New York Sanctum, 2018.
It was a calm afternoon. A rare thing.
A pigeon exploded against the sanctum's protective barrier and reassembled backward.
Mark looked up from his tea. "That's the third pigeon this week."
Wong didn't flinch. "Still fewer casualties than Strange's morning training."
The Doctor Has Leveled Up
Stephen Strange walked in from the second floor.
Correction: He floated in, in full Cloak of Levitation glory, cradling a floating mug of self-heating mystic coffee and flipping through a spellbook with telekinesis.
He didn't walk anymore unless he had to make a point. Or look dramatic.
"Hey, peasants," Strange greeted with that annoying smirk.
"Enjoying your primitive, manual spellcasting today?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Yes, Your High Grand Overlord of Temporal Bending, we still use our hands like mortals."
Strange sipped his coffee. "You could always ask the Time Stone nicely."
Wong deadpanned: "You're one bad pun away from being banished to the Mirror Dimension again."
Too Much Time, Too Much Power
Strange didn't even need a sling ring anymore—not for 90% of his spells.
He could teleport around the Sanctum with a snap. Summon artifacts with a blink. Rewind an argument to win it.
"You've been abusing time magic again," Wong muttered, sorting scrolls.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Strange said smugly.
Mark pointed to the calendar. "It's been 'Wednesday' for three days."
Strange shrugged. "I like Wednesdays."
Relic Trouble
Suddenly, a loud BOOM echoed from upstairs.
A drawer burst open. The Cloak of Levitation zoomed up, tangled in Mark's coat again like an overexcited puppy.
"Cloaky!" Mark grunted, untangling himself. "Control your flying carpet, Strange!"
"She likes you," Strange said, totally unhelpful.
"She gave me a black eye last week!"
"She was expressing affection."
"WITH VELOCITY?!"
Wong, the Librarian. And Therapist.
Wong dropped the scrolls with a sigh.
"Strange, you need to start respecting reality again."
"Reality?" Strange raised an eyebrow. "Wong, I am reality."
"Great," Mark muttered. "Next he'll want us to call him 'Multiverse Daddy' or something."
Strange's eyes lit up. "Actually—"
"NO," Wong and Mark said together.
The Final Straw
As Strange opened another portal mid-air without warning, a ripple knocked over Wong's neatly stacked spellbooks.
Wong stared at the mess.
Strange froze mid-sip. "...That was the sling ring's fault."
"You didn't use a sling ring," Mark said.
Strange blinked. "Oh. Right."
Wong stood up slowly, cracking his neck.
"I swear to the Vishanti, Stephen, if you bend time to avoid chores again, I will seal you in a snow globe and bury you in Antarctica."
The Truce
Later that night, the three of them sat on the Sanctum rooftop.
The city glittered. The stars blinked above like distant relics.
Strange floated above the ledge, of course. Because chairs were beneath him now.
Mark sipped a Coke. "You know, you could slow down."
Strange glanced at him.
"You're the Sorcerer Supreme. Not the Speedrunner Supreme."
Wong nodded. "Even the Ancient One never stopped learning. She never stopped listening."
Strange paused. A flicker of humility crossed his face.
"...Noted."
The Cloak gently wrapped around his shoulders like a hug.