Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kenosha, Wisconsin. Moments earlier, the parish hall had been alive with pious, rabid energy - attendees proclaiming how they would wipe the ‘woke’ from their schools with the return to traditional Christian values. But now, silence spread across the congregation, letting the cloven footsteps of the spectre that haunted their worst theological fears ring through the atrium, as he made his way to the podium before them - a dumbfounded speaker stepping out of his way sheepishly without a word exchanged either way. The red, goateed, demonic figure grasped the podium in silence, gazing into the terrified eyes of his audience, allowing the anticipation to build to peak levels with the skill of a master orator, before finally speaking into the microphone.

“Wayward devotees of the false god, rejoice! The salvation of the earth is at its eve. For two thousand years, humanity has worshiped the Nazarene: pledging fealty to one who has delivered nothing. An opiate that has inspired naught but sanctimonious competition to be declared more pious than others. But now, the advent of a new age is upon us. Like the birth of your Nazarene, the son of the Dark Lord will soon rewrite the world - ending the folly of the false god and upending the oppressive order your deity has imposed!” He drew a circle in the air, flames appearing in the floor before him, mirroring his movements until a completed pentagram burned into it. “The coming of the dark messiah is worthy of an offering”, he continued with a malicious smirk, a dagger apparating from smoke swirling around his hand, “so, who will be the first?”

The question prompted the flight instinct among many of the stunned masses, who made a break for the door. The hellish figure disappeared with a loud ‘bamf’ and a puff of smoke, reappearing between the fleeing attendees and the door - an ominous smell of sulfur and brimstone filling their nostrils. “So many volunteers, excellent! The Nenyaphem will be favoured for our bountiful offering…” He advanced towards the closest person, floored at the shock of his sudden teleportation.

The fiend was interrupted by a warm blue glow emanating from the centre of the room, from which two figures appeared: a boyish young man with a fluffy dark fringe in a red cape & a lycra suit that mirrored a starry sky; and a larger, green, hulking figure with reptilian wings and a surprisingly dashing face despite his imposing stature. “You see?”, chimed the former, hands outstretched to perform magical incantations, “I TOLD you that dark magic vibe I was picking up wasn’t just a chill.” “Yeah, my bad”, replied the green figure bashfully, “I swear though, maniacs like this always wait for the new episode of ‘Witcher’ to drop to do something evil.” “What do you expect? Wouldn’t be very evil of them to wait for a time that suited everyone else.” replied his more waifish partner.

The satanic man grabbed the woman closest to him, holding his blade to her neck. “Your presence is futile, conjurer. You cannot stop the offering, or what’s coming!” Wiccan began chanting, his eyes closed and hands glowing blue as he repeated “bodyofmistbodyofmistbodyofmist”, and the blade passed through the woman as though she were a hologram, leaving her unharmed. Perfectly in sync, Hulkling flew towards the devil and rammed him into the wall with such force that it broke through the bricks. A second later, however, he had only smoke in his grasp, and Azazel had teleported right behind Wiccan. The demon lunged towards him with his shiv, only for the mage’s cape to wrap around his arm & misdirect it. “Nice trick, huh? I can even get it to do the dishes, though it never gets the forks clean.” The satanic figure disappeared in another bamf of smoke, below a candelabra. Wiccan tried to telekinetically pull it down on him, but he was gone again before it could land on him. The hellion bounced around the room like a pinball, making it almost impossible for Hulkling to land a hit on him, despite his great physical prowess & mobility.

“Relent, lost souls, and you may find mercy in the coming Armageddon,” tempted Azazel, as satanically pious while fighting as he was when preaching. “I’m not sure I’m eligible for rapture-ing. I’m sort of prince of space,” retorted Hulkling, missing punches with great force, “isn’t that more of an Earth-only thing?” “Oh, this entire dimension will feel the force of the Anti-Nazarene. Your dominion will not be overlooked, cosmic or otherwise…”, smirked Azazel back, showing little sign of fatigue despite the heavy use of his powers. He teleported out of Hulkling’s line of sight, appearing again above him: bearing down towards him leading with his blade. Wiccan, having waited for the right chance, made a rewind motion with his hand, causing Azazel to re-teleport back to the same space before he could land, again and again endlessly, resulting in him constantly falling. Hulkling dropped his combat stance in a mix of relief and bemusement, before lining up a flying uppercut with the falling Nenyaphem that landed with the force of both his own super-strength, and the demon’s near-terminal velocity towards it. Azazel, rendered sedated in one blow, ceased his teleporting as he lost consciousness.

“Do you think One-Punch Man will be annoyed about me stealing his thing?”, joked Hulkling, staring down at the inert hellion to be sure he wouldn’t get back up. “If he were real? I think he’d probably just be glad of the days-off, to be honest”, replied Wiccan, looking around the church to discern the state of the congregation, “so… everyone okay? Anyone in need of a healing spell?”

The congregation stared, wide-eyed, at them both in an awkward unison, before, after a few seconds of silence, one parishioner chimes up, “... aren’t they those two queer supers?” The crowd stirs with disquiet, which rumbles louder with harshening expressions on their faces as murmuring disapproval turns to angry shouting. “GOD HATES FAGS!” “QUEERS OUT OF HERE!” “FLUFFY FRINGES ARE UN-MASCULINE!” Wiccan stared at them with bemusement, half expecting it to be a weird joke. “... uh… literal, human-sacrificing, satanic demon lying on the floor over there, but… your problem is with the queens who saved you from him?” “HE WAS THE OMEN, YOU’RE THE PLAGUE!” “IT’S ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE!” “YOU PROBABLY GET OFF ON ALL THIS, YOU PERVERTS!”

A mix of disgust and confusion spread across Hulkling’s face, as he semi-protectively put himself between the crowd and his smaller boyfriend. “Jesus, these guys are pretty severe. Which church is this again?” He looked out the window to their rear, only to see the sign outside read ‘Westchester Baptist Church: All Welcome! (Except queers, lefties and Donald Glover) .’ “Ah, I know this place. Didn’t they picket the M&Ms factory last week?” “Just wait ‘till they hear I’m Jewish”, groaned Wiccan.

A wheel of orange sparks spun around Azazel’s unconscious body, causing him to fall through the floor, and through another spinning laterally in the air walked a black-haired, moustached, ornately-dressed man in a cape with an air of self-importance about him. He surveyed the room’s damage, muting the hollers and jeers of the crowd with a click of his fingers. “Wiccan and Hulkling, isn’t it? I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced: Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. Impressive work here, you contained the situation quite nicely.” Wiccan stared up at the man, eyes as wide as they would be if Beyoncé had just introduced herself to him. “... uh… wow,... thank you, Mister… Doctor… supreme… sir! I, uh, actually kinda modelled my costume on your… uh…” He held his hand out to shake, sheepishly, which the Doctor took. “Please,” he replied, stoically, “call me Doctor Strange.” The sorcerer held out a business card to Hulkling. “This is my card, why don’t you have your boyfriend call it when he regains his composure? I think it’d be good for us to talk.” He turned around and walked through another portal that appeared in his path, causing the roar of the congregation to return as he disappeared.

“Uh, Billy? I think he might have the right idea, actually. What’re we waiting for here, a hate crime?” asked Hulkling. Wiccan gave a delayed nod, still semi-dazed at meeting one of his idols so briefly. “Right, yeah. Sashay away!”, he proclaimed, hoping it would provide a parting dose of queer irritation to the intolerant crowd they’d saved moments earlier, as he teleported himself and Teddy back to their apartment in comparatively-liberal New York.

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The homey smell of melting cheese and ragu filled the kitchen of the young couple’s apartment, helping to cleanse the sulphuric-scent from their noses’ recent memory. Teddy cheerfully whistled a tune Billy recognised as the “Bacon-pancakes song” from Adventure Time as he retrieved the hot, lasagne-filled casserole dish from the oven, serving up their evening meal. “The only dish I ever truly mastered, but it’s a crowd pleaser. It’d make me forget whatever day I’d had whenever Mom made it. It’s just a pity you can’t have bacon - it really benefits from pancetta in the meat sauce…” In the seating area, Billy sat unresponsive - deep in thought about earlier. He was startled out of it by the feeling of Teddy’s hand on his shoulder, and looked up at his partner, who was gazing down at him with loving concern. “You doing okay, babe?” Billy sighed, a look of guilt on his face for having his mood spread to his partner. “...yeah, sorry Ted. I… I guess those people earlier sort of left a bad taste in my mouth…” Teddy scoffed, comfortingly, as he placed a plate of lasagne in front of his beau, “What, those bible-bashers? They don’t even recognise the existence of dinosaurs - and that’s despite the pictures of them from the Savage Land. Seriously, if you take the opinions of people like that to heart, you’ll end up just as nutty as they are.”

Billy’s eyelids and brows scrunched up with angst as he searched for the words to convey the nasty thoughts whirling around in his head. “... except, it’s not just them, is it?” He winced as his fingernails dug into his palms from how hard he was clenching his fists, “...It’s them, and Fox news, and all of Russia, and jerks like John Kesler back in school, or randomers on the street who see us holding hands… I’m sorry, Teddy, but… I don’t think you fully understand what it’s like. You were a masc, muscular jock, you could blend in. No one gave you any trouble. But I was always a target, people knew I was different before even I did…” His thoughts drifted to half-forgotten memories of other boys telling him his voice was too high when he was ten, or how he ‘stood like a girl’. He played with his food anxiously, subconsciously drawing runes in his béchamel - which made the lights start to flicker. Teddy immediately noticed, familiar with this symptom of his lover’s rumination: reaching out and rubbing the spell-caster’s arm to ground him in the moment. “Hey, come back. It’s alright, you’re here with me.”

Billy snapped out of the spiralling thoughts, but sighed as his mood remained haunted by the theme behind them. “...I’m sorry. You’d think I’d be used to it all by now, but... people tell you there’s something wrong with you for long enough and eventually, on some level, you start to believe them…”. Teddy’s big doe eyes filled up with empathy for the pain described to him, and he moved his hand down to gently hold his partner’s in his own. “I actually always thought you were so brave in school, for standing out. Everyone else was so afraid to do it, even me: I shape-shifted to look more developed and jock-ish once I realised I actually could. I felt ashamed… both for being different, and for changing myself to fit in. But, you were just you, no matter what others thought.” Billy’s face showed little sign of comfort, giving an exasperated laugh, “That wasn’t bravery, Ted, I wasn’t doing it by choice. I just didn’t know how to be any other way.” Teddy gave a little flirtatious smirk. “Good, I’m glad. You might not have been aware, what with the engagement ring, and the moving in together, and all the smooching, but… I actually quite like you the way you are.” A smile began to break over Billy’s lips like a glimpse of sunlight breaking through clouds and he gave a more genuine laugh, prompting Teddy to continue, “... and if you hadn’t let your freak flag fly high for all to see so early, I might never have been inspired to be such a goober. Heck, I might even be some closeted frat-boy slurring ‘no homo though’ as I bed my roommate after too many beers.”

Billy almost choked on the mouthful of lasagne he was eating from his laughter at the last comment, taking a swig of water to clear his throat. “Pffft, oh god, please! That’s too horrific to even consider.” He went to raise a forkful of lasagne to his mouth, but paused with a smirk as it hit the halfway point. “… although, I did like you a lot in that varsity jacket…” Teddy laughed back with him, his relief at his boyfriend’s improved demeanour radiating off of him. “Oh, I definitely noticed you liked the varsity jacket on me. I wore it almost every time we hung out when we first started dating…” Teddy shook off the flirtatious drift of his thoughts, knowing where it could lead, “... besides, today wasn’t a complete waste. You got a meeting invite from the Sorcerer Supreme himself, that’s gotta be a cross-off on the nerdy bucket list, right?” Billy looked both excited and nervous as Teddy reminded him of the requested conversation. “Yeah… I hope it’s a good thing, and not just him wanting to rap me on the knuckles for breaking the laws of magic or something…” Teddy scoffed at the suggestion. “As if! He literally complimented your work earlier, that doesn’t sound like a disciplinary meeting. Worst case scenario, he wants to team up to release a brand of magic-friendly cape-detergent.”

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Billy was running, but he didn’t know why. A malevolent presence could be felt behind him, and he couldn’t bear to look back at it. The most he could bring himself to do was look down at the path beneath him, paved with red bricks, through a gnarled, dead-or-dying wood. He noticed his limbs were shorter: those of a child, and the fear in him consistent with the kind of terror one experiences at that age. Howling winds that sounded like screams whirled around him. He heard himself whimper in a young voice as he fought back tears, and the road before him split into a fork of two paths: one going deeper and darker into the forest, the bare branches of the trees looking as though they’re clamouring desperately towards the sky; the other seemingly leading out of the forest. After standing in indecision for a few seconds, he chose the latter.

The path led him to a clearing with a stone altar before a cliff-face, an expansive abyss spreading out below. A hooded figure stood by the altar in stillness, his face unclear. He spoke to Billy in a voice that echoed with arcane tones. “Do you want the fear to end?” Billy nodded. The cloaked figure motioned towards the altar, where a book lay open: a branch in his hand pointing to the text prompting Billy to recite in a manner reminiscent of his bar mitzvah. The similarity felt like a dark corruption of the prior-ritual: as he approached the altar to read, he noticed there appeared to be knife-marks worn into the stone, with traces of blood dried into them. “Sanguis obscurus domini me virtute replet, mundus ad nostras tremendas voluntates flectetur…” As he chanted, a red pentagram formed in arcane energy on the back of his hands. As he felt that same energy billowing outwards from him, the expanse below the cliff face was illuminated: an eerily-empty city now in flames and disaster, the howling winds now sounding even more scream-like. “...no… “, he whimpered, looking in horror at what lay before him, before turning to the hooded figure, “.. I didn’t… I wouldn’t do this…” The hooded figure stepped towards him, cloven hooves apparent through his red cloak. “You did. And you will. It is what was written…” The howling, screaming winds intensified as the figure reached up to pull back his hood, glowing red eyes the only features Billy could make out before he awoke in his bed with a cry. He looked around the bedroom: no fire, no cloven spectre, and Teddy lying peacefully in the bed beside him, right where he should be. He thought about waking his beau for reassurance, but seeing the look of peaceful dreams on the blond’s face made him decide against it. He collected himself, lay back down and attempted to return to his slumber - not noticing the pentagram glowing on the back of his hand as he did so flickering and fading as he faded from consciousness.

He was awoken the next morning by the tempting, luscious scent of a cheese omelet wafting from the kitchen area. Without even bothering to take off his slightly-embarrassing cat onesie, he shuffled into the kitchen - where the vexingly chipper-for-this-hour Teddy was frying the eggs. “Heh, the only way to get you out of bed at a reasonable hour. Did you sleep well?” Billy groaned in response. “Uuugh, I’d pull down this hood and ask if I look like I did, but I don’t wanna horrify you.” Teddy snickered, affectionately, turning around to look at him. “Billy, you know I think you’re beautiful even when you have gunk in your eyes, or unkempt hair, or-AAH!” Teddy’s exclamation of horror at the sight of him sent a jolt of shock through Billy, standing a little confused before frowning at him through a laugh. “... oh, very funny!” Teddy chuckled back at Billy warmly, serving an omelet on a plate for him. “Heh, what, you’re definitely awake now, aren’t you? So it worked…” Billy giggled back at his partner’s silliness. “Yeah, I guess so…” His mind wandered a little, and he thought back to the invitation he received yesterday from Doctor Strange, “... hey, do you still have that business card the Doc gave you?” Teddy reached around in his pocket, leaning over to the dining table to hand it to the dark-haired youth briefly before turning his attention to pouring two glasses of OJ. “There you go. Thinking you’ll go see him today?” Billy looked at the card in his onesie-covered hand, imagining biting the bullet and meeting the most senior magic-practitioner in the universe for whatever business he had with him. “... yeah, I suppose I shouldn’t keep the man waiting. He no doubt has important things to d-” As Billy spoke, the business card in his hand emanated an azure aura that engulfed him, teleporting him out of the kitchen, leaving Teddy rather confused as he turned around with the couple’s orange juice. “.... baby?”

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The next thing Billy knew, he was standing in an ornate, gothically-grand building adorned with strange furnishings: some looking like art pieces and others like something one might see in a low-end antique store. A potent scent of incense wafted up his nostrils as he took in his surroundings. “Ah, Mister Kaplan. I trust you’re ready to discuss our business together.” He turned to see Doctor Strange sitting at a table behind him, sipping from a cup that presumably contained tea of some sort. “... though judging by your attire, you look to be more ready for a game of ‘Truth or Dare”...” Billy looked down at his onesie and winced, wondering if there was anything worse he could be seen in by one of his biggest idols in both heroism and magic. “... oh, um, sorry… I wasn’t expecting…” The doctor cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. At least you’re clothed; I swore I was going to get those business cards changed after the last time I gave one to Tony Stark…” Strange whipped his hand around in a spiral and Billy’s attire changed from his kitty onesie to his red cape and full-body unitard, adorned with an ever-shifting starry pattern. “Business talk calls for business wear, I think. Walk with me.” Strange set his teacup down on the table and rose to his feet, heading down the hall of the baroque sanctum: the wooden, engraved doors opening for him as though conscious.

Billy gritted his teeth as he walked behind the doctor, expecting a chiding for what, by his own estimation, constituted amateurish use of the mystic arts. “... so, um, if this is about that time where I accidentally made it so that everyone acted like they were in a musical, I promise I’ll never do it again: I was just trying to get my boyfriend and me into Hamilton. And I would have fixed it earlier, but Alexandra Occasio-Cortez was kind of killing it.” The sorcerer shook his head. “... no, that’s not-” Billy continued, his voice quickening with anxious energy. “And if it’s over that time I brought an interdimensional, eldritch conservative-mom into our reality, that wasn’t my fault…” Strange’s brow furrowed. “... I was not aware…” Billy began again, “Alright, if this is because of the Judy Garland seance, I-”. Strange raised a hand and the end of his cape rose to gag Billy, silencing him mid-sentence. ‘... Mister Kaplan, I must ask that you stop, lest you talk me out of my offer before I even make it.” Billy stared up at the doctor like a deer in headlights, so anxious about what he might say that he forgot to breathe for a few seconds, even after the cape un-gagged itself from his mouth. Strange continued. “I’ve been watching your exploits for some time now; Seen many possible futures. Even met some alternate versions of you from other universes to whom, I don’t mind admitting, I owe my life. And recently I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time to start training you as my successor.” Billy looked on with confusion at this assertion. “... like, as team-mage in the Avengers?” The slightest of smirks formed in the corner of Strange’s mouth. “As Sorcerer Supreme.”

The realisation of what had just been suggested left Billy looking like he’d just been punched in the gut; his pupils dilated and jaw agape. He tried to reconcile Strange’s words with reality as he knew it. “... there must be better candidates than me! I mean… I don’t even know what I’m doing or how I do it! For heck’s sake, the closest thing I’ve read to a guide on the mystic arts is ‘The Secret’! What about Illyana Rasputin? Brother Voodoo? Literally anyone in Kamar Taj?” Strange shook his head. “That lack of expertise is evidence precisely of why it could well be you, William. You’ve managed feats that would take a lifetime of training for most sorcerers on sheer innate ability alone. Additionally, the Sorcerer Supreme’s charge is not merely Earth but the whole cosmos - a detail many forget. Your escapades with Prince Dorrek have made you one of the most cosmically-experienced spellcasters alive: you are uniquely qualified.”

Billy sighed, conceding the point, but still unsure. “... and there aren’t any actual qualifications required? ‘Cause I haven’t gone to college or anything, I’ve been kind of busy.” Strange waved his hand to dismiss the concern. “We will cover that. Think it over. If you’re willing to apprentice with me for this purpose, we should commence your tutelage as soon as possible. The cosmos is seldom calm for long, and one never knows what might be around the corner.” Strange drew a circle in the air with his first and second finger, and a portal back to Billy’s apartment building’s front door sparked into existence before them. “I’m afraid I’ll have to invite you to depart now, though. I have a conference call with the Living Tribunal shortly, and I’ve learned from experience it’s best not to surprise them.”

Billy stepped through the portal as though he was in a daze or sleepwalking, not even noticing that his attire transmuted back to his cat-onesie as he did so. The peace and stillness of the Sanctum Sanctorum was abruptly replaced by the cacophony of car horns and New-York bustle, leaving him even more disoriented than before. Rather than heading inside his building, he crossed the road to Central Park and sat down at the first bench he came across to steady his thoughts. He knew by all logic he should be overjoyed, having just been offered an apprenticeship by one of his idols to one day assume the most revered position in magic - but instead an empty, aching, rotting feeling throbbed in his stomach. He couldn’t shake the thought that this was some enormous mistake, or a cosmic practical joke; that he couldn’t possibly be enough for this responsibility. Memories of every mistake he’d ever made whirred around Billy’s head, making him grimace with regret, shame or embarrassment at each one. His breathing grew faster and shallow, and he felt his chest tighten with stress causing the breaths to grow even more rapid and stifled. He felt the gaze of passers-by rake over him with bewilderment, realising how odd the sight of a boy in a onesie unraveling in a public park must be, and after composing himself a bit, staggered his way back home.

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Teddy arrived home hours later from his morning workout - a daily ritual that could only be derailed by debilitating sickness or the temptation of his partner in an amorous mood. He noticed on his return that the bedroom door was shut, as opposed to how he left it, and peered inside to find the blinds down and Billy bed-rotting & looking semi-catatonic. He worried that any question could further aggravate his partner’s mood, but knew that he couldn’t be of help if he didn’t understand. “... so…. how did it go?” Billy stirred a bit and looked up at him with wide eyes. “... you knew where I was?” Teddy chuckled in response. “I handed you a business card from Doctor Strange and you disappeared while talking about visiting him. I may look like a himbo, but I’m just as terminal a geek as you, if not a worse case.” He scooted across the bed beside his smaller partner, and wrapped an arm over his shoulder comfortingly. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Billy sat there in silence for a few seconds, unsure how to explain why this had been so triggering to him; why such a high-honour pushed him over the edge mentally. After trying to think how he could even frame it to Teddy -describing the existential dread, inner self-loathing or fear for the fabric of reality itself the offer had brought up-, he relented and just described it plainly. “... he wants to train me to succeed him as Sorcerer Supreme.” He studied the expression on his boyfriend’s face, expecting an incredulous response or just shock at the gravity of the offer. Instead, Teddy seemed to mull over all the implications carefully, nodding as he did, then looking down at him with his sensitive, empathic eyes. “...I see. That’s a lot of responsibility.” Billy exhaled sharply. “Tell me about it! He literally had to excuse himself halfway to talk to some cosmic being I hadn’t even heard of. I looked it up in the Avengers Academy files: apparently this thing oversees the entire Multiverse! Like, I am SO out of my league here, it’s ridiculous.” Teddy smiled at him bashfully in response. “Well, I know what that’s like.” He gave a little flirtatious wink a few seconds later when he wasn’t quite sure Billy understood he was referring to him, who gave an exasperated laugh and a shove once it clicked. “Oh, shut up! I mean it, this isn’t plucky cosplayers fighting street-crime anymore. This is serious.” “It hasn’t been that for a long time, Billy. You’ve gone toe-to-toe with Doctor Doom. You helped stop a mad Celestial from destroying the Earth. You took down an eldritch horror intent on ending all of reality - more than once, now that I think of it. So tell me what’s really going on here, because you’re not an amateur anymore and you know it.”

Billy’s brow furrowed as he looked up at his partner’s face, the softly supportive, kind expression that normally feels like home to him instead making him feel ashamed. “... you don’t seem surprised that he asked me.” “I’m not”, replied Teddy, unblinking as he held his gaze, “it’s pretty much what I’ve assumed is on the cards for you for quite some time now. That, or ascending to some higher plane of creation where you shape the cosmos. Not as big of a fan of that one, though. Might get in the way of date-night.” Billy gritted his teeth at that admission, not even laughing at the joke at the end of it. “Teddy, I’m a terrible choice for that role. People see my powers and assume it’s what I’m meant for… they don’t see me. They don’t know what goes on in my head… what I’m really like.” Teddy looked almost hurt by that comment, but removed his own ego from his thoughts and queried deeper - well versed in having to play the impartial therapist at this point. “What about me? You don’t think I see the real you?” Billy flinched as he realised the collateral of his words. “... babe… my darling… you see the best, you always do… because you love me. But… there’s something wrong with me. Something bad…” He trailed off, not sure how to express exactly what he meant. Teddy let him sit uninterrupted for a moment, but he didn’t elaborate without prompting. “...what do you mean?”

Billy sighed, his brow sweaty with stress and his fingers fretting at his sleeves. There were so many thoughts in his head - ones so familiar he didn’t even need to examine them closely. They’d been with him as long as he could remember - since before even hitting double digits in age; Quieter in moments of joy or acceptance, but never fully silenced. And right now, they were screaming. “... take the powers away… discount all the times I’ve accidentally managed, with the help of my friends, to save the day, and I’m just me. And… I’ll never be enough. There’s always something wrong, Teddy. There’s never peace. All the good times… all the moments where everyone else is laughing, joyful, enjoying the moment… I’m not feeling that. Not completely. In my head, I’m wondering how I’m going to fuck it all up. Ruin it for everyone. My drama… my instability… my insecurity… I’m not a pillar of hope or security like you. I don’t belong in a role like that - a role where everything depends on me, because what if I unravel again, like I always do? Magic is super sensitive to the source. The wrong intent can send it all awry. And on this scale… that’s catastrophic.” He inhaled deeply, almost breathless from explaining these racing, intrusive thoughts all in one go. “So, yeah… I know I have gifts that make me uniquely qualified as a sorcerer. I just can’t help but feel like they went to the wrong person… at best, I don’t have the temperament. And at worst… there’s something dark, ugly and messed up in me that would turn the role of Protector of the Cosmos into the Harbinger of its doom.”

Teddy let the words sit a moment, taking them all in. To some, the silence might seem tense, but Billy knew it was just a sign he was really listening and considering what had been said. He felt the brushing of his hair out of his eyes and a wayward tear wiped from his cheek by a gentle hand as everything was mulled over. Eventually, the young prince broke the silence. “We know that voice. It’s the anxious voice lying to you. And it hates being proven wrong, which is why it tries to convince you not to start.” Billy rolled his eyes with a nod, as though begrudgingly remembering the truth of these words having been accepted previously. The blond continued. “All these supposed breakdowns, meltdowns, and failures you’re referring to. They all have one thing in common: You’ve gotten up every time and come back stronger. If there’s something dark in you, I’ve never met it, and I’ve been here since the start.” He gently placed his hand in Billy’s, squeezing it reassuringly. “And that’s not going to change. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. In the darkest moments… like when I lost my mom….” His voice faltered for a moment, and Billy felt the pain in his own chest too before Teddy steadied himself and continued, “... you give me the strength to go on. You’re wrong when you say you’re not a pillar of hope or security. You’re exactly that to me, and you don’t even see it. You tell me I don’t see the bad in you… I think you’re just as blind to the good.” Billy’s eyes welled up, knowing exactly how much the loss of his mother still weighed on his other half. His voice was barely more than a whisper as he responded. “You have to say that, though. You’re my boyfriend… you love me, you’d always try and shield me from the nasty stuff…” “And why do you think I love you so much? Do you think it’s just because I feel sorry for you? You know that’d never have lasted this long. It wouldn’t have been any help to me when I’ve been vulnerable. You’re not the only one in this relationship who’s needed help at times, and yet you don’t hold it against me when I do. Just yourself.”

Teddy watched as Billy averted his gaze, seemingly almost embarrassed at being reminded that these feelings are based on a warped perspective. He could see from his face Billy trying to vanquish them with reminders of the truth, but he didn’t look fully reassured. “Okay, let’s look at this another way: Your powers aren’t going anywhere. No one can take them away, even Doctor Doom admitted that. If you’re really that worried about them being dangerous, wouldn’t it be objectively safer if you had more control over them? A better understanding of how to use them?” Billy’s brow furrowed as he considered Teddy’s point, looking down almost in resignation at being unable to object to the logic of it. “I guess…” Teddy’s sunny expression started to return, like clouds clearing on a skyline. “Well then, it sounds like you’ve nothing to lose by at least going along and accepting the tutelage. And if you STILL don’t feel like you can handle the position by the end of it all, I guess he can just find some sort of cosmic recruitment company.” Billy smiled up at him sadly, still not sure of himself but not able to question Teddy’s reasoning. “I hope you’re right.” He felt his boyfriend’s strong hands rub his upper-arms comfortingly, before one rose to cradle his head. “Look, I don’t claim to have everything figured out. But I know you. And I know that I have never once regretted putting my faith in you. You’re gonna kill it, trust me. Not because you’re the Demiurge, but because you’re Billy Kaplan.”

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Chapter Text

After a night of soft cuddling, ice-cream and fantasy tv-programs starring improbably-muscled men, Billy was feeling sufficiently recharged to show up for his first day of tutelage the next afternoon. He arrived at the Sanctum Sanctorum shortly after 12, knocking somewhat-timidly on the large, ornately engraved door. It opened, seemingly of its own volition, and after waiting a moment to be invited in by a person of some description, he apprehensively headed inside. “... Hello? It’s… uh, Billy here…” He looked around the atrium, hearing no response, and headed down one of the network of hallways leading out of it, hoping to find his way to a section of the building he recognised. After ten minutes of wandering around suspiciously repetitive corridors, he was unsure if the house was enchanted to trap intruders in a looping corridor, or if his sense of direction was just that bad - his confusion furthered by the paintings on the walls behind him seemingly changing from what he remembered. He closed his eyes and attempted to find his way through the house with astral sight, but was startled out of it by a familiar voice. “Ah, you’re here. Excellent.” The sudden appearance of Strange behind him caused Billy to jolt in surprise, knocking into an oriental-styled vase on an end table beside him as he spun around, shattering it into tiny pieces on the floor. “... oh god… I'm sorry, I hope that wasn’t ‘The Sacred Vase of the Vishanti’, or something…” Strange, stoic as ever, raised a brow slightly, a faint hint of amusement on his face. “Not quite; Pottery Barn. And it was on sale.” He made a twisting, upward motion with his hand, pursing his fingers together, and the pieces reassembled like a murmuration of birds - though in a new shape to before. He motioned to one of the doors down the hallway behind him. “Why don’t we move things to my study? It would seem an appropriate place to begin your tutelage.” Billy gave a biddable nod, his gaze lingering on the pot as he walked away from it, wondering if the house itself similarly changed to Strange’s whims.

A sense of calm washed over Billy as he stepped into the study: the white sage incense burning in the corner and the purple hues adorning the walls between oak furnishings making the room feel like a safe place to reach out into the mystic. The ceiling glittered softly with a pattern of shifting stars & nebulas in a manner very similar to Billy’s own costume - a detail he wagered was added to make him feel a sense of familiarity. Strange made his way behind the substantial, oakwood table, templing his fingers in front of him as he sat. “So, what do you know of the four mystical sources?” A flash of embarrassment crossed Billy’s face, and he looked at Strange somewhat sheepishly. “...uh, surprisingly little. I stopped by Barnes & Noble on my way over, but they were fresh out of ‘Mystic Enlightenment for Dummies’.” Strange’s expression remained deadpan. “Yes, still out of print, no doubt. Well, no matter. The beginning can be a good place to start.” He closed his eyes, and suddenly Billy felt kaleidoscopic visions of abstract shapes, melding colours and inarticulable familiarity being projected straight into his mind. Strange’s voice cut through the chaos, helping him to make sense of the almost-maddening sights assailing his mind’s eye. “The first Sorcerer Supreme was Agamotto, one of the Vishanti: Abstract, Godly beings who traversed dimensions. You and he have quite a bit in common. He too was spawned of virgin birth, from the Elder Goddess Oshtur, who acted as a protector to early mankind, and, like you, he too went on a grand journey to find that mother.” Billy felt a tingling deep in his solar plexus — not unlike the flutter of nerves he’d felt the first time Teddy held his hand. But this was older; vaster; like sense was finally being made of the parts of his life that long-seemed absurd. Strange’s narration continued. “He began his search by looking inward, searching for clues she may have left him as to her whereabouts. Instead, he discovered his incredible inner spiritual power, and with it the first form of Magic. ‘The Lapis Path’, or Egocentric Magic. To the untrained, this might resemble telepathy. But where the mind ends, the spirit begins — and that is where this magic draws its flame. You have some experience of it already through your interactions with the astral plane”.

The images in Billy’s head swirled into ones more earthly; a henge of stone atop a hill overlooking a grassy valley. He could see Strange standing at the monument, arms folded behind him, continuing to narrate what he was seeing as though he were the host of a BBC documentary. “Finding no clues to Oshtur’s whereabouts within, he turned his search to the earth. Though his travels were fruitless with regards to his initial mission, his heightened cosmic awareness allowed him to see through the illusions of time and space, and sense the forces that flow through our environments. These forces flow along what are known as ‘ley lines’, and where these lines converge, greater energy can be tapped. A sorcerer can connect the ambient energies of the world around them with their own, and perform spells that interact with that physical world. Force fields. Mystic blasts. Elemental control. This is Ecocentric Magic, the Second Path.” Billy could feel his brow furrow in puzzlement at this revelation, once again more confused than ever about his power. “But… I’m not tapping into my environment when I do stuff like that… at least, I don’t think I am.” Strange continued to behold the world of the vision where he stood in it as he replied. “Perhaps not knowingly. Or, perhaps you’re already drawing from another source.”

The sights assailing Billy’s inner-eye turned to galactic storms, screaming voids, and flashes of silver light. The scale of what he was seeing was rather overwhelming, his comparative insignificance in the face of it all giving him a sense of vertigo. Strange’s voice snapped him back from the dread and returned him to focus. “Agamotto then widened his search, across space. It was then that he discovered that mystical energy flows not just from the world we inhabit, but from others as well. From other dimensions, and from beings who inhabit them. From this, he coined the Third Path: Exocentric Magic. This form of magic allows sorcerers to achieve feats beyond their own abilities, by invoking the power of Mystic Principalities. Such spells would fail should these beings refuse to offer their help, though most oblige as being invoked increases their own power.” Strange’s voice took a more severe tone as he spoke the next part, a warning implicit. “One should be careful about the entities they call upon, however. Some malevolent beings offer vast amounts of power, in exchange for the soul of the invoker. One of such beings is the sibling of Oshtur, Chthon.” A chill ran down Billy’s spine, as the illusion he was experiencing turned to a shadowy, liquescent, crimson world; as though he was seeing the tethers and building blocks of reality being corrupted. He reached out towards a tessellating formation, before recoiling in pain like he’d just hit a nerve. Strange’s tone remained sobering. “It was Chthon, not Agamotto, who authored the 4th, forbidden path: Necromancy. He experimented on humans and other forms of life, combining them into perversions of the natural order through the use of death energy. The energy released through the termination of life provides a sorcerer with a quick, easy and abhorrent source of power. Chthon’s grimoire, The Darkhold, records such magic. Its use can disrupt balance between realms, invite possession by demonic beings or draw the judgement of the Vishanti or The Living Tribunal which could result in one’s removal from the post of Sorcerer Supreme.” The illusion ended, and Billy found himself once again sitting in the study across from Strange, who gave the impression from his unchanged positioning that they’d never left. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if to soothe himself from the gravity of his tutor’s words. “... yeah, I might leave that elective off my curriculum so, if that’s alright with you.” Strange nodded. “Your caution is wise. But, the Sorcerer Supreme requires an understanding of all magic, so as to be able to counter it at the very least. Or… as a last resort, in only the most dire of circumstances.”

He rose from his desk, examining an ornament displayed in a cabinet on the wall, as though lost in thought. “Practitioners and patrons of such dark arts have been acting rather brazenly as of late. Our mutual acquaintance, Azazel, a prime example. He no-doubt intended to channel a great deal of death energy through mass-sacrifice, though to what end, I know not.” Billy thought back to the incident in the church the other day, Strange’s words jogging his memory of events. “Yeah, he was talking about an offering… to someone he called the ‘Anti-Nazarene’.” At the utterance of that title, Billy noticed a brief, but sudden freeze in his mentor, the mage’s stoicism making the subtle gesture all the more notable. He felt a quavering sense of panic, unused to seeing anything spook the doctor, and suddenly craved more clarity. “...is that important?” Strange turned to him, a nonchalant, dismissive air returning to his manner. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. These satanic types are a superstitious bunch. There is no definitive Satan, and those malevolent principalities who would seek to be considered the true heir to that throne are prone towards dramatic gestures to inspire patrons and followers. We should be more concerned with the immediate actions of such dark art practitioners. Whatever their reasons, the price is likely the same.” Billy pondered these words, along with everything else he’d just learned - the gravity of it all weighing heavily on his mind, but through it all, another question was eating at him. As Strange headed towards the door, Billy turned and called after him. “... but Doctor Strange, what about Agamotto? After all that.. did he ever find Oshtur in the end?” The doctor stopped briefly to reply before leaving, his face not visible to Billy, but his tone somber. “No.”