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There were few things that sent a bolt of lightning through any parent’s chest than the sound of their child shouting in pain. It was a universal language, no matter how unwelcome it could be. Scott immediately jumped up from the sofa and raced towards Cassie’s shout, fearing the worst, seeing blood spreading across the carpet like an ink stain across a Will and Testament, seeing bone sticking out of gnarled muscle, seeing tears flowing down her face like sap from a tree.
But what he saw instead soon calmed his racing heart. Cassie was sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking no worse for wear than she had five minutes ago. Though she was holding her right arm and looking as though there was a smouldering of pain underneath her skin, which Scott picked up on immediately.
‘Peanut! Are you okay?’ he cried, kneeling by her side and checking her over.
‘I’m okay, Daddy,’ she said, ‘though my arm kinda hurts.’
Scott looked at his daughter’s arm with a pinched frown, rolling the sleeve up. He was appalled to see the faint purpling bruises that were flowering over her skin like watercolours bleeding across canvas. Worry lit up in his stomach again, the fire restarting with fresh kindling.
Almost in a trance, he gathered Cassie up into his arms and legged it out of the house, making sure to shut his door on the way out - he didn’t want to be like those people in films where they would leave their house prey to numerous thieves.
Through the streets he ran, feet soon aching, every step like glass cutting into his skin. People dived out of his way, seeing the protective glare that covered his face like a splatter of wine. In his eyes burned the ferocity of a mother fox that had been wronged; something had been hurt, something of his , and if he could, the culprit would be shredded to pieces. But seeing as Cassie had fallen down the stairs, he was unable to enact his revenge.
He had galloped down the streets, his heart pulling him in the right direction, and he was sweating and panting when he hammered on the great oak door of 177A Bleecker Street.
And it was this sight that greeted Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, when he opened the door, cloak billowing around his legs. The piercing gaze of a worried father, cheeks red with sweat and exertion, with a small girl in his arms. A small girl who looked more amused than in pain.
‘Hi, Mr Strange!’ Cassie chirped, reaching out a hand to him.
Stephen’s head tilted, and a corner of his mouth flicked up at the sight of his boyfriend looking as though he had done more exercise in the last five minutes than the last five years. ‘What’s wrong, Scott?’ he asked, stepping back and inviting the other man into the Sanctum with a flick of his cloak.
‘Cassie fell down the stairs!’ Scott cried, voice high with the exertion.
‘Okay, go sit her on the couch and I’ll take a look,’ the sorcerer said, deep voice soft and calm like a rolling ocean.
An ocean that washed over Scott and allowed his frantic heart to slow down, for his fearful nerve endings to breathe. The concern wasn’t completely gone, but he was allowed to think, to take a moment to collect himself. He sat on the sofa next to Cassie and pulled her close, burying his nose into her hair.
‘Daddy, you smell,’ she giggled.
Scott laughed and kissed her on the forehead. ‘That’s ‘cause I was running, Peanut.’
Stephen returned with a bowl of warm water and a cloth floating in it. He set it down carefully on Cassie’s other side, and kneeled down in front of her.
‘How are we feeling, Cassie?’ he asked, voice gentle.
‘I’m okay, Mr Strange,’ she said, ‘Daddy just overreacted.’
‘What happened?’
‘I fell down the stairs.’
‘Did you hit anything?’
‘The floor, I guess.’
Stephen let out a rumbling chuckle. ‘I meant you,’ he said, ‘did you hit any part of your body particularly badly?’
‘I landed on my arm.’
‘Can I have a look?’
Cassie held out her arm to the wizard, who gently rolled up the sleeve of her shirt. He took in the angry purple bruises that coloured her upper arm. With shaking fingers, he gently pressed along her skin, making sure there was no split in the bone underneath.
‘Does it hurt when you breathe at all?’ he asked.
Cassie shook her head.
‘Then I’m satisfied that you’re perfectly fine,’ he said.
He picked up the wet cloth and wrung it out to dry it a little. Then he pressed it against Cassie’s arm to soothe the pain and to bring out the bruise a little more.
‘You’ve been a very brave girl, Cassie,’ he said with a smile.
‘She always is,’ Scott said. He put a hand on Stephen’s arm. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘I know I freak out badly sometimes.’
Stephen hummed. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you do, but that’s just one of the reasons why I love you, you old dork.’
The other man beamed and leaned down to kiss the blade of Stephen’s cheekbone.
Cassie made a disgusted noise. ‘Daddy!’ she admonished. ‘If you keep acting like that with Mr Strange, then I really will be sick.’ Though neither man believed the sting behind her words when they were delivered with such a bright smile.