➢𝗗𝗢𝗚 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥➢

『My feelings ran away
I didn't know how to treat them
Maybe if I believed them they'd have stayed
I hope they're somewhere safe』
―𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬

⟶𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 11: 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 (𝑬𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑺)⟵

-𝙹𝙰𝙽𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝟸𝟶𝚃𝙷, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟽-

𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴'𝚂 (𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝚁) 𝙰𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚁𝙺 𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈, 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚁𝙺

A few brown cardboard boxes are brought into the dark and cold-feeling room, in general to the freezing cold apartment―that had been vacant for over a year.

Empty, and it would surely no longer stay that way when officially put back on the market, but the ones who had previously occupied this rather expensive space―the uncle and niece, still would remain in New York, but in a different place. A different home.

That was a definite confirmation, so for now the inevitable is done. They prepare to move out.

It's not as extreme as the term perceives it, for the rather treacherous way the two had been living a year ago, suffering from pain after pain, loss, resulted in a multitude of things being sold―the high-priced items, to be exact. And the place is pretty bare.

All is desolate except for the black-wall painted bedroom, the dark and most certainly gloomy room belonging to a formerly detached and misbehaved, Caitlyn Elizabeth Strange.

The room she finds upon revisiting ... is full of a lot of chaotic energy. Emotional energy, that is so tightly held within the area that it is practically both felt and visualized in the scattering of many objects on the floor―papers from school, half-complete sketches symbolizing whatever the blonde teenager was thinking in that instant.

When she couldn't feel it.

The messiness still represented in Caitlyn's room leads the fourteen-year-old to begin to relive a memory, flashbacks ... ones of how everything got thrown out of place.

When her thirteen-year-old self tried to run away.

When the distraught in her uncle's features and demeanor from a car accident that robbed him of his old life, as a neurosurgeon, became quite literally too exhausting for his troubled niece.

One who wasn't succumbed to ever being able to change, of overcoming herself―and yet her and Stephen Strange did all of that when deciding to use their last dollar to travel to Kathmandu ... and later join the mystic arts.

Become sorcerers, partake in a safeguarding era of something more, and eventually be tasked with guarding the New York Sanctum―one of the three Sanctums on Earth where Wizards and such, do their own work in protecting the entire world. Avenging it.

Caitlyn shifted into all of that, in just a year ... Damn, time sure does run by ya.

But now an infinite loop has ended, crisis averted following a good ol' bargain with some dude named Dormammu, and then with her Uncle Stephen turning back time―breaking the law or whatever, mind you, but ultimately saving the residents of this planet and globe.

And yet they had done it so very discreetly.

So much so that the ones left to defend the world from physical threats, having just experienced a huge break up of course―have little to no knowledge of these sorcerer's impactful acts.

Though that was okay right now, for another time would come very soon to where they would need one another―to avenge the fallen.

 Regardless, things had altered, evolved―people, in particular, and that is shown evidently through a curly blonde-haired teen, who presently rummages through whatever items from her old life she wants to take into her new one.

Her old life as a trouble-making, wounded and sickened individual, to a preferred one of her most striking attributes―an honest, loyal, and carefree girl, a hero ... Possibly.

She never would've thought that she would be thinking of herself in that light, but hey, she can spawn orange portals with the wave of her hands, properly use a katana, and her Uncle Stephen has a cloak that levitates ... so, never say never!

However, her intricate but yet powerful mind continues to soak in every last thought of who she used to be, even way before the two car accidents ultimately hardening her heart forever. An introvert and homebody at heart, not one for big crowds or overwhelming situations―yet the fourteen-year-old has a remarkable sense of handling herself well in death-defying instances.

Something that would always get her in the end, but still it was a unique trait―not something shared by any of her other peers in this universe.

That made Caitlyn worth something, to many, but most of all―it made her incredibly vulnerable.

Unforeseeable at the time, just how in danger she was, but nonetheless it's not a concern right now ... all that really mattered was what half-assed shit either stolen or collected by the female Strange was to be kept, and boy was that an annoying thing to decipher.

A much healthier and relaxed Caitlyn Strange places a stack of her most used sketchbooks into a cardboard box, going to toss the few new and unused ones in there as well―even though there might be confusion and/or discrepancy on which were old and new, but to be quite honest, and practical ... She doesn't care.

That was something never changing to her growing persona, character.

An amount of air trickles through the blonde's pursed lips and another hefty sigh is blown out. With a few more absentminded movements of packing, she gets caught in a standing position of great contemplation.

Just on her life.

Many other aspects, too, some of them having to do with her life, and some that wonder if she can start drawing again ... or if her best friend has left her cloak exactly the same following the fix of all the tears―undeniably hoping that Bexley hadn't altered the color or appearance too much, for Caitlyn would kill her ...

But all of that is feasibly fizzled out of existence from her brain when a tall presence from behind the teenager pulls her immediately out of whatever daydreaming was occurring, and in the doorway of her old bedroom in their apartment―is her uncle. 

Stephen.

He notices her calculated head tilt when viewing the entirety of her personal chambers, and a spark of concern ignites a crackling fire inside the man―his instincts of a caring adult figure fairly prominent as of late, since the repair, and he speaks with good intentions, "You know, we can decorate your room at the Sanctum to look just like this if you want ..."

The thoughtfulness in his deep tone registers into Caitlyn's bloodstream as she is aware of his attentive nature towards her, his niece ... his family, and she also doesn't pick up on his words being geared toward the thought of her feeling some sort of sadness upon visiting her old space. Their old apartment.

But the teenager never liked it here, always thought it was so cold.

That isn't what is bothering her.

"Nah," Blonde locks shake in front of the fourteen year old's face, and she forces a brief chuckle before resorting to sarcasm, "It's got too much of an emo vibe to it."

Stephen breathes a laugh similar to hers, but slowly enough his hands go to the pockets of more normal street clothes, and then he waits.

Waits patiently for Caitlyn to respond, and if she wants ... tell him what's up.

He wasn't any mind reader―ironic because he's done things like manipulating time―but it was some other instinct that had developed within him, one that should've been there way longer than how it turned out, one of understanding.

Ability to sense a sudden change in the actions or movements regarding his young niece, the teenage girl―and he knew that it was because of her struggle.

Struggle with emotions, and expressing them. Releasing them.

I mean, she told him straight up that it was hard for her to feel ... like really get it out there, and the man was keen on doing something about it.

Being aware of it, of course, because Caitlyn is his niece, and he cares for her.

All that love and care is sure to reflect itself onto the girl just as it has been sorely missed throughout the many years following this one, and it still hurts Stephen―his past actions always will.

To the child fortuitously placed in his care, as well as the woman who did so much for him and his family―even if he had treated her so horribly. 

But he too is pulled away from previous conceptions, when the sword-wielding teen turns around after a brief moment, gaze tipping downwards to look at her signature laced boots before saying much more quietly, "That's not it."

A shallow breath escapes Caitlyn's mouth, and with a few scuffling noises coming from her fidgeting shoes, she once again finds herself heavily affected by the reflections of her past―past decisions ... and almost actions.

With another intake of air that is not difficult to take―due to the fact that she had gotten over her bad case of pneumonia―the fourteen-year-old looks up to witness the intent expression worn on her uncle's defined features, and with no further hesitation, she admits.

"I ... I was gonna run away."

She swallows, tone naturally blunt when explaining, "It was right before we left ... before everything got turned on its head for us ..."

"I wanted to change," Stephen's gaze studied hers, actively listening in a way that shows purpose―and Caitlyn blinks, "but I didn't think I could."

"Not in the way we were living, the way I was living ..."

The teen's brows come together in the center of her forehead, expression geared towards the impending reaction from her uncle in regard to this information, "-And it wasn't like I could've overcome myself if I had left ..." 

Her heart sinks when finalizing, "But it was something that was on my mind."

"Well, that's valid." Stephen's words cause the girl's gaze to snap up, and he speaks furthermore with much wisdom and knowledge―like always, "Life was painful, joyless ... However, that's in the past."

His tone is soft, reassuring but yet so meaningful as well, especially when implying, "As ironic as it may sound, considering ..." the man gestures to himself and his niece, earning a breathy laugh from the girl, "You know, we can't go back in time and change anything that's happened. That's been said, or done."

"But that's all right." The Doctor steps closer into the dark bedroom, seemingly feeling almost unfamiliar to the two at this point, and his more blue eyes compare to the teenager's paler one's―making his point, "So, the best thing that can be done, is to try and move on."

Caitlyn exhales in an amount of stress, then affirmed understanding of the matter as she knows that her uncle is right―the past, who she used to be, cannot be erased or edited ... only now accepted.

And she accepts it, rather quickly she does so because she wasn't alone in that regard―she had friends, family, it all was going to work out.

That type of reassurance, consciousness, ideally allows the fourteen-year-old to officially overcome herself, and now welcome someone new. Some aspects of her old (and old) carefree self will remain of course, but along with this flaming sense of justice, an acclaimed protector of this Earth ... of the people she cares for.

Nothing ever felt as heartening as before, or secure, but it was that second car accident that led the uncle and niece to therefore put themselves out there in experiencing something new, so that they could find their way back―whatever the hell it means―that undoubtedly brings upon an opportunity of a way to live their lives.

To save lives, cue the biggest emphasis known to mankind.

So, Caitlyn Elizabeth Strange takes in another breath, one that symbolically does a lot more than just keep her blood pumping―it settles her, and the teen's lips push upwards in a grin wider than she had ever produced before, she thinks.

Regardless it was genuine, and so is the considerate offer bestowed onto the blonde by her dark-haired and bearded uncle, "Do you need any more time?"

The curly locks move bouncily as Caitlyn shakes her head, "No, I think I've got everything I want," she finds her way of composure while casually traveling over to the cardboard boxes not even filled to the brim―as there wasn't much she felt was worth taking to the Sanctum, but as the thought pops into her mind merely from looking at the items, she grabs onto the one causing the idea to develop.

That same, paper-mache laminated version of the owl that was made when she was barely seven, the Christmas before the accident. The one from April 13th, 2010.

Caitlyn's fingers enclose tightly around the object as she holds it up out of the box, where Stephen can see, and an already look of solace crosses her features as she suggests, "Maybe if time lets it, I'll go back to doing some art."

"It won't be as careful and precise as when I was younger," she falters, supposedly wincing at the unintentional pain the mention had brought onto her, but she hides it well―almost instantly as her expression remains in a simper, "Though ... it'd be nice to get back into it."

The man currently dressed in sweatpants and a casual sweater nods, right away providing encouragement as he continuously tries to do so, as of late, "I think that's a good plan."

"Oh," his scarred hands immediately go to feel just above the surface of the pocket of his pants, searching until finding what this memory that felt like it was so long ago, is dug up again―and Stephen Strange pulls out his un-laminated owl.

"There." He says, but soon enough the relieved expression on his face adjusts to one of much puckering when just realizing that the fragile pieces of paper holding together the beloved and innocent art project―were crumpled.

Without a doubt from being in his Kamar-Taj wear, while fighting Kaecilius ...

Ah, man ...

His disappointment seeps through his furrowed face, but another authentic smile―this one small, as she was cautious―is on the niece's, and she puts her owl back in the box before walking back over to where her uncle stands. 

She studies the sad and now screwed-up paper mache project.

"You know, I really meant it when I was surprised that it had lasted this long." She eyes the art piece originally built-in with so much meaning, and the teen looks up to the man, "I think I could make a new one, though ... If you'd let me."

Her gaze is drawn upwards again by the uncle's words, as they unexpectedly leave his mouth in a way that Caitlyn had never seen before―and it tugs at her damn heartstrings again ... good god!

Stephen holds the object closer to his muscular chest, "No need. I'll just stick with this one."

Caitlyn scrunches her nose up, not dramatically, but with confusion, as she implies dryly, "But it's broken."

"I know." He tells her, the skin around his eyelids releasing itself as truth inflicts his tone, "I like it better that way."

The teen gives off skeptical vibes, however fishing through the deeper meaning in Stephen's explanation by using her sardonic nature, "Okay ... so like some sort of metaphor? For our lives? Our shitty, extremely depressing, and agonizing lives?"

"Well, that's a very negative outlook on it,"

"Well, it's me, so ... what did you expect?"   

"Nothing less," the uncle comments lowly, but his features turn upwards as the short and playful banter between the two never fails to bring a beam of fulfillment to him, within and out―for it was how their bond worked, and Stephen jokingly stays serious, "But yeah."

His thumb slides over the paper mache owl, the broken paper mache owl, and he's suddenly filled with warmth, "Something like that."

"Oki Doki, artichoke-ie, I'm not judging you," the niece wittingly replies, raising her hands in defense before they wring habitually back together, and the man notices.

Stephen slides the object gently back into his pocket, and a few seconds of uncertain silence hover over the two Stranges―who mind you, are still working on how to exactly have a relationship―until the uncle breaks it, asking Caitlyn quietly, "You okay?"

The teen stops cracking her knuckles, practically forcing herself to look her father's brother in the eye―basically her father, now―and she resorts to the safety of dry deadpan again, "I'm not dead."

Luckily though the man knows her very well, has been in charge of raising her for many years now―and will continue to do so, so the perceived rudeness in her remarks is brushed off knowingly, as a deflect from within. 

And he understands that she still struggles with that sort of stuff. Affection, her feelings.

They stand across from each other awkwardly, noiselessly, all until Stephen begins to trek closer―simply raising his sweater-covered arms up. In motion.

Obviously, Caitlyn looks at him confused. Reserved, as her arms have now crossed themselves―and with a lack of indulgence in socializing, the cues, Doctor Strange heaves a large sigh when he is indisputably left with explaining the usually self-explainable.

He's trying to hug her.

"Okay, look." His eyes blink closed and then reflexively open, "I know ... you don't like this."

By 'this' he means physical contact, of course, and the fourteen-year-old raises her brows. 

"But ..." Stephen swallows, declaring with a firm sense of authority, "You're going to have to get used to it once in a while, okay?"

Caitlyn bites her lips, building up as much fortitude inside her to walk forwards a few steps, and with a strained release of her tightly crossed arms―the teenager honestly emits a breathy laugh before maneuvering to receive the embrace.

The one offered with good intentions, from her uncle.

The one who was always there alongside her.

Always. Through everything here and onward, whatever 'onward' entailed ...

Despite her protests against things like this, being this close to someone else―she caves.

She always does.

Why? Because she needs it. More than anyone, generally.

Her long arms once again enfold around her uncle's tall figure, his chest, and Caitlyn holds on tight―squeezing so compressing-like as to eliminate any space in between the person who was presently comforting her, holding her.

And Stephen Strange feels the slight tug at his ribs, but he doesn't care. 

It doesn't matter to him, because he knows that his troubled niece needs this ... Even if she thinks she doesn't, she does.

That's just what an uncle knows ... a father ... a family.

They were each others. Non-negotiably, unlimitedly.

She whispers in a voice that is kept from getting emotional, "Thank you, Uncle Stephen."

And he doesn't hesitate to respond, "I got you, Lynn."

"For the rest of time."

Time Tells.

✧✧✧

"No way."

"Come on!"

"N-O, Bex, I am not wearing this."

A pair of golden brown eyes illuminate at the current sight seen, that sight being the figure of Caitlyn Elizabeth Strange―rather with displeasure―sporting a brightly colored beret knitted by none other than the teen's best friend, and sorcerer, Bexley Nightingale.

She giggles, and puts both her hands on the curly blonde's shoulders covered in a warm jacket much nicer than anyone she would've worn before―and the black-haired girl contests, "You look great!"

"I look like that Dani Rockland chick," Caitlyn replies monotonically, pale blue irises rolling upwards as they skeptically stare at the piece of clothing―recalling its familiarities to the well-known girl mentioned―and suddenly she feels like barfing.

This fastidious, dressy-preppy sort of look ... was not her thing.

And quite frankly, wasn't someone else's following a drastic circus of events.

Getting back on track, the fourteen-year-old simply has no desire to partake further, in this 'makeover' that the fifteen-year-old had enthusiastically suggested ... however, if it would make Bexley happy, she would comply.

Mostly because Caitlyn Strange is a go-with-the-flow type of person, always willing to adjust to the surroundings and wantings of people around her.

Not for any other reason, a specific one ... right?

She blows out a heavy sigh, expression deadpanned to a frown as the mirror inside a New York clothing store reflects the image of two teenage girl's―a smiling one, and a previously frowning one, whose features now relax, and the blonde vocalizes, "Fine. But only because that other girl doesn't have a claim on this style anymore, she's altered in her own way ... "

"Yay!" The words fly out of Bexley's mouth at the same time her arms do, winding around.

And Caitlyn goes rigid, standing as still as a pencil as she scolds the other female, "Bex ...!"

They walk through the streets of an ever-flashy and noisy New York City, Caitlyn sipping on her heated container of coffee ordered from a nearby Starbucks―mostly because the warm liquid soothes her throat.

She mostly healed from all that smoking, throat, and esophagus, not to mention that crappy pneumonia―but nonetheless, the teenager's lungs remain just a bit fragile. Still corruptible, and that would hopefully heal with time.

Or not, I mean, it's not like the blondie minds that much.

If anything, her best friend cares way more about her wellbeing, grabbing onto her hand when crossing a busy street―offering to spend some time with her before they separate, and Bexley heads back to Kamar-Taj.

Though the teen of the mystic arts really didn't find much suffering in someone fussing over her, in fact, it actually reminds her much of her biological parents―their insanely strict and safe rules ...

Even if it's hard to remember, painful... it was her family, and the watchful gaze and kindhearted expression of the other teen of the mystic arts, Bexley Nightingale, she was the one person besides Stephen―and maybe a little more, just because―that was able to provide that instant feeling of solace. Of comfort.

She didn't understand it at the time but is grateful for it, even if she would never admit it.

Emotions and shit, feelings ... they're still a process. A work in progress.

They continue to walk in silence only of their own, as the buzzing of indistinct chatter and car horns constantly grace the ears of the two girls as they walk with a purpose, to a designated destination―the one where Caitlyn used to smoke.

Speaking of, the fourteen-year-old has mixed signs when it comes to her habit ... I mean, she knows it's bad―almost killed her―but it was the touch of the cigarette in between her lips, held down by her teeth.

That behavioral type of sensation never failed to take the pain away from the hardening heart of Caitlyn Elizabeth Strange, and hence is the discreet reasoning for her reaching into the inverted pocket of her brown coat―and reflexively pulling out a box.

She takes one of the unlit pieces of paper and holds it with her fingers when putting the contraption back, and with no further hesitation―and also no light―Caitlyn slides the roll into her mouth ... aimlessly gnawing on the bottom of it.

Doing so as a way of comfort, but also with no lighter ever coming into contact with the actual cigarette.

The fourteen-year-old thinks it's nonchalant, but the overbearing and very strong force of a presence next to her does not agree―and her mouth gapes open.

"What in God's name himself are you doing?!"

Caitlyn's head jerks at the sudden outburst, her body then being stopped by Bexley's persistent physical contact again―but she dodges it, variously looking around to make sure they weren't causing a scene before responding, "Would you relax? It's not lit."

"Well, it shouldn't ever be." The black-haired teen turns her body back forwards, following the blonde's agile moves away, and she rushes intently to continue walking alongside her before continuing, "Smoking is bad for you."

The female Strange prepares for a bombardment of queries, that she would preferably not want to answer, to share publicly ... but to Caitlyn's slight surprise, Bexley doesn't question her further.

She doesn't bother to ask why her friend had the device that could kill her, unlit and in between her teeth―because she understood. 

Understood that it was part of a coping method, maybe to settle some anxiety, and Bexley knows this because she's done so too.

So the thoughtfulness built into a close friendship undeniably presents itself as the fifteen-year-old simply gives a gleeful nod, accepting the foreseen flaws of the individual next to her.

Their walking eventually halts, the two of them approaching a recognizable cobble-stone wall, and they both stand across from one another.

Caitlyn speaks first, hitting the substantial nail on the head, "You gonna be okay at Kamar-Taj without me?"

"Most likely so." Bexley answers eloquently, a lipped smirk appearing onto her face before a shiny light bulb takes over, "Oh! I almost forgot."

Her gaze tips back down to begin rummaging through the paper bag she had been carrying throughout this day, and with a few more seconds taking place―being tailed out is a black and gold embroidered cloak.

The one belonging to the katana-wielding blondie, and she subconsciously smiles bigger than she really does.

Caitlyn takes hold of the clothing item, running her fingers over the silky fabric, internally very elated to find no more holes or tears in the beloved cloak―and her gratitude goes out to Bexley, "It looks great. Thank you."

"Did you see what else I did?" The black-haired girl asks, flipping her long ponytail along with the giddy expression on her face, and the blonde sighs.

"Oh, no. What the heck did you do?"

Bexley ignores her friend's rather heavily concerned question, for she was too excited, and her hands go out to rotate the cloak until the space near the tag is visible― "Look."

Caitlyn's blue eyes squint, raising her hands to accurately study the stitched material, and there it is.

Just below, sewn in with gold string, is an engraving.

𝑪+𝑩

"Do you like it?"

Lightly colored brows knit together, reading, "'C+B'."

"'Caitlyn & Bexley'."

"Yeah."

Darker-defined brows lift upwards, in endearment, and a cute smile flashes onto the face of Bexley Nightingale, towards Caitlyn Strange, "I thought it'd be a nice thing to add, you know, just in case you're ever in a position of uncertainty―panic."

"You'll always have something familiar to think about."

Caitlyn swallows, mouth feeling dry yet again.

Nevertheless, the teenager does feel more secure, content, and it's always because of Bexley.

The two lock eyes, briefly, before an idea plops down into the fourteen year old's curly head this time―and it breaks their meaningful staring contest when suddenly the female Strange is throwing the cloak over both of her shoulders.

Making her hands free of anything, except for the coffee, Caitlyn lifts her jacket to what's currently been housed around her waist―Bexley's sword.

"Here," the fifteen-year-old looks down, watching the other teen fumble with the release button on the unique-looking belt, "I've been meaning to give this back―,"

She cuts her off, "No. You don't need to."

Caitlyn freezes physically, but represents a small amount of shock, "What do you mean, Bex? This is your relic."

"It suits you better."

Bexley's pigmented and slightly plump lips come together in another cute grin, and she symbolizes much truthfulness in her words with the encouraging expression given―and she tells Caitlyn, "You were always better with it anyways. Consider it as another thing to remember me by."

"... Okay." The blonde replies, removing her hands from the belt-katana that now belongs to her, and eventually commenting after a beat―and some awkward standing around, "I don't really have any gifts for you, so ..."

Her indulging smile of fondness immediately returns, at a demonstration of Caitlyn's satire character, and she cannot stop herself from these next words of sincerity that slip right out.

"Your presence is enough of a gift."

Both expressions of the two female's flush to a different color of their skin tone, more like the color of a damn beatdown by the sun―and there is a moment.

Bexley stutters, "I-I mean, our friendship!" she throws out a hand, "Our friendship really means a lot to me."

"Yep. Pretty sure I can see that." Caitlyn nods in agreement, a smirk twitching at the corners of her lips as she watches and listens to the other teen fumble nervously―and it too makes her develop a soft spot.

 A relishing one.

But the fifteen-year-old clearly notices the fourteen year old's enjoyment, and sharply elbows her in the side, "Shut up!"

"So, that's it then?"

"Yeah ... I guess it's time to say goodbye."

Caitlyn Strange's gaze settles onto Bexley Nightingale's once more, holding that pure focus merely because this was the last the two teens were going to see of each other―for the time being, as they were now living in two different places.

Throughout the last year, these girls had spent almost every day together. Training, talking, swimming ... and it was the most fun and relieving time Caitlyn's ever experienced in her fourteen years of life―about seven of those being tainted due to trauma. Being wounded.

But it was just now, that the teen was finally feeling like herself again, and in addition, someone new as well.

And entirely she has those motivations and conditions achieved simply because of the best friend she had made at Kamar-Taj, the closest person to her that wasn't family.

That made Caitlyn Elizabeth Strange feel all these emotions, some of them―well, most―are very confusing, but that was okay.

She wasn't the only one experiencing those sensations, the ones of connection, like a bullet.

The troubled youth, however, still wearing that damn beret, is firm in continuing to take in the features of the untroubled teen of the mystic arts across from her―ones that are so unbothered and innocent. Something that draws Caitlyn in, whether she'd confirm or deny.

That solacing thought is practically squeezed out of her a second later though, when suddenly two skinny arms wrap around the body of the blonde-headed girl and squeeze her tight, no oxygen getting through.

Bexley hugs Caitlyn, and it's still apparent that the young Strange does not like physical contact―because she doesn't reciprocate it.

She stands hunched backward, as the weight from the other individual had forced her to do so, and following a couple more seconds of standing around―in more social awkwardness―a hand slowly goes up to touch the top of Bexley's ponytail, and Caitlyn pats the surface a few times.

Awkwardly, because she felt awkward. Obviously.

"O-Okay, we're good I think," the teen begins to shake, physically trying to get the other one off in a rut of uncomfortableness, but Bex clings indefinitely tighter one last time while choppy phrases resume leaving the mouth of Lynn, "Yup. This is nice. Okay. Enough."

The last word is a little stern, but not intended to hurt Bexley and it doesn't, she just smiles wider while finally pulling away from Caitlyn.

A replicated in length, but more exerted in the effort, smile forms onto the face of the blonde-haired girl when they stand for a few more seconds, sliding her hands into her pockets and the black-haired one eventually nods―bidding an ironic in time, farewell, "See you on the other side."

"Right back at ya." Curly locks bounce, and Caitlyn steps back, hands still in the pocket of her coat, and she sobers up, "Bye, Bex."

"Goodbye, Cae."

An orange portal sparkles on the outside and all is opened up by the fingers of the most exceptional and ONLY teen of the mystic arts, leading to the building of Kamar-Taj in Kathmandu.

Bexley Nightingale gives one last look towards Caitlyn Strange, before promptly walking through the created portal and her silhouette disappearing within the instant she does so―and the flurries disperse.

Remaining in the iconic location of New York City, her home, the Troubled Youth turns around, leaving behind the area where she used to come and smoke every day while skipping school―and instead pursues forwards to an address labeled, 177A Bleecker Street. 

Her extended home.

✧✧✧

Back in Kamar-Taj, Stephen Strange walks over to the center of where the three doors presumably led to the Sanctums.

From there, he stands in front of the previous placeholder of the Eye of Agamotto, and his gaze, as well as his scarred hands, maneuver towards the current location of that relic―in the form of a necklace.

The bearded man tries to use the amount of strength left in his fingertips, from the car accident and nerve damage, to try and open up the Eye, but alas, is not able to.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he thanks the Cloak of Levitation that abruptly removes itself from being around his shoulders, sarcastically, "Yeah, okay."

The piece of outerwear moves to rest in a position off to the side, and Stephen focuses back to his present decision in taking the necklace holding a green powerful gem that can turn back time, off his neck and returning it to its former possession―no longer being in his. For safety reasons.

"Wise choice." An agreeing Wong says from nearby, walking to be next to the Doctor dressed in Kamar-Taj wear, "You'll wear the Eye of Agamotto once you've mastered its powers."

He stands next to the left Stephen, "Until then ..." insisting with knowledge, "best not to walk the streets wearing an Infinity Stone."

"A what?" The other man questions, this type of power unheard of to him.

"You might have a gift for the mystic arts," Wong starts, then clarifying, "but you still have much to learn."

His gaze tilts upwards, and Stephen reacts to the comment, Wong now looking at the projected glowing Earth above them, "Word of the Ancient One's death will spread through the Multiverse."

"Earth has no Sorcerer Supreme to defend it."

"We must be ready."

"We'll be ready," Stephen confirms, blue eyes blinking towards Wong, affirmatively, and he gives a swift nod.

A lever is pulled that activates the opening of one of the three doors within the room at Kamar-Taj, and it leads to a Sanctum.

The New York Sanctum.

Wong and Stephen―after the cloak places itself back onto the male―both exit Kamar-Taj, their bodies morphing through the clear-gelled substance that takes them into the building at 177A Bleecker Street, and they prepare to protect it.

The red cloak moves subtly as Doctor Strange travels up the stairs of the New York Sanctum.

His stride continues until reaching the top step, and it slows down when laying eyes on his niece.

Caitlyn Elizabeth meets him halfway, black and gold embroidered cloak now marked with two letters of much meaning, covering her 5'3" form, and wrapped around her waist is still the detailed belt that unravels into a sword.

Stephen's expression is stoic, but softens, at Caitlyn's small smirk thrown his way―and the both of them walk forwards.

The two Strange's reach the area of the Sanctum where a large circular window is built-in, ultimately showcasing the glorious view of the city of New York. Of the outside world, a world they need to protect.

From mystical threats, but also others along the way, whatever that may bring.

Doctor Strange's lined with scarred hands, still shake as he slides on the slightly cracked watch he had kept for so long―the one given to him by Christine.

His other shaking hand reaches over into his pocket, grabbing onto the familiar crumpled paper that is shaped in the form of an owl―the one gifted to him by Caitlyn.

He extends his fingertips with a little more ease this time, a spark of revelation igniting inside him that he was still improving―but for now, this was still his life.

And that was permissible. Because it's what destiny has forged to be. What time has caused.

Time has also rebuilt the connection to his niece, and Stephen turns to look at her, to his left.

Her curly blonde locks that look to be getting longer rest just below her shoulders, and her arms are comfortably crossed while a representation of her more healthy and happy-looking features are put on display―and Stephen feels relieved.

Though his gaze surely replicates hers, when turning his head to look out the window they both stand near―and with his troubled niece right by to his left, Doctor Strange looks out, accepting his new responsibility, as the protector of the New York Sanctum.

As a Master of the mystic arts.

And his niece? Let's say she isn't so much of a Troubled Youth anymore.

More like, a free spirit.

A chill teen, and a definite ... FORCE to be reckoned with. 

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

https://youtu.be/ptjQhfqVQ3I

"So, Earth has Wizards now, huh?"

Stephen Strange asks politely, "Tea?"

"I don't drink tea." Thor Odinson responds.

"Then what the hell do you drink? Because clearly, you're still muscly." Caitlyn Strange questions with a raised brow, figure leaning against the chair inside the New York Sanctum that her uncle presently sits in―the both of them staring with annoyance at the Asgardian.

And he answers the girl sharply, smirkingly, "Not tea." 

Suddenly those expressions are replaced with utter bewilderment, when the thought crossing Thor's mind of his all-time favorite beverage, appears miraculously in his hand.

"So," Stephen continues as if normal―and it was, to him and his niece― "I keep a watchlist of individuals and beings from other realms that may be a threat to this world."

Thor sips on his filled to the brim beer, all while expectedly the bearded man relays, "Your adopted brother, Loki, is one of those beings."

"Worthy inclusion." The blonde replies, blue eyes narrowing as his empty jug is somehow being refilled magically, instantaneously.

Caitlyn rolls her eyes. These Asgardians ... always so attractive yet so clueless at times.

"Yeah." Doctor Strange says in agreement, not taking the casualty in the other man's tone too lightly, and he presses, "So why bring him here to New York?"

Thor looks back to him, stating earnestly, "It's a bit of a long story. Family drama, that kind of thing."

"But, we're looking for my father."

The fifteen-year-old looks over to her uncle, in revelation, and Stephen's eyes briefly latch onto hers before glancing back at Thor, shrugging with a similar amount of nonchalance, "Oh, okay. So if you found Odin, you'd all return to Asgard promptly?"

"Oh yes. Promptly." The God of Thunder dressed in street clothes tells the Wizard, and Doctor Strange rises.

 "Great." He stands up.

 So does she.

"Allow my niece and I to help you."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃

(of season one)

⋆𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬⋆

 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒌𝒆𝒑𝒕©

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Allllrighty roo, we're finished with Doctor Strange! What a great movie tbh I think it's one of my favorite's in the MCU bc it's really unique (not to mention it's underrated!!)

Sorry I kinda disappeared for a hot sec on here, & that was mostly cause I just started school & have a lot of work to do cause I am taking some hard classes, but alas here is this chapter & with one left to go of Season 1...plus an additional Prelude that I think y'all will be excited for ;) 

 But yeah the next chapter of this story actually is very important to the FORCES Series....Why you may ask? It's cause there MAY or MAY NOT be another main character of the FORCES Series that has YET to make HIS appearance....once again, you read correctly. His.

Okay I'm done GIVING THINGS AWAY I LOVE YOU GUYS & HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY OR NIGHT AND STAY HEALTHY LOVE YOU STAY BAD!!! 🤭❤️❤️

I need sleep. Senior year week 2. 

xxxxoooooo, Alessandra (dreamkept)