being chosen by him. With each, Stephen's power grew until he was summoning demi-gods and major demons. He pacified harbingers of death and winged beasts teeming with wild chaos, forcing their acquiescence as he pulled them into his being, one after the other.
Stephen didn’t notice when he stopped registering thirst and hunger. His mortal needs faded as his power grew until he forgot about them. With no need to sleep, why would he? Stephen was fixated on one thing: more.
A massive bat-like creature with massive forearms sent him to his hands and knees, breathing uneven as he braced himself on the cool stone floor and its essence fought against integration. Its anger was as great as its strength and it didn’t settle easily as the others.
“He’s on the wrong path.” A voice spoke quietly in the chamber. It didn’t sound like O’Bengh. Stephen pushed himself up and paused as the voice continued to speak about warning someone, of doubting they’d listen.
“Hello?” Stephen tried, looking around the room. “Who’s that?”
No answer.
Stephen narrowed his eyes and scanned the room intently with his expanded senses. No hint of another in the room with him on Earth. The presence he detected didn't possess a corporeal form in his universe and Stephen shrugged it off. Soon enough he'd be able to find anyone watching him from beyond Earth.
He summoned the next creature.
When there were no more challenges and the greater demons only held his need for more at bay, Stephen returned to the book about the Elder Gods.
He didn’t give the tentacled being time to trick him. Stephen immediately forced the rift between dimensions shut, severing dozens of tentacles that fell to the ground and wriggled toward him, eager to find their new host.
Stephen let them come, smiling as they twisted around his limbs and sank beneath his skin. One wrapped tightly around his neck and a flicker of panic blossomed in the recesses of his mind before it, too, sank beneath his skin and melded with him. Something eager whispered incomprehensibly in the back of his mind.
Stephen allowed himself a smile.
Finally.
He was as powerful as his physical form would allow. He possessed energy he'd taken from cosmic beings as old as the universe itself. He was powerful enough to try to break the absolute point and save Christine, as soon as he told O'Bengh he was leaving.
Stephen's shadow fell long behind him when he stood, wings flaring as tentacles curled sinuously around his horned form.
Stephen didn't see his shadow. He wasn't looking behind him.
***
The first shock was realizing how long he’d been working toward his goals. The second was O’Bengh’s bedridden refusal to accept his help. Stephen couldn’t fathom why--
O'Bengh distracted him with a truth: Stephen was only half a man. As O’Bengh spoke the words, Stephen felt their truth and the absence of his other half aching like the ghost pain of a phantom limb. Stephen was strong with half a soul but with his entire soul, he could channel so much more.
Overwhelming fury rose within and the whispering voices in the recesses of his mind grew loud and angry. How dare someone strip part of his soul away without his permission.
Stephen left O’Bengh to die alone and went to face himself.
***
Stephen was staring at his own face when he lost control for the first time.
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” He roared as a vast ocean of anger rose within, rushing like a tidal wave that crashed over him.
I need my other half, he thought desperately against the rage, the shift in focus allowing him to regain control.
“And now can you save her?”
Stephen could read the desperate hope in his own eyes, hear the pain he felt beneath the shaky words, and Stephen knew he'd won. No one else except himself would have understood the depth of his love for Christine and what he would sacrifice to bring her back.
“No," he snarled at himself, "we can.”
Stephen used his newfound power, fueled by vengeance and pain and anger he didn't recognize. He was going to fulfill his destiny and save Christine. Everything that had happened since the night of the crash had been another step toward constructing his goal. His other half stood no chance against the might of his will.
Stephen knew how to play off his own confidence and let his other half lead the fight, keeping up the appearance of a fair fight where he gave his all. When they thought they won the fight, he showed his other self exactly how much he'd underestimated the changes Stephen had gone through and beat the shimmering protection spell off of his own face. When Stephen finally absorbed the other half of his soul, it resisted the merge, the remnants of his humanity horrified by the otherworldly amalgamation Stephen had become.
Being whole again felt electrifying. Even as his inner voice screamed for him to stop and listen, he pulled his hands apart and opened the Eye of Agamotto. Stephen forced the stone to go back to that night and recreate what had been unmade, screaming as he channeled his will into the Eye. When the absolute point broke, the air pressure changed but Stephen didn't feel it. He focused on removing the vehicle from the water, pulling it apart piece by piece as Christine’s physical form formed around the bright beacon of her soul returning from the great beyond. Time and matter bent to his will as he fixated on Christine, ignoring the world around him. Stephen could save the world when she was back. It was a backdrop for her presence and had no meaning to him without her. It never had.
Stephen could feel the slow side of his tentacles as they curled around his heavy limbs, but paid them no mind as he drew Christine into his arms with long, clawed fingers.
“Christine,” he whispered, voice deeper than he'd remembered. He couldn't see well but Christine's soul was pure light. “Christine.”
Christine stirred, took a breath, and opened her eyes.
Stephen expected delight, maybe questions. Christine panicked and scrambled away from him, screaming as she nearly fell off the same cliff where he’d lost her so many times before.
“No!” Stephen's form shifted rapidly, the weight of additional appendages gone as he reached for his love.
Christine’s body began to dissipate just as Wong’s had in front of his other half. With both sets of memories now contained in his mind, Stephen realized what was happening all around them as the universe collapsed.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Stephen forced his fear into action and pushed back against the implosion, pleading with the being he'd once felt watching him in the dark chamber under the Lost Library of Cagliostro.
He’d learned about Watchers and their omniscient powers, how they observed and cataloged multiverses throughout the infinite cosmos. They were as old and strong as the Elder Gods, but they were much harder to find hidden between realities.
“I was wrong,” Stephen cried. He didn't know if the Watcher was there, but he thought he felt the weight of someone else's judgment. Christine gasped as the Watcher shifted into view before them.
“You were warned,” the Watcher answered severely.
Stephen finally accepted what the Ancient One, O’Bengh, and Wong had tried to tell him and begged with every last iota of humanity left within him, “The world shouldn’t have to pay for my arrogance.”
The Watcher scowled. “I’m not a god, and neither are you.”
The Watcher faded away, the universe shrank, and Stephen pushed back with all the power he'd taken. Eyes closed, channeling energy as hot as the creation of suns, Stephen pulled from the sheer need to bring Christine back that had carried him through the centuries in the basement of the library. Against the collapse, he managed to stabilize a tiny pocket dimension around himself, Christine, and the chunks of pavement under his feet. The remainder of their universe vanished into nothingness.
Christine continued to fade away.
“Christine, oh, no,” Stephen moaned and held her close. “I’m sorry.”
Christine stared at him with wide eyes, breathing labored. Comprehension hadn't come to her yet.
“Stephen,” her body drifted away in wispy tendrils of black smoke as she spoke, cognizant enough to understand that Stephen was responsible for her hopeless fate. “What did you do?”
Every trace of Christine as she'd once existed in his universe disappeared before he could reply.
Stephen was out of options.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he sobbed as he folded in on himself, alone in the prison he'd created.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t know if he was apologizing to Christine, the universe, the Watcher, or himself. “I’m so, so sorry.”
***
Eternity alone was an unfortunate and lonely existence. The power contained within him grew restless and pushed at the boundaries of his humanity, tentacles twisting from his wrists and hands, heat choking him as he coughed flames. Sometimes the forces settled and left his humanity in control, drowning in grief. The darkness that lurked at the edges of his mind, where the whispering voices hid, reveled in Stephen's agony. They picked through his psyche and conjured memories of every warning he’d been given, every death Christine experienced because Stephen thought he knew better.
Time passed. Or it didn't; after a while, Stephen didn't know whether he'd been in the pocket dimension for months or eons.
Stephen began to grow numb toward his memories and the grief, once overpowering, began to ebb and flow. Stephen mourned because there was no other way to truly apologize to the memory of Christine, Wong, and their universe.
Stephen began to practice with his power and focused on what he could control, like the physical transformations. He forced tentacles to sprout from his fingertips so he wouldn't lose himself to random spasms, muttering spells with a forked tongue in a language that he didn't remember learning as his pupils narrowed into slits and his eyes began to glow.
Sometimes he caught flashes of other universes mirrored in the fractal boundaries of his pocket dimension, each centered upon alternate versions of himself. Universes where the loss of his career pushed him to the mystic arts, universes where Christine lived because his arrogance pushed her away, universes where he was happy with someone else--both men and women, some he recognized and some he didn't, people he'd never met in his universe. He wanted to view at least one where he was happy with Christine, mystic arts be damned.
Instead, he saw an android in armor, bearing a full set of Infinity Stones, tearing through universes, decimating one after another.
Stephen waited for the Watcher to return.
He didn't wait long.
“I’m out of options,” the Watcher confessed.
Stephen knew but he still wanted to hear the Watcher say it.
“I see now,” the Watcher admitted. “I need your help.”
***
The plan sounded foolproof. Stephen made himself a drink in a tiny pub on the edge of reality as the Watcher darted between universes to gather the individuals that would comprise the Guardians of the Multiverse.
Stephen enjoyed the human company more than he expected. They were vastly different from each other, each with their own unique skill that would benefit the fight. Captain Carter took lead, Gamora had a machine to destroy the stones, Star-Lord had sticky fingers, and Thor could draw Ultron to them. Killmonger watched. Stephen could sense darkness lurking under Killmonger's calm facade but he didn't question the Watcher. Stephen had darkness within him, too, and he could harness his power for the greater good. Maybe Killmonger could, too.
The Watcher deposited them in an empty universe to wait. Something inside was eager to fight, anticipation building as explained to the group that there wasn't enough life in their current universe to catch Ultron's attention. His arm spasmed as he spoke, tentacles bursting from his hand as the whispers in his mind began to bellow. He grabbed his arm with a grimace and forced the appendages to shift back into his human hand. The others watched in silent horror.
Captain Carter asked what happened. Stephen thought about Captain America, about the stories he’d been told while growing up: Captain Rogers made the ultimate sacrifice and won the war for the gal he loved. They wouldn't find him until just before Stephen lost Christine, frozen in the Arctic but still alive. Stephen could sense grief within Carter, could see it in the way she carried herself, and imagined her story was similar.
“Same thing that happened to you,” Stephen met her concerned expression with honesty. “Love.”
As they waited for a cue, Stephen drew their favorite drinks from their minds and conjured them with a flourish. He tried to give a speech but his conversational skills were rusty and he lost his point as he fumbled through a stilted speech that sounded flat to his own ears.
Star-Lord rescued him as Stephen began to drown in his words, cutting in and giving a short, succinct toast.
They downed their drinks and Thor drew Ultron to them by accident, just as he’d promised.
Stephen should have asked before he cast the Guardian protection spell on the others, but there was no time. He magnified the Guardian of Vishanti and crafted suits of armor with white magic around each person. I won’t lose anyone else, he vowed silently. The spells were strong but they wouldn't last indefinitely. They only needed protection until Gamora destroyed the first stone.
Star-Lord took the Soul Stone from Ultron and Ultron took it back. Back and forth, until Ultron lost his patience.
“I can destroy galaxies with a single thought,” Ultron snapped at the ragtag group, “why won’t you die?”
Stephen felt the universe expand rapidly, then contract; Ultron attempted to use the energy of creation to destroy them. Stephen plucked the energy from the air and swallowed it, feeling the endless expansion of the universe explode within him. When he opened his eyes, they burned with the brilliance of suns.
For a few minutes, they worked together and built upon their camaraderie and individual strengths to chip away at Ultron's defenses.
Ultron's frustration grew until he activated the Time Stone to freeze the Guardians in place. He plucked the Soul Stone from midair and started to place it back into his chest piece.
Stephen used his own distorted Eye to release himself from the Time Stone's grasp and reached for Ultron. One long tentacle wrapped around Ultron’s arm. Stephen yanked. Ultron’s arm didn’t budge but the attempt distracted him while Stephen released the others with the Eye.
Stephen had never fully transformed with intention. The horror in Christine’s eyes at the sight of true form haunted him, but he didn't think of her or the Guardians as he focused on unleashing his full potential against Ultron. The whispers in his mind grew to a brash cacophony of excitement as tentacles burst forth from his chest, massive and growing as Stephen gave in to his power. Horns sprouted from his skull as his third eye opened and wings spread behind him.
Stephen wrapped Ultron in a tight embrace with the eager appendages, then slammed the android against the ground and trapped him within a binding circle. Gamora caught the Soul Stone as it fell from Ultron's grasp and placed it into her machine.
The machine ate at the stones with tiny teeth, counting down from six to a massive explosion that left everyone on shaky ground. Stephen shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears as the dust settled. He hadn't felt his form shift but he was human again as he conjured mandalas and waited. It felt too easy in the eerily silence that followed the explosion.
It was never that easy.
The machine didn't work on Ultron's stones because it was coded for the stones in Gamora's universe.
"Didn't the Watcher warn you?" Ultron mocked, and Stephen narrowed his eyes.
Ultron continued to explain that the stones were unique to each universe. Gamora cut in when she realized that the stones could be used across the multiverse but to destroy them, the machine would have to be tuned to the universe of origin.
Stephen was stuck on the first part of Ultron's monologue. Why had the Watcher led them to believe it would work?
Ultron broke free and singled out Stephen before he blasted everyone with an unrelenting force that chipped away steadily at the Guardian spell.
Stephen braced himself and fought back, eyes burning, holding the main force of the blast at bay as the protection spells kept the others safe.
Black Widow gave them hope when she shot Ultron and infected him with Zola's virus, until Killmonger's darkness showed itself and he took over the nanobot armor. The Infinity Stones slotted neatly into the chest plate as he attempted to cajole them with the ways they could use them for their own gain.
Stephen had already tried to save Christine and lost everything. He ignored Killmonger and shifted into a defensive pose, mandalas ready to attack or protect based on Killmonger’s next action.
Killmonger didn't mind that no one agreed. He smirked at their dismay and channeled the power of the stones to blast them away.
Stephen crossed his arms and reached for his power as Zola spoke up.
The nanotech responded first to Zola as he tried to take the armor from Killmonger, then to Killmonger when he tried to take it back. Stephen tracked the stones as they drifted back and forth between Zola and Killmonger.
Back
(The Watcher led them to believe the device would work.)
and
(The Watcher brought them to an empty universe that wasn't empty.)
forth.
Back
(armor never settling on one person,)
and
(stones caught between them)
forth.
Stones caught between them.
“We were never meant to win." Stephen reeled with the realization. The Watcher hadn’t been able to keep Ultron at bay and he was stronger than Stephen; of course he would have known that even with Stephen’s power, the Guardians wouldn’t win against a complete set of Infinity Stones. The Watcher had manipulated them into fighting until the stones were separated from the body wielding them. The struggle between Killmonger and Zola was too carefully matched to ensure neither could touch the stones as they played eternal tug of war.
To ensure they couldn't cause any further damage to the surrounding universes as they fought, and maybe in case the nanotech chose one over the other or Ultron's body failed, Stephen began to craft a pocket dimension around Zola and Killmonger.
Stephen knew he was right when the Watcher shifted into view and added his power to Stephen’s to reinforce the structure as it formed.
When the smaller pocket dimension sealed shut, the Watcher transported it and Stephen back to his pocket dimension. Light inside flashed and thunderous booms rocked the sphere as the two fought, oblivious to their greater fate. Stephen was tasked with watching near-unlimited power trapped inside an angry snowglobe.
The irony didn't escape him. Stephen smirked and thought he’d tell his new friends if he saw them again.
Stephen heard the Watcher vow to protect the multiverse as he left. Maybe, he thought, his sacrifice meant something after all. Maybe in some of the universes that Ultron wasn’t able to destroy, Christine was happy.
A newfound sense of purpose settled over Stephen as he watched the tiny pocket dimension flare with explosions and the sounds of a fight. The emotion was foreign and took a moment to place, light like optimism but with a fragile yearning.
The Watcher had left him with hope.
Hope kept Stephen motivated to train, in case his assistance was required in the future.
Hope reminded him that while he may have destroyed his own universe, he had saved others.
Hope was a gift and Stephen intended to cherish it.
***