Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Cloak slapped his face again, causing Stephen, still half-asleep, to groan. He let out a groggy but equally irritated “what?”. 

Somehow, the piece of fabric won the battle of stubbornness, celebrating when its master finally raised his head out of the book he'd fallen asleep on. 

Stephen had been working on a project that could rewrite the medical industry forever: combining medical science with magic to produce an instant spell that would cure any disease or injury. It would be a way to combine his old and new life in a way that could benefit everybody. 

Making such a spell was the hard part, but the previous night, Stephen finally made a discovery that might have been the key to the entire puzzle: magical energy transfer. 

All one needed to do was transfer magical energy to regenerate axons and encourage the dendrites between neurons to connect to the synapses of other magical neurons. 

He nearly fell out of his seat in excitement, but the celebration was short-lived, as he fell asleep not long after. His body had enough after 4 days of no sleeping, go figure. 

He was just about to fall asleep again when a loud crash came from outside. The noise alerted both his sorcerer and doctor side, sending him out of his seat within seconds, his Cloak close behind. He ran out of his room, down the stairs and through the foyer, his mind racing with all of the possibilities that could be awaiting him outside the door. 

He opened it and looked both left and right, but didn't see anything noticeably large or glowing, so that was a small blessing. There was a cool breeze that he felt deep within the nerves of his damaged hands, lowering his patience level even further. 

He squinted his eyes when they finally adjusted and did another scan of the street. Something scurried across the road and dogs barked in the distance, adding to the usual sounds of the city. Stephen sighed. It was all a waste of time. 

He turned to go inside when he heard a soft groan in the alleyway across from the Sanctum. 

Putting his arms up defensively and feeling his Cloak tense up, Stephen made his way across the lamp-lit street. 

“Hello? Does anyone need help?” Stephen asked in a voice that was louder than a whisper, but not loud enough to raise suspicion in the neighbors. 

He stopped walking forward to see if he could hear a response. For once in his life, Stephen would do anything for better hearing. When a few seconds were up, he walked forward again, calling for the voice he heard before. 

By the Vishanti, he prayed they weren't dead. 

The Cloak started to drag Stephen towards a dumpster, scaring the daylights out of him and causing him to gasp loudly. He flinched when the sound echoed off the street, no doubt waking at least one person up. 

He didn't know why the Cloak wanted to go to the dumpster or all places, but he knew better than to question the sentient relic. He lifted the lid and was oddly not surprised to find a bloody man sporting a black mask inside. He was still alive, if the heavy, raspy breaths were anything to go by. 

It didn't take long for Stephen to go into Doctor Strange mode, cataloging the man’s injuries and thinking of solutions. 

“Okay, we need to get him out of the dumpster and into my room. Cloak, get his head but be careful and don't jerk too much; the goal is to keep him as flat as possible until I can rule out damage to the nervous system. I'm gonna grab the legs and on the count of three, we'll both lift him out of the dumpster, okay?”

The Cloak gave a nod while Stephen got his arms into place. “Alright, 1… 2… 3…” The ‘three’ sounded more like a groan than anything as Stephen lifted the body, with no help from his pained hands. 

Once in the air, the Cloak repositioned itself so that it held most of the weight to allow Stephen to rest. Although Stephen was physically and spiritually stronger than he'd ever been before, his hands remained a noticeable weakness. 

The sorcerer swallowed his pride and let the Cloak take the entirety of the body, only assisting in shakily opening the front door to the Sanctum. Stephen found himself maneuvering around like he would with a gurney; blocking corners to allow smooth turns and moving potentially dangerous objects out of the path. 

He helped the Cloak set the man down on his bed and began assessing his condition. Although he was a neurosurgeon, Stephen knew a lot about emergency care through his time in med school and his experiences with Christine. It wasn't rare that he'd end up spending a day in the ER helping the incompetent on-call neurosurgeons. 

“I need you to apply pressure to his stomach wound so he doesn't bleed out.” Technically, the Cloak could read its sorcerer’s mind, but Stephen was used to (and secretly missed) commanding people in the operating room. 

The first thing Stephen did was remove the black mask. The man obviously wanted to keep his identity secret, or he wouldn't wear a mask, but the face didn't spark any recognition from Stephen. There was a large cut that spanned from the man’s temple to his cheek, and it was a miracle that it missed his eye. Fortunately, it wouldn't require stitches. 

“Cloak, get me the med kit.” The Cloak quickly did as it was commanded. 

While the Cloak was looking for a suitable light, Stephen continued to examine the man. He had a cut on his nose, a split lip, and a pool of blood on his stomach. There weren't any other obvious injuries, but the pained breathing sounded like there was internal damage done- likely blunt force trauma. It was impossible to tell without a very extensive panel or X-rays and MRIs, but Stephen had a hunch that this man wouldn't enjoy a trip to the hospital very much. 

He could always call Christine, but she was on a much-needed trip to Europe with a few of her friends. It was very rare that Christine did anything for herself, and contrary to popular belief, Stephen wasn't that much of a douche.

The Cloak returned with a medical bag, and Stephen grabbed a pen light which he shone into the man’s eyes. 

“His pupils aren't responsive to light, which means he's either blind or has severe damage in the brain. Certain drugs may also affect pupil reactions, but his eyes aren't pinpointed, so that likely isn't the case.” Stephen was notorious for rambling about his medical knowledge in the middle of an examination or surgery. At least the Cloak couldn’t call him out on it the same way his interns could. 

“Cloak, I need help taking his shirt off, preferably without hurting him any further.” 

The Cloak maneuvered the man to a more upright position so Stephen could clumsily take the black shirt off. 

“Oh Vishanti!” Stephen exclaimed when he caught sight of the man’s torso. 

Dozens of scars marked his body like a canvas, painting a story that only its owner would know. Stephen had seen worse scars, but never to the varying degree of each of these. The scars weren't obtained at the same time; some had been there for years while others may have been as fresh as a few weeks. He'd obviously been in the business for a while, whatever it was he did. 

Stephen grabbed a clean towel and pressed it against the fresh wound to clean the crimson blood. It was definitely from some sort of knife judging by the precision of the cut. To Stephen's dismay, it was deep enough to require stitches. 

Stitching was second nature to the former neurosurgeon, but he didn't trust his hands enough to do it. He could use magic to steady his hands enough so they didn't shake, but it'd require a lot of energy and concentration. He took a deep breath to steady himself; working up enough courage to grab the needle and suture thread. 

He lined up the thread with the needle, but missed the hole by an entire inch when his finger decided to tremor. After another deep breath, he attempted it again. He noisily exhaled when he missed yet again. 

Giving up on doing it alone, Stephen closed his eyes to conjure a spell that would give him steadier hands. It took nearly all of his will power, but he managed to get the thread through the needle while spell casting. 

Then, it was time for the harder part. Stephen bent down and hovered over the wound, contemplating his life choices as he saw how shaky his hand was, causing the threaded needle to bounce up and down. He focused all of his astral energy into his hands, willing them to be still. The effort caused his head to pound in a margarine-like fashion, but hopefully the procedure would be done quickly. 

Stephen ignored the way his breath quickened as the needle sunk closer to the gaping cut on the other man's stomach, instead focusing on what he was about to do. He knew how to do it, heck, he could probably do it with his eyes closed, but the spell to still his hands took enough energy to make it harder to think. It was one of the reasons Stephen never fixed his hands to begin with. 

He finally let out a breath when the needle went through the skin for the first time and made its way back up through the other side. Muscle memory kicked in at that point, allowing Stephen to bury the knot with his famous precision. 

One suture down, about 5 more to go. 

The brain was a crazy thing; one moment it can handle millions of directions and outside stimulation but the next, it completely blanks out. That was exactly what Stephen's brain did as he went to start the second suture. 

He could not for the life of him remember how to do it, despite doing it perfectly just seconds before. All he could seem to focus on was the throbbing in his hand. 

With an angry grunt, he dropped the steadying spell, giving his head instant relief. How was he supposed to repeat that process five more times? Sure, he'd persisted at harder things, but he feared that his incompetence would end up killing the man before him. 

Speaking of which, how had he not woken up yet? The situation was becoming more frustrating by the minute, and Stephen was pushed towards calling for help more and more. 

He'd already ruled out taking the stranger to a hospital, but not Kamar-Taj. At least there would be less questions at the latter. 

The Cloak, as intuitive as ever, moved to apply pressure to the stab wound (that was still bleeding steadily) so that Stephen could look for his phone. 

Phone in hand, Stephen went back into his bedroom while searching for Wong's contact info. 

Wong was going to love this. 

After the third ring, Stephen almost gave up but was stopped by a hand swatting his own, causing the phone to drop to the ground and shatter. 

The Cloak moved towards its distressed master, causing a grunt to sound from the man on the bed. Stephen was too flustered to realize that the man's breath had quickened, the wheezes occasionally replaced by a groan. 

“Where…? Wh…” 

“You're at my house in Greenwich Village. I found you in my dumpster.” 

The man's eyes moved towards Stephen's direction, but didn't quite land on his face. The eyes weren't focused. “Who?” 

“Strange.” 

The man's eyebrows creased in utter confusion. Stephen didn't know why he even tried to introduce himself anymore. 

“I'm Doctor Stephen Strange, and I'm trying to patch you up.” 

“Well, thank you for the…” his sentence was broken off by a groan as he attempted to sit up. 

Stephen scoffed. “You're not going anywhere.” 

The man laid back down with a huff. “That's a little threatening.” 

“Good. Then maybe you'll stay until you are in better condition.” 

“I'm fine.” 

“Really? The blood all over my bed is telling me otherwise.” 

At Stephen's words, the man (seriously, what was his name?) brought his hands to the cut on his stomach. He winced as his finger rubbed over the sensitive area. “For a doctor, the stitches are pretty horrible. I can't say that I trust you very much.” 

“That’s a lot coming from a man who hasn't even told me his name.” Stephen paused, but he wasn't told a name. “Fine, I'm not in practice any longer. I was trying to call for help before you graciously decided to swat my phone away.” 

“I can't let anyone know who I am.” 

“Yeah I kind of figured that based on the mask.” 

The man quickly moved his hands to feel his face and sighed. 

“So, you really are blind?” Stephen asked. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?” 

“Well, I questioned it when I found the battle scars and realized that you were likely a vigilante for a living.” As he was speaking, Stephen got to work finding his garbled notes. Was it worth trying to use the healing spell? At this point, the answer was a definite ‘yes’. Stephen didn't need a man bleeding out all over his mahogany bed. 

It may have been easier to simply portal to Kamar-Taj, but his fatigued brain didn't think of that until after he was already scanning the pages, filled with his characteristic, unwavering determination.

The man laughed but was cut off by a whimper. 

“I don't want you bleeding to death, so I need you to hold still while I do this spell. Theoretically, it'll heal you.” 

“Wait, what? A spell?” 

Stephen hummed in response, concentrating on memorizing the patterns. 

“And what do you mean ‘theoretically’?” 

The spell weaved itself around Stephen and started to spiral towards the injured man. The runes had a hard time connecting to him. “Try not to fight it.” 

“What?!” 

With some additional effort, the spell was weaved around both men. The idea was to transfer some of Stephen's energy into the other man's body to make it work faster in repairing itself. Stephen gave a tug at his astral form, commanding it to bond with the astral form of the other. The effort was a lot more strenuous than he anticipated, causing him to grit his teeth and yell. Despite his instincts telling him to stop, he recited the final pattern in his head. 

Stephen didn't know for sure what he was getting into, but what he wasn't expecting was for the world to go white. 

When Stephen regained consciousness, the first thing he did was open his eyes… only to find that he couldn't see. 

The world was enveloped in darkness, tendrils of fire giving shape to an otherwise bleak and formless landscape. It looked as if Stephen's eyes had been burned, although they didn't hurt. 

Frightened, Stephen reattempted to open his eyes, but his sight was the same. A few more attempts with no change in results caused his breathing to quicken and his heart rate to get dangerously fast. 

Was he in another dimension or multiverse, or did he actually go blind? Stephen would have thought it was a blindfold, but his hands felt that his face was completely clear. The fact that his hands weren't cuffed was an indication in itself; he wasn't captured by one of his many enemies. 

He remembered doing a spell, did it backfire? The force of it was pretty strong, but was it strong enough to blind him? 

Of course he screwed up- typical, stupid Stephen. 

Stephen put his hand in front of his face to see if his vision had come back, when he noticed something else- they didn't shake, nor did they hurt. 

A choked sob escaped his mouth at the feeling of his hands. Stephen almost forgot what painless hands were like; for years he had known nothing but pain, only for it to stop abruptly. He ran his hands over each other, relishing the lack of pain he was experiencing. They were smooth, missing the prominent scars he'd had since the accident. Best of all, they didn't tremble in the slightest. 

If he had traded his vision for painless hands, it was almost worth it. No, he'd never be able to see the sky or beautiful colors of Kamar-Taj, but he'd never have to worry about waking up groaning in pain or skipping a training session out of sheer embarrassment of his shaking hands. 

Sure, he'd contemplated using a spell to heal his hands, but since the damage had lasted so long, it was too late to fix them without having a constant spell winding around his sensitive nerves. It would have taken too much energy, if he both healed them and remained a Master of the Mystic Arts. If one thing was for sure, Stephen would never give up on the latter. 

He fidgeted with his still-not-hurting hands until a noise startled him. It sounded like his Cloak ruffling, but it was too loud. 

Everything was too loud. 

He could hear his own breathing as if it were being played on speakers. The noises of cars outside and the cat next door were easily heard as well. 

Also, smells. The smell of his expensive hand soap in the bathroom, the smell of sweat on the clothes in the hamper, the smell of old books and monogamy furniture, all amplified by a thousand. 

He heard the sound of a heart beating, and if it weren't for the familiar smell of his bedroom, Stephen would have thought it was a heart monitor at a hospital. 

The beat quickened, reaching the average bpm of someone that just woke up, but it didn't stop there; it kept speeding up. He heard a breath hitch. 

“Are you okay?” Stephen asked in a voice that didn't sound like his own. His lack of vision suddenly wasn't as acceptable as it was before. 

A sniffle was followed by a breathless “yeah” from the other side of the room. It sounded awfully like Stephen. 

Stephen ran a hand over his body, stopping as he felt one scar and then another, followed by yet another. He didn't remember having any of them before, despite the fact that they felt as if they'd been there for at least a few months. They were oddly like-

The man on his bed! 

Stephen got violently pulled from his fog of confusion as the previous events came rushing back at him all at once. 

The spell meant to heal the man must have had effects Stephen didn't know to prepare for. 

“You can see now, can't you?” Stephen asked the other man. 

“Either that or I'm on some illegal drugs,” the man-that-sounded-like-but-wasn't-actually-Stephen said. “I…I… you…wh-” he stuttered. 

“We switched bodies?” Stephen had seen some crazy shit, but this was on another level. “You're me and I’m… whoever you are?” 

The other man sighed. “Matt Murdock.” He still sounded breathless. How could he not? He was seeing for the first time since probably ever. “You did a spell?” 

Oh right, the spell. “Yeah”

“-and it did this?” 

Stephen nodded. “Yeah” 

“You seem surprised; what was it supposed to do exactly?”

“It was a spell I’d been working on to heal injuries. It worked, judging by the fact that there's  not a gash in my…or your… stomach.” At least the spell worked somewhat. Stephen couldn't see, but he could practically feel the man’s- Matt's- eyes boring through him. It had nothing to do with his new super-senses. “You have heightened senses?” 

“The goal was not to reveal anything about myself, but that seems inevitable now,” Matt muttered. “Yes, I had an accident when I was 9 that gave me heightened senses. It was the same one that made me blind.” His voice shook slightly on the last word. 

“It is nice… seeing again? Not that I-” stupid question, Stephen. 

“It's incredible.” A long pause. “I can ‘see' shapes with my radar sense, but the colors and the intricacy of everything is just-” he sighed. “It's not permanent is it?”

Was it? “If we can find a counter-spell, then no.” The other outcome was better left unsaid. How would they manage to live in a different body? 

Stephen heard the Cloak’s rustling fabric way before Matt's pulse rate accelerated. “That's a flying cape” 

“Cloak.” 

“What?” 

“It's The Cloak of Levitation.” The Cloak rested on Stephen's shoulders tentatively. 

“I thought resurrected ninjas were weird.” 

Stephen scoffed. “You haven't seen anything yet. I mean, ignoring the fact that you are… or were… blind.” 

“I know what you meant. So, how do we find a ‘counter-spell’?” 

“Since I created the original spell, I'd have to invent a spell to counter it. It'll only involve a lot of studying and research. ” 

“You can't read in braille though, can you?” 

Oh shit. “No, but I don't even think the books we need come in braille.” 

“And these books are…” 

“In Kamar-Taj: the place where I learned magic. Most of them are in Sanskrit or Mandarin though.” 

“Fantastic!” Matt exclaimed sarcastically. It was still weird for Stephen to hear his own voice connected to a body that was not his own. 

“Hopefully the language barrier is the hardest part.” 

“Hardest?” 

“For a sorcerer, the quest for knowledge is rarely easy, to put it lightly.” Stephen couldn't help but shudder as thoughts of some of his own quests came over him. “There's um, there's a reason some knowledge isn't known.” 

Matt groaned. “Great.” 

They sat in silence for a while, both men weighing the options. 

“I'm in if you are,” Matt said. 

It was Stephen's turn to mutter a “great”, but to his surprise, he realized that the delivery wasn't entirely sarcastic. 

Chapter Text

Matt was awake for the entire transformation. He felt as his muscles shifted, every fiber and nerve readjusting as his skin grew and shrunk. The pains he grew so used to dissipated, only to make room for new ones. 

The nerves in his hands screamed as his fingers became jagged and deformed. 

The pain reached the threshold, and he was granted the mercy of unconsciousness as his vision turned from fire, to white, to dark. 

It was a recurring dream. A dream he wished wasn't true. You would think after years and years of the nightmare, that it wouldn't come as much of a shock. Still, Matt spent morning after morning, startled, woken from an impossible dream of a world on fire, only to find that it wasn't a dream- it was reality. 

He'd spent so many mornings going into a panic attack, the words of his younger self screaming in his head:

“I can't see!” 

In college, he would wake up gasping, barely able to hear Foggy’s concern over his own heartbeat pounding. Even after graduation and becoming a lawyer by day and vigilante by night, the shock that came with waking up to see nothing never truly went away. 

It made it all the more surprising when he woke up and everything was clear. He closed his eyes in shock and fear. 

Was he still dreaming? Did the countless prayers and hopes of waking up to a different reality finally come true? Was his blindness truly just a nightmare the entire time? 

Matt reopened his eyes, only to stagger backwards and close them again, his brain not quite comprehending what it saw. 

Everything was so bright and colorful, it made him gasp at the beauty he missed since the accident. 

The walls were dark and the mahogany, four-poster bed had a quilt filled with patches of browns and reds- both colors Matt once knew. Behind the bed was a rich, purple curtain that contrasted the red-brown wall and floor. Elegant books of gold and red binding filled the shelves, and Matt knew that if he opened any one of them, he'd see words. 

The white pillows were stained a dark red, no doubt from Matt's blood. It wasn't a rare occurrence for Matt to wake up in someone else’s house, whether for fun reasons or from a Good Samaritan willing to patch him up, but to wake up being able to see…

It was overwhelming. 

His eyes filled with tears and he gasped again, unable to help it. 

“Are you okay?” A voice came from the other side of the room, scaring Matt. Why didn't he hear the heartbeat? 

Matt sniffled. Get it together. “Yeah.” 

Matt's gaze drifted to the other side of the room, his eyes instinctively knowing what to do. 

He wasn't expecting what he saw. 

“You can see now, can't you?” 

“Either that or I'm on some illegal drugs.” 

Opposite of him was… his body? Matt didn't know what he looked like (as far as he was aware, he looked the same as he did when he was nine), but based on descriptions given to him by Foggy and the silhouette he could make out in the mirror, he knew that it was himself. 

The other man caught on to something, his unfocused brown eyes scanning the room, trying frantically to see. 

“I…I… you…wh-” Matt stuttered. 

“We switched bodies,” Stephen said, the shock making him breathless. “You're me and I'm… whoever you are.” 

Matt contemplated whether or not to tell Stephen his name or to keep quiet. Eventually, he justified it with the realization that if anyone needed to know that information, it was the man that stole his body. Speaking of which- 

“You did a spell?” 

Matt wished he could say that the following words made sense, but they just confused him further. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't understand the words, it was that he didn't believe them. 

And yet, despite all the disbelief and talk of spells, the biggest shock to Matt was that he could see. 

The blind man was granted sight. 

Matt took the place of Bartimaeus, the man in the Bible that was blind until Jesus gave him sight. Only, Matt got his sight from trading bodies; receiving sight in return for giving his blindness (and his heightened senses) to someone else. 

He'd never wish his ailments on anyone else, but to be free from the confines of blindness and constant overstimulation was a welcome change. 

“You have heightened senses?” Stephen asked him, seemingly able to read Matt's thoughts. “Is it nice seeing again? Not that I-”

Nice? It was incredible! He could “see” with his radar-sense, but the colors and the shapes and the intricacy of everything was just- oh, did he just say all that out loud? 

Matt sighed. He was giving too much away and putting his friends in danger. He was a lawyer for crying out loud! Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? 

If this lasted much longer, all of Matt's secrets would be doomed. But then again, how was he supposed to continue his old life in a new body? It's not like he could tell a judge that he fell victim to a spell. And explaining it to Foggy and Karen- he shivered. “It's not permanent is it?” 

“If we can find a counter-spell, then no,” the sorcerer answered. 

Something red (a cape?) flew into the room. Matt didn't need his radar sense to hear his heart pounding. 

Matt was quickly informed that it was a “cloak of levitation.” It obviously wasn't a threat but Matt was on edge anyway; he eyed it wearily during the rest of the conversation. 

A lot of confusion, words he didn't understand, and talks of magic later, Matt and the sorcerer, Stephen, set out on a quest to “swap their bodies back”. 

Internally, he was laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation; swapping bodies, sorcerers, magic, regained sight, and now some “quest”, but he agreed to comply, so long as he got his body back. 

Though he could get used to his regained sight…

“How long does it take to get there?” Matt asked. 

“You mean Kamar-Taj? About 1 minute.”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. Either Kamar-Taj was close or Stephen had some kind of magical transportation system. 

Tired of standing in confusion, Matt approached Stephen, stretching his hand out to help him up. Matt looked down at his extended arm (which wasn't quite as big as his own, but still pretty muscular) and stopped when he got to his new hands. 

There were scars spanning from the back of his fingertips to his wrist. The fingers were slightly bent and trembling at irregular intervals, causing a dull pain that Matt didn't notice until then. It was so different than the pain Matt was used to  

Stephen hesitated, extending his arm before pulling it back, deciding to get up on his own. 

“So…what happened to your hands?”

Stephen scoffed bitterly. “It doesn't matter.”

“My accident mattered.”

“I um…got into a car wreck and… yeah.”

The doctor didn't elaborate. “Is that why you stopped practicing medicine?” 

“I couldn't exactly do surgery with damaged hands.”

“I’m s-” 

“Don't you dare pity me,” Stephen commanded. It wasn't loud- it was a soft, quiet sound similar to a mutter. Still, the sudden outburst frightened Matt, even though he no longer had heightened senses. 

“I- I'm not,” Matt said plainly. He knew more than most how awful pity could be. “It was never my intention. Pity is… awful.” 

The doctor nodded, shuffling his feet as if embarrassed. He cleared his throat and nodded, shrugging off his defensive statement. 

Both men started walking, Stephen leading the way with confidence, despite the fact that he was now blind. Only Matt would understand the sensation of being blind while also being able to see. 

“You were a surgeon?” Matt asked tentatively. 

“A neurosurgeon.”

“Wow, that's impressive.”

“Yeah, I was top of my class at Columbia.”

Matt stopped dead in his tracks, causing Stephen to stop. 

“Columbia? You went to Columbia?” 

“Yeah, I was one of few Nebraskans that ended up there.” 

Matt chuckled. “Come to think of it, I don't think I ever heard anyone there say that they were from Nebraska.”

“Wait, you went as well?” Stephen asked, scaring Matt out of his flashback. He probably picked up on Matt's excited heart rate at the mention of his college days. 

“Summa Cum Laude in Law.” If the other man could brag, Matt could too. 

“You have a degree in law, yet you happen to be a vigilante?” The man chuckled. “That's quite ironic.”

“Well, I have to make ends meet somehow.”

“How does that work?”

“I'm still trying to figure it out myself.”

The men went a little ways, passing a hall with heavy, wooden doors, a few chairs in a sitting area, and a magnificent staircase. Although Matt didn't stop when he laid eyes on the stairs, he took it in like a starving man eating food for the first time in ages; absorbing as much as he could as if it would be the only thing he'd ever receive. 

They passed dozens upon dozens of trinkets; ranging in size from small blades to large golden sculptures. “What are all of these?” 

“Relics. They’re magical objects, to put it simply.” 

Matt nodded his head. Yeah, simple. 

They stopped in front of an opaque, orange-hued door. 

“This is our stop,” Stephen said. 

“It's…it's a portal?” As if it weren't already hard enough, it was even more difficult to convince himself that this wasn't a dream. 

“Yes, but listen, I don't want anybody except Wong to know about this spell, so until we find him, you're gonna have to pretend to be me.” 

Matt laughed. He just met the man; how was he supposed to act like him? He took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Since you're a lawyer… you are a lawyer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then since you're a lawyer, I'm confident that you can improvise. Some basics though: I- you are a master of the Mystic Arts, meaning that everyone will look up to you. So, no pressure-”

“What if they ask about you?”

Stephen hesitated for a second. “Tell them that I am wanting to become a student and need to see Wong immediately.” 

“They wouldn't question a blind man wanting to learn magic?”

“On the contrary, they'd expect it.” Without further explanation, Stephen disappeared through the portal. 

“Stephen?” Matt inhaled and without hesitating, walked through the portal. 

The other side looked nearly identical to the one they came from; dark wood with intricate detailing. 

There were columns boxing the main area into a circular shape. Opposite of the portal they just came through was a door. 

“Wait.” 

Matt stopped, turning to Stephen. The latter was whispering something to his cloak, but it was too quiet to make out any words. Used to hearing everything, it annoyed Matt. 

“I'll need you to wear my Cloak. It doesn't take kindly to being worn by strangers, but it has my blessing so it should be fine.” 

Before he could question it, the Cloak flew to Matt, placing itself cautiously on his shoulders. 

“Alright. Here goes nothing,” Matt heard Stephen whisper under his breath.

Matt opened the door, quickly closing his eyes as he was overcome by the light on the outside. Stephen walked through the door and stood still beside Matt, probably trying to give him time to adjust to the brightness he hadn't witnessed since he was a child. 

Prying his eyes open to a squint, the surroundings overwhelmed him. 

There was so much color; people wearing clothing with bright, orange and green and red hues among the crowd. The surrounding buildings had the same detailing as Stephen's house, the geometry giving off an ancient, mystical feel. 

Past the buildings was a large courtyard filled with groups of people doing spins and crashing sticks together. It was friendly sparring judging by the laughs and competitive banter. In the center of the courtyard was a massive tree that twisted along itself to carry the weight of living thousands of years. The leaves on the thick branches rustled in the wind, sending them fluttering into the-

Sky. 

Without even thinking, Matt gasped. 

It was blue. Blue, like it was all those times he'd look out of his bedroom window. Blue, like it was when he'd walk to the store with his dad, a smile on both their faces. 

Blue, like the image scarred into his brain: his frightened self looking up for the last time, seeing the sky past his dad’s worried face telling him to close his eyes. Before everything went dark. 

When people would ask what he missed seeing the most, Matt's response had always been the sky. 

A tear trickled down his face. 

“Master Strange! Are you okay?” An enthusiastic dark-skinned woman asked. She was slightly out of breath, as if she'd just been sparring before running over. 

For a long, awkward second, Matt waited for Stephen to respond before remembering that he was in his body. 

“Oh uh yeah. I'm… I’m good.” Just looking at the sky for the first time in like 20 years. He rubbed his eyes.  “Just tired,” he added for good measure.

She nodded her head. It was a good thing exhaustion was universally acknowledged. “Could I help with anything?” 

“Yes, actually. Can you tell me where Wong is?” 

“He just portalled somewhere. Said he'd be back in a few days.” 

“A few days?” Matt swallowed. 

“Mmhmm.” She looked at him curiously. “What did you need from him?” 

“Needed to tell him about a prospective student.” Matt pointed behind him at his-but-technically-Stephen’s body. 

The woman walked up to Stephen. Extending her hand. The man took it, fumbling a little. Was Stephen pretending to be more blind than he was, or was he having a problem adjusting to the radar sense? 

“I’m Naomi.” She said enthusiastically. 

“S- Uh Matt.” Stephen smiled nervously. 

“Well, ‘Uh Matt’, I hope you enjoy your stay.” 

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, Naomi,” Matt called after her. She smiled and nodded. 

Both men let out a relieved sigh. 

“She's always that energetic,” Stephen explained. 

Matt laughed. “I figured.” 

“Since Wong isn't here, we could go ahead and start looking in the library. I have a few books in mind that may help us until he gets back.” 

“Lead the way, blind man.” 

Father Lantom always told Matt that his blindness and heightened senses were God’s will for him, but now, being able to see made Matt realize how much he was missing out on. 

He was missing out on color and shapes and vibrancy! 

And light, not fire, light. The sun. 

Was that how his life was supposed to be? Surrounded by light and warmth and the sun? Or was the sun a trick? Since being a child, Matt knew better than to look into the sun.

 “It could blind you,” his teachers would say. 

How could something so vital be so dangerous? Why did his eyes glance towards the sun, despite knowing it'd hurt? 

It was futile, hopeless. No sane person would look at the sun. 

Still, Matt found himself indulging, glancing quickly at the sun before spots clouded his vision. He blinked them away. 

How many more things had he taken for granted? What pains did he miss? How would his life be different now that he had sight? 

Deep down, he knew it was futile, hopeless. 

Why should he engage in this fantasy when the end goal was to be submerged again in darkness? Why should he get his hopes up only to end up right back to where he started? 

Was it all a trap? Did he need to lose his urge and give up his selfish motives to be stuck in a world of darkness? Or could he give in to his desires for once in his life and be in the light, the warmth, the sun? 

He decided to indulge the dream for now. Live in the moment and take in all the colors. Still, deep down, he wondered how it'd be to stay as Stephen. 

Was he willing to build up hope only for it to come crashing down? Even more, was he willing to intervene, to sabotage the man who was only trying to help? 

He shivered at the voices in his head, afraid to introspect any longer. Afraid of the answer. 

What would he give to stare at the sun? 

Chapter Text

The adjustment to being blind was definitely more of a challenge than Stephen anticipated. He thought the magic would balance out and make up for the lost sense, but it didn't- not really. 

If anything, it made Stephen painfully aware of literally everything- from the crickets miles away to the leak in the gutter outside the library Kamar-Taj. 

Magic depended on the inner connections of oneself and the surroundings- those seen and unseen. With his heightened senses and lack of sight; however, it was a challenge to focus. It was painfully overstimulating. 

He heard every heartbeat of every person he passed: the rapid thump of those sparring in the courtyard to the gentle patter of those meditating in their housing areas. It was oddly like wearing a stethoscope, the sounds magnified in a familiar, nostalgic way. 

He could smell the food vendors right outside Kamar-Taj: the twang of lentils in soup, large concentrations of heirloom tomatoes and chopped lamb, and various spices and garnishes that fumed from aromatic curry that he could practically taste. 

Even his sense of touch seemed to be heightened, with the light breeze feeling more like a small tornado and the sun feeling as though it was burning through his very bones. 

As they approached the library, Stephen was greeted by an overwhelming concentration of the smell of paper and dust. Two heartbeats were inside- one slow enough to belong to a man sleeping in the corner, and another fast yet resting heartbeat (a woman's). 

Beside him, Matt looked around, his breath smelling lightly of cortisol. The man was curious and shocked, with good reason. 

Stephen remembered tapping into his magic for the first time, revealing things he didn't even know existed and seeing things he never saw before. Was that how Matt felt now? 

“Hello, Stephen. I thought you've already read every book in here,” Sarah Wolfe joked from behind the desk. Since Wong got promoted to sorcerer supreme, she was the interim librarian. 

“Multiple times,” Stephen corrected before realizing his mistake. He was speaking as Matt, which must have confused the heck out of Sarah. 

“I mean, Stephen reads so much, it doesn't surprise me.” 

He heard Matt (the real one) let out a breath he'd been holding since the screw-up. 

Matt cleared his throat. “This is my friend, Matt. We need your help.” 

“It doesn't have to do with your friend’s blindness, does it?” 

Stephen realized that his eyes must have been wandering, trying to but unable to focus on or see anything. 

“Yes,” Stephen blurted at the same time that Matt blurted out a “No”. 

“Well- uh- kind of…” Matt cautiously corrected. 

“Stephen, what did you do?” Sarah asked, way too aware of the previous shenanigans Wong must have told her about. Wong and Sarah were dating (unofficially), after all. 

Matt spoke up. He wore Stephen's body, after all. “So if I… if hypothetically, I made a spell and uh- needed to reverse it… how would one do that?”

“You made a spell with no cure?” She didn't seem too surprised, much to Stephen's dismay. He really needed to work on his reputation as  a sorcerer. 

“Yeah and I need to reverse it.” 

“So you need to create a counter-spell?” 

“Yes!” Both Stephen and Matt blurted simultaneously. 

“Well…” she leaned in closer, “don't tell Wong I said this, but there's a library with the answers you seek.” 

“Great! Where is this library?” 

“That's the thing… no one knows the exact place.” 

“Great,” Matt said sarcastically. 

“... and nobody has come back to tell the location.” 

“Great,” it was Stephen's turn to grumble. 

“But if you want to switch your bodies back, it's worth a shot. Most sorcerers that have gone went alone.” 

That made sense. A lot of times, people he primeval sorcerers made trials and quests based on certain traits like patience or working together, and whoever created the safeguard for this ‘hidden library’ definitely honored the latter. 

“Wait, what do you mean switching bodies?” Matt asked. 

Stephen's unseeing eyes widened. He must have missed Sarah's comment. “I never said…” 

Sarah just smiled, frighteningly similar to that of the Ancient One when she was onto something. “Your souls are not in the correct bodies. The auras are off.” 

Right. That was a gift she had. She could not only read people like a book with her empathy, but she was so in tune with her energy that she could pick up on things like auras and emotions. It was like an uncanny x-ray. 

“So you've known this whole time?” Matt seemed equally betrayed and confused. 

“Oh yes, it's been fun playing along.” 

“Okay, well nice chat. Please don't tell Wong a thing or I'll have to tell him what went down at the Full Moon Party.” 

“That's quite the leverage, doctor.” She sighed. “I guess I'll keep your secret,” she joked before straightening up. “Be careful on your little quest though. You know the stakes.” 

“I'm sorry, stakes?” Matt asked. He must have been so confused by the entire thing. 

“Yeah, like losing your mind, a body part, your vision, your soul, or ending up in an endless cycle of torment in another dimension.” 

Matt was silent for a moment. “Well between the two of us, we've already lost two of those: sight and our minds.” 

“I like this man,” Sarah commented before someone else walked into the library. 

“So where do we start?” Matt asked. 

“I'm not sure yet. I'll have to meditate on it.” 

“You meditate?"

Stephen nodded before making a portal and gesturing to Matt to enter. 

They ended up back at the sanctum, where Stephen used magic to make both of them a cup of tea. The cloak instantly flew back to land comfortably on Stephen's back.

They both took a seat and sat in silence, drinking their tea. The herbs and spices that usually brought comfort to Stephen were almost overwhelming. He could smell every leaf and every slight pinch of flavor, and rather than being warm, it was like the cup was on fire. He set his mug down steadily with a sigh. 

The man across from him followed suit, the mug clattering unevenly onto the table, spilling over onto the carpet. Matt gasped. 

“I’m so sorry!” 

“Don't be.” Stephen snapped his fingers and the mess evaporated. It was a perfect spell for cleanups, especially for tea and coffee. He used it more often than he wanted to admit. 

“I have a spare bedroom down the hall, so make yourself at home,” he told the other man.

“Thanks!” 

The two parted ways and Stephen went into his bedroom, lighting candles and sitting in the middle of them. The cloak lifted him into the air, legs closed and hand out, ready to receive divine inspiration. 

He meditated, letting his spirit wander into various dimensions and realities, focusing on the thought of a library. 

Stephen never imagined he'd be in the position of actively searching for answers to get his broken, scarred hands back. He actually spent most of his time looking for a reversal, a way to get his old life back. 

It was a weird feeling walking in someone else's shoes, realizing you wanted your own disability back. He craved that familiar pain, the steady, reliable throb of his fingers and the slight shake he grew so used to.

He cleared those thoughts from his head and focused. If he were a library, where would he be hiding? 

Suddenly, the image of a grassland with a singular cave in the middle popped into his mind. He took a mental snapshot of it, grateful his brain could still do that despite being in a different body. He knew he wouldn't be able to see the landscape in person, but the mental image would at least allow him to make a portal. 

He got up, used magic to distinguish the candles, and flew to the spare bedroom. 

He was almost scared to knock, but he remembered that the action wouldn't make his hands explode in pain, so he knocked.

The sound was very loud, as if he were wearing a stethoscope, but it didn't hurt! He heard the man inside sigh, and then get up, walking to the door and opening it. 

“Hey, I found the place!” 

“And?”

“It's in a cave I'm pretty sure. I can portal there in the morning, but we should probably rest for tonight and go in the morning.” 

“I'm not opposed to that.”

He couldn't see Matt's face, but Stephen knew if he could, he'd see drooping eyelids. Stephen didn't technically need sleep with astral projection, but it was always a nice night when he did, especially when there were no nightmares of Dormammu or Thanos. 

They told each other good night and washed up, going to their respective rooms.

Even when Stephen closed his eyes, the fire of his vision stayed. He could hear the ambulances outside and some party a few blocks over. He didn't realize how loud New York truly was. 

He cast a noise-canceling spell and got comfortable, the cloak snuggling on top of him and applying a gentle, soothing pressure. 

He shifted in the sheets, putting his hand beneath his pillow. It was a position he slept in a lot as a student and a doctor, but since the accident, it hurt too much to do so. 

Tears filled his eyes as he drifted to sleep without pain, without trembling. He closed his eyes, torn between the craving of familiar pain and the desire of comfort. 

He wished the night would never end.

The following morning came and after eating too-flavorful toast and drinking too-bitter coffee, Stephen created a portal, following Matt into an unknown adventure. 

The landscape was empty, but that was as much as he could sense. He knew what it should've looked like, in theory. 

“What are we looking for exactly?”

“There should be a cave.”

“I don't see one.”

“Thanks.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“I'm thinking somewhere in Europe?” Stephen stopped in his tracks. 

He smelt something familiar: a combination of corn, hay, and dirt that could only be from one place. 

Nebraska. 

He felt his lip tremble as he took a deep breath in. 

The dirt was an exact replica of what he remembered, albeit more strong in scent, like the time he accidentally dropped a bag of fertilizer all over himself after chasing Donna with it. 

He could smell it, he could remember it, but he couldn't see it, and that bothered Stephen more than he thought it would. He hadn't been back since, well, since his mother’s funeral. 

He wondered how much it had changed and what it looked like after all these years, but he couldn't. He wanted to look at the sky, towards the sun, soaking in the warmth of nostalgic memories, not seeing it through the lens of fire and pain. 

“Are you okay?” 

Stephen forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah it's just-” 

“Stephen, where are we?” 

“Nebraska.” 

“Where you're from?” 

“Yeah.” Of course the ancient sorcerers would make a traveling library in a cave, forcing those who seeked information to face their past. 

He felt the dry breeze against his skin and heard it rustling through the grass. A cow mooed far away. He wanted to touch one. 

He was reminded of a time he was happy. He was reminded of his giggling siblings, his parents kissing in the kitchen, happy. It was a time before drowning himself in studying, a time before trauma, the multiversal war, pain, and trembling hands. 

“Stephen, are you sure you're okay?” 

“Yes, let's keep moving. Come on.” 

He could feel Matt's eyes staring at him, reading him. 

“Come on,” Stephen repeated, motioning for the man to follow him. 

He reluctantly did, full of mistrust and suspicion. 

They were already on thin ice full of secrets, but now, it was magnified by a hundred. 

He just wanted the whole thing to be over. He was filled with the familiar sting of regret, just as he felt when he gave Thanos the Time Stone. He realized more than anything, he wanted to go back.

He wanted people to rely on and trust. He wanted people to forgive him, for him to forgive himself. 

He wanted to see. 

He wanted the familiarity of his scarred hands. 

Chapter Text

The landscape was spectacular. Grass went on for miles and miles, the blades dancing in the wind. At some point, the ground ended and the sky began, a foggy haze gave way to a horizon of beautiful hues of blue and decorated with light, fluffy clouds. 

There were speckles of color: splashes of yellows and whites, all making the otherwise barren ground full of underestimated beauty. Growing up in New York, Matt had only seen pictures of such scenery, until, well, he couldn't.

It was a blessing to be able to experience such a breathtaking place, and with vision, no less. He shouldn't celebrate too soon though- it would all be taken away again. 

Matt didn't know what they were looking for, nor did he know if he could even trust the man that led him. All he knew thus far is that Stephen was a former doctor from Columbia University and was now a sorcerer that pulled him out of the garbage and did a “spell” that switched their bodies. That wasn't exactly a situation in which one would make friends. 

To make things worse, Stephen became distant in the blink of an eye, having claimed that their surroundings were that of Nebraska, where he was from. He quickly pushed aside any further questions and visibly shut down from Matt's conversation. 

No one knew more than Matt how complicated childhood could be, and he wasn't exactly an open book himself, but something about Stephen seemed off. This wasn't just a case of a few bad memories, it was a trauma response. 

As far as Matt knew, the man in front of him could be a murderer. 

“So as a vigilante, what do you do?” Stephen broke the silence. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I know you fight crime but what does that consist of, exactly?”

What the hell kind of question was that? 

“Turning criminals into the authorities and letting the system handle it from there.” 

“But why not let ‘the system’ handle it to begin with?” 

“There are too many flaws. I figured that if God gave me heightened senses, I might as well use them to serve justice.”

“And you end up in dumpsters doing so?” 

Matt sighed, taking a moment to listen to the wind blowing and the grass crunching below their feet. “I thought I could fight them-” 

“With what? Your hands?” 

“Yeah. I do martial arts and my dad was a boxer.” 

Stephen nodded. “I trained at Kamar-Taj to fight with my fists. Not exactly easy when your hands are, well…” 

Matt let out a light chuckle. 

Stephen continued, “and I don't really agree with hurting people in that way. At least not unless I have to…” 

“Why's that?”

“As a doctor, I was trained to save lives. Too often, people were put in my care from the violence of others.” There was a hint of something in his words. Guilt? Grief? Matt wishes he could hear his heartbeat.

“I agree about not killing, but sometimes the only way to take someone down is with a good old fight.” 

“A fight that gives them broken limbs and bloodied skin? Paralysis that keeps them from living a normal life or bearing children? Crippling medical debt that gets passed down for generations of poverty?” 

Matt didn’t know how to respond. 

Stephen spoke up again, “how do you ensure you're on the right side of the fight and not just beating innocent people?” 

“Believe me, they are far from innocent.” 

The landscape never seemed to end. Matt's (well, Stephen's) feet were starting to ache. 

“And what do you do? The same thing but with magic?” 

“No.” 

A silence fell between them again. 

About an hour later (or at least, it seemed like an hour), Stephen started a different strategy. He portaled to multiple locations, using a mixture of magic and his cloak (that unfairly raised Stephen above the ground so he wouldn't have to walk) to navigate.

To Matt, it seemed like they were switching sides around the same field. 

“Why can't you portal directly to this cave?” 

“Well, it's considered ‘hidden’ for a reason. The ancient sorcerers didn't exactly make things easy.” Stephen went into a long explanation about “sacred ground” and "dimensional intersections”, but it all flew over Matt's head.

Still, the complicated words came out of Stephen's mouth with ease. It was no wonder he was once a neurosurgeon. 

It was crazy how quickly the confusion and initial surprise wore off. After about the 8th portal, Matt got quite used to seeing the glowing embers around the portal and the feeling of being transported from one place to another with a single step. 

They were nearly out of daylight, given that the sky was now painted with a beautiful sunset. There was a gradient that ranged from orange to yellow, almost like fire, but it tapered off into a dark blue where the sun’s rays no longer had access. There were still some clouds, though they were now reflecting hues of red and bright pink. 

Matt wished he could take a screenshot of the sight forever, but he knew they were on a mission. The longer they spent looking around, the less likely they were to reverse the spell. 

“Are you sure it’s here?” He asked Stephen. He didn’t want to keep pestering the man, but he was exhausted and tired of walking in what felt like circles. 

“It should be here any minute now.” 

“I don’t see anything,” Matt grumbled. 

It occurred to Matt how weird it was to have a blind man leading the path, but then again, he was sure the heightened senses paired with the magic more than made up for it. 

Stephen didn’t respond, and they continued onwards in silence. 

The clouds were getting darker and more dense. A chill fell on the air and made Matt shiver under his robes. His hands, already sore, started to burn even more, an uncomfortable, dull pain and violent tremble taking over his fingers. 

He wasn’t an expert, but he was sure the sudden weather change didn’t mean anything good. He could feel in his soul that something was wrong, that something was about to happen. 

Still, Matt must have jumped a few feet into the air when a crack split through the atmosphere, lighting up the darkened sky and rumbling the earth. 

“Stephen!?” Matt had to yell over the building wind and rumbles. 

“I think it’s over there!” Stephen pointed to a spot a few hundred yards away. Matt could make out the silhouettes of trees that blew in unnatural positions. Further past them was a dark shadow that hopefully belonged to a cave. 

Suddenly, it started pouring down rain, instantly soaking his clothes and making it hard to see. 

“Let’s go!” Stephen yelled, his cloak carrying him quickly to the area of interest. 

Matt started running towards the blur of the other man, squinting against the force of the wind and the water droplets that threatened to spill into his eyes. Lightning struck all around him, and the ground groaned with each flash. 

He couldn’t see, and he hated that. 

Finally, he caught up and made it to the cavern, panting from the cold and the adrenaline. 

Right as he did, a few pebbles fell onto his clothing.

Stephen’s cloak quickly flew over and pushed Matt a few feet out of the way, and he hit the ground just as boulders fell right where he was a second prior. 

He quickly hopped back onto his feet and brushed the dirt off his damp clothes. 

He almost got crushed! 

He looked towards the entrance and saw that rather than a door to the outside, it was just a solid wall of fallen rock and dirt. There was no way they could move the stones, and even if they did, it would probably make the entire cave collapse. 

Unless there was a tunnel or an exit somewhere further down, they were trapped.

 Stephen raised his hands and did the motion of creating a portal, but all that came out were some sparks. The embers flickered and dissipated into thin air. 

“Great. Now we're stuck in here,” Stephen grumbled, sightless eyes looking at the cave entrance. 

“Yeah I guess we are.” Matt didn't have the energy to construct a better response. He was tired, and being tired of him meant a lot of sarcastic, half-assed answers. 

It wasn't his fault that this whole thing occurred. He was perfectly fine on his own, bleeding out in that dumpster. He'd survived before, though he supposed he did have help then…. well, he didn't need Stephen's help. Especially not when the man kept selfishly putting them into situations. 

“What is up with you?” Stephen asked, catching onto Matt's rising anger. 

“Oh I don't know. Maybe I'm just upset about this whole situation.”

“I'm sorry, but grumbling isn't going to make anything better.” 

“Well maybe if you didn't try a brand new spell on your patient, we wouldn't be in this mess.” 

“That's a lot coming from the man who put himself into the dumpster trying to be a blind-vigilante-lawyer-super hero. And for what reason? Just to hurt people for ‘justice’?”

“Is that why you gave up being a doctor? You were upset you couldn't kill people?” 

“I never killed anyone.” The man's voice dropped- almost sad. 

Matt heard his own voice become a threatening whisper. He wanted his words to hurt this man. “You know, I don't need my radar sense to know you are lying. I can- no, I've always been able to see through you. I can smell the guilt on you.” 

“And why are you so familiar with it, huh? It takes a murderer to know one.” 

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “I have never killed anybody.” 

Stephen scoffed. “Then why do you have guilt carved into you? I can hear your heartbeat and I know you're lying. I just don't know what about, and I bet you don't either.” 

“Who was it then? That you killed?” 

Stephen hesitated, his face darkening with emotion. “It was never my intention.” 

“Never your intention? So what was it- a silly mistake?”

“IT WAS THE ONLY WAY!” 

“There is always another way.” 

“Like what? Like violence? Like putting people on the brink of death?” 

“It's not murder-” 

“I'd say beating people an inch from death is just as bad.” 

“Not as bad as taking someone's life! You know their death affects others, right? Their death hurts their loved ones more than it could ever hurt themselves.” 

“That was never my intention.” 

“MURDER IS ALWAYS INTENTIONAL!” 

“I NEVER MEANT TO KILL ANYONE,” the man breathed in harshly, preparing to explain just as the prosecution would in court. “I was a naive sorcerer and I had to defend myself against a zealot."

Matt thought about that. He could feel the remorse in the man's voice. He didn’t know if it was empathy or the familiarity of his words, but Matt regretted his verbal attack. He took a breath. Now wasn’t the time to bring the devil out.

Still, he could see there was more. “So who else's blood do you bear?” 

“My sister’s… I uh… couldn't save her…” he took a deep, shaky breath.

“Here in Nebraska?” Matt's mind filled with memories of him as a child, kneeling beside his dying father, helpless as his heartbeat stopped and blood ran out of his head.

The man nodded, visibly fighting tears. He stuttered a few times as he prepared his next sentence.

How was there still more?

Stephen continued, “technically a few hundred families in the blip…” The man's unseeing eyes filled with tears. "I took the time stone, scoured millions of realities and the one with the least damage was the one that my friend was killed in..." his voice was strained. 

“Jesus,” Matt muttered in utter shock. He remembered that day, walking down the street and hearing heartbeats until they vanished. He remembered engaging all his senses, trying to figure out where the people went and why he was left behind. His mind raced, thinking of his friends and wishing he had vision to cope with what happened around him. He felt the palpable panic in the air and listened to their sobs. 

He couldn’t imagine having to bear the guilt of that. “I'm sorry, I didn't-” 

“Didn't know? No one does-” Stephen erupted in a choked sob- a sob Matt knew all too well. 

“I'm sure you tried everything you could-” 

Stephen nodded, hastily trying to collect himself.

Matt hesitated, flexing his jaw to fight his own dampening eyes. “I…uh… lost my father. He was shot right next to me. And my uh, girlfriend- she died in front of me-twice.” 

The man didn't seem taken aback by the “second death” reveal. Maybe he had seen some crazy shit. 

“I can't imagine.” 

“And as for the people I hurt, it's nobody that doesn't deserve it.” 

“Nobody deserves it-” 

“I try not to, but…. sometimes… I let the devil out and he becomes angry and…”

“And you can't control it…” 

“I never try to kill anyone. The anger builds up inside and I… I can't prevent it- it's like-” 

“-there's no other way.” 

“Yeah.” 

Stephen let out a deep sigh, and Matt followed suit. It felt good to talk it out with someone- though he'd never admit it. 

“Unfortunately, I think we have more in common than we'd like,” Stephen pointed out. 

“Unfortunately,” Matt chuckled. 

Both men sniffled. There was no point in holding it back any longer. Neither of them had to be brave anymore. Not when the man opposite of them was just as troubled- just as shameful. 

Stephen wore Matt's own shoes- literally- and felt every ache of his mortal body. Above all, they shared the biggest thing in common: emotion. 

In another world, maybe Matt would have gotten up to hug the man, but he couldn't see that going over too well. Not when his own feelings were similar: no close connections, no emotions. 

Maybe the man was a murderer, but he did feel remorse. Oftentimes in court, those guilty but showing remorse would get a slightly lighter sentence. He knew some people; Karen, for example, that had killed. It didn’t make it any easier to accept, but maybe he could forgive. 

If Jesus could forgive Saul after murdering hundreds of people, maybe Matt could forgive Stephen. 

Whether Matt's own sins could be forgiven was a different story…