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Christmas—
It was never really meant for someone like me. But over the past decade, as I became the Master of the Mystic Arts and then Sorcerer Supreme, I began to understand — even feel its weight.
No doubt — in a supernatural sense — Halloween was the busiest time of year, but Christmas easily made the top three. People tend to open up their souls — which makes them more vulnerable to external forces.
It’s not hard to understand the process — it’s like catching a cold. Your immune system weakens and becomes defenseless. The same can happen to a soul.
It was early evening on December 24th. By then, I was already past half a dozen minor cases, and an incident where someone almost accidentally opened a way for Dormammu — desperation can be a dangerous weapon once you surrender to it.
I needed a brief pause before moving on to the truly hard part. The Sanctum's gentle pulse lingered around me the moment I stepped through the portal. I let the hard mask of strength and control slip — fatigue flooded through me. My shoulders sagged, my knees wavered — but I stayed on my feet. I rubbed my burning eyes, then headed to the bathroom.
I kept a well-stocked first aid kit there. It had nothing for injuries of the soul, of course — which were my most vulnerable part during these fights. But I had a not-too-serious cut near my ribs, courtesy of one of the minor demons — a little gift, just to stay stylish. At the very least, it would’ve been nice to stop the bleeding.
I faced myself in the bathroom mirror, searching for warning signs. My face looked a little grayer and more hollow than usual. The whites of my eyes were faintly rimmed with a shadowy veil of black. I shot my reflection an unimpressed scowl. So far, nothing unmanageable.
I carefully loosened my belt — the moment its support gave way, a sharp pain lanced into my side — repeating with every breath. Probably a fractured rib too. Just wonderful.
The Cloak courteously flew off my shoulders, letting me take off my shirt. In the unforgiving bathroom light, the injury didn’t look quite so nice anymore. The edges of the cut were irregular — ugly and badly torn. But at least the bleeding had started to slow. I reached for the kit, but turned too fast. A wave of vertigo washed over me — I braced myself against the sink and let out a weak moan. I turned on the tap and washed my face, then moved my hand to the back of my neck — the cool water was a relief. I gave the room a few seconds to steady itself — more or less — then I took the antiseptic, moving a bit slower this time. I washed out the wound carefully — hissed in pain through clenched teeth. With a trembling hand, I thoroughly cleaned the area around it and applied a few zip stitches.
I staggered toward the kitchen, the Cloak right on my heels, ready to step in if I faltered. I collapsed into a chair. I needed coffee — but first, I needed a minute. I closed my eyes, panting.
“Hey, Doc,” came the cheerful, but slightly worried greeting from Bats, my faithful ghost basset hound. His bluish, glowing form strolled casually through the closed door.
“Hi, Bats. Everything go well while I was away?” I tried to keep my ‘everything’s fine’ tone, but probably didn’t pull it off — judging by his gaze.
“Doc, I don't wanna lecture you — I know, I’m just a dog and all — but don’t you wanna call for backup? It’s not even Holy Night yet, and you already look rough,” he said, concerned.
I slowly stood and went to the coffee machine. “Everyone has enough problems this time of year. I’m not going to burden anyone with mine,” I said. A grimace of disgust crossed my face — the nauseating smell of my… I’ve-lost-count-th coffee hit my nose and turned my stomach. I knew it wouldn’t go down well — but this wasn’t about preference. I grabbed the mug and downed the dark brew in one go, my face twisting from the bitterness.
“I know saving those souls is very important, but you should take care of your own too, Doc. You know… so there’s still someone left to save them,” Bats said. He drifted over to me, then settled on the kitchen counter, watching me with worried disapproval.
“Bats, I’m fine. I’ll admit this isn’t the most pleasant part of the job, but it’s not particularly dangerous either.” I gave him a flat look. I didn’t lie — at least, not by much. Of course, with every confrontation on the astral plane, I have to make sure there’s still something left to return to my body. And I’ll need a few days after the holidays to pull myself back together — but the soul can be healed, and I have my ways. Otherwise I’d have gone insane long ago… Though — to be honest — sometimes I’m not entirely sure I haven’t.
“Don’t worry.” I looked at Bats with a faint smile, trying to sound convincing. “And don’t sit on the counter.”
“Why not?” Bats gave me a puzzled look. “I can’t even get dirty.”
“Still,” I said dryly.
Alert, Dream-dimensional demonic activity detected.
I sighed and turned to the glowing sphere that had appeared beside me. It was part of the Sanctum's warning system. With a wave of my hand, I enlarged the luminous bubble and recognized the image of the NY-Presbyterian Hospital, Brooklyn.
“I have to go, Bats. Be a good boy — and keep an eye on the house.” With a hint of will, I summoned fresh clothes, guided the Cloak to serve as a scarf, and headed out.
“Watch yourself, Doc.”
I opened a portal not far from the hospital — I didn't want to draw attention.
It had been snowing all day. A clean white blanket caught the city’s lights and scattered them in a thousand directions, turning the night almost into daylight. The shimmering veil was clever — beautifully hiding the unforgiving reality that lay beneath the surface. I slipped my hands into my pockets and burrowed deeper into the Cloak’s protective embrace, shielding myself from the frozen wind. As I walked out of the narrow alley, fresh snow crunched beneath my feet in that illusory wonderland.
The hospital’s presence quickly dragged me back to reality. Sirens rose and fell in endless rotation, each ambulance fighting an often-losing battle against the tragedy of human mortality.
The last thing I needed right now was pointless questions and explanations. With a few gestures I summoned a veil that, bending the light around me, made me practically invisible.
I slipped through the open doors behind a rushing ER team as they pushed in their next unlucky patient. I spared them only a glance, but my mind immediately went to work — analyzing, weighing, running through the possibilities, already preparing the steps of a surgery that would most likely be inevitable. I had to consciously rein it in. That’s not why we’re here tonight.
The lobby was relatively calm. A few doctors and nurses moved through the hall or leaned wearily against the reception desk, searching for a patient’s chart. A handful of stragglers still sat there, nursing minor injuries while they waited their turn. The restrained, faintly kitschy Christmas decorations stood in grotesque contrast to the hospital’s lethargy — made all the sharper by the soft strains of “O Holy Night” playing somewhere in the background. The air carried an uneasy mix of fatigue, hope, and quiet frustration. This wasn’t a haven of cheer — but it wasn’t a place of tragedy either. It wasn’t what I’d come for.
I headed toward the patient rooms, searching for the source of the ominous, shadowy current that was strengthening steadily around me. Passing the intensive care unit, I turned toward the hospice wing — where else would it be…
I opened the All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto. I stopped at the room where desperation and chaos were most violently intertwined. As I stepped inside, I saw a vicious tear in the veil of our dimension, dark energy bleeding through it like a nasty wound.
And there was a man — lying unconscious. I walked to the end of his bed and reached for his medical chart.
Frank Hale. 43, male. End-stage bone cancer. Metastases everywhere. Based on this morning’s results, he had — at most — a few hours left. I let out a troubled sigh. I put the chart back and, with the proper gestures, started to close the rift. The moment I finished, it tore itself open again. Damn.
I was just standing there for a moment, thinking… So the easier approach wasn’t going to work. I needed to eliminate the cause — I should talk to him.
I stepped beside the man and dispelled my disguise. He was filled with drugs — there was no chance I could wake him like that. I reached for the morphine pump’s control panel and reduced the dosage.
After a few moments, a ragged, painful breath tore from his throat. Frank opened his eyes — his gaze confused, battered, desperate.
“Shh… easy.” I placed my hand on his shoulder and murmured a quiet spell to dull the pain and help him focus. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to talk,” I said with gentle firmness.
“Who… who are you?” he rasped.
I kept my voice calm and soft. “Doctor Strange.”
“The mage?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled with tears. “Could you please… save my life?” he pleaded, his voice choking with sobs.
“No — I’m sorry,” I answered with ruthless honesty. “But I have to save others.”
A panicked cry tore from his throat. “I… I’ll die alone,” he wheezed, gasping for air.
My stomach churned. Swallowing hard, I gazed up at the rift hanging above Frank. Demons were closing in. Soul-eaters — all the Hells.
A scream of agony ripped from his chest. “I fucked up so badly.”
The rift started to widen. Oh, no. No, no, no — adrenaline rushed through me. I focused on patching the border between realms while I tried to calm him. “Frank, look at me, please.”
But he was in no state to listen. Guilt, self-loathing, and despair radiated from him — and nothing drew those creatures more powerfully.
“I’m a filthy piece of shit,” his ragged voice filled the air. “The mother of my children — that bitch. She won’t even speak to me. My girls — my beautiful little girls — I haven’t seen them in years.”
I felt his soul — and he wasn’t wrong. It was foul, steeped in ruin, exuding a nauseating sense of decay. Hells — here was this bastard, and I still had to try to help him, because otherwise this wouldn't work. His guilt was too strong. And that was exactly what the demons wanted.
But he wasn’t the endgame — just the bait. We were surrounded by thousands of desperate, broken souls — an endless feast of suffering. A perfect breeding ground for possession. This was just another of Nightmare’s attempts to claim our realm—
“Just like I didn’t care about them, I didn’t care about my mother either,” he went on with his agonizing confession. “She died alone— I… I’ll die alone too.”
The rift split wide open without warning, and dozens of demons swarmed out. Damn it, Stephen. Do something. They couldn’t be allowed to leave that room.
So I did. The space around us fractured, reflecting the light like a thousand shards of crystal — I trapped us in the Mirror Dimension.
The soul-eaters swirled around us like an infernal tornado, clawing at Frank’s soul.
With one hand, I conjured the Shield of the Seraphim to keep them back. With the other, I grabbed his gown. Looking straight into his eyes, I snarled through clenched teeth. “You're not going to die alone. I’m here with you. And we’re sending these beasts back to where they came from.”
The wild panic in his eyes shifted — replaced by bone-deep regret. And then the realization hit me. Under normal circumstances, I might have been able to soothe the soul’s pain — but here, at the threshold of death, it was impossible. He’d fucked it up, yes — and there was no chance left for him to make it right. I was given that chance—
“Give it to me,” I panted.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Give me your pain…” I pressed my hand firmly against his chest, tore the darkness from his soul and chained it to my own.
Desperation, guilt, and raw hatred rose in a deafening cacophony, crashing over my spirit like a tidal wave. A piercing scream ripped through the air — and then I realized it was mine. My shield collapsed. I grabbed at my head and doubled over in sheer agony. The soul-eaters now circled me like vultures closing in on a dying animal.
But I wasn't some wounded beast. I was the protector of this world. After the first shock, I began to order the newly awakened chaos in my soul. I straightened slowly, then turned to the morphine pump and reset it to maximum. I watched as Frank slipped back into peaceful oblivion, then I collapsed into the bedside chair. I closed my eyes and pushed my astral form out of my body.
“Now — here is your bait,” I whispered with quiet resolve as I drew a protective ward around the very core of my soul.
The demons surged at me in a relentless tide. They tore into my astral body piece by piece, shredding it, feasting on its darkness. I defended myself, struck back — just to draw even more of them onto me. I wasn’t trying to win this fight — I was only buying time.
Hours passed in our own dimension — it seemed like a lifetime at the edge of sanity. My astral form was battered, utterly exhausted. I could feel it coming apart, thinning and fraying at the edges. I shouldn’t push its limits any further— I shot a quick glance at the monitor — Frank's vital signs were fading. I let go and fell back into my body.
I bent forward, burying my face in my hands, trembling with fatigue. The ever-haunting thoughts surged to the surface as my exhausted, hollowed-out soul struggled to reconnect with my mind—
As a surgeon, I used to be a real prick. A total narcissistic asshole. I chose my patients the way I browsed clothes in a store. Too broke? Too boring? Not worth my time. I could afford to — I was the best of the best. Too sick to survive the operation? Absolutely not. I wasn’t about to let anyone drag down my numbers. When a colleague lost a patient and I caught him sobbing alone in the supply room, all I felt was contempt — and pity.
And now I was sitting here — alone with this man I could no longer save. No one could have. The only thing left for me to do was take on his suffering in his final hours — if not the physical pain, then the weight of his soul. And to make sure this darkness touched no one else.
His breathing began to falter — stuttering, thinning out. I braced myself to send his demons back where they belonged.
So far, I'd done nothing but preach about the darker side of the holidays. But you’re right — it isn’t only despair that takes hold of the world at this time of year. There’s joy, hope, care… Just as people unknowingly summon darkness, they unconsciously radiate light into the ether as well.
I reached for that power, gathering energy for my spell. Magic pulsed through me like feverish chills.
The soul-eaters sensed their end — they launched one last, desperate attack. But it was already futile. There was nothing left here for them. I was empty. Untouchable.
"W̵e̷ W̶͎i̷͖l̸͇l̴͞ T̷͜e̵͜a̸̤r̶͙ Y̵o̷͓u̴r̶͓ S̸͝o̷͚u̴l̸͙ A̷͜p̸̦a̶ͤr̸͎t̷ͦ."
"S̸͝o̷͚r̴͞c̷͎e̷͖r̴͞e̸ͤr̶͙ S̸͝u̷͚p̸̦r̶͎e̴͞m̸͇e̷͖, Y̵o̷͓u̴r̶͓ D̸͇a̴͞m̶͎n̷͖e̴ͤd̸͇ S̸͝o̷͚u̴l̸͙ B̷ͦe̸ͤl̶͎o̴͞n̷͖g̴͞s̶͎ T̷͜o̵ O̷͜u̴͞r̶͎ L̸͝o̷͚r̴͞d̸͇."
“Unlikely,” I answered coldly. I rose, facing the swirling darkness. I waved my hands — “By the Light of the Vishanti and the Seven Suns of Cinnibus, I command you as Sorcerer Supreme — Begone.” The room flared for a heartbeat. With an overwhelming surge of light, I forced them back into Nightmare’s realm.
Frank’s entire body convulsed once, then went slack. As the EKG line flattened, I sealed the rift between the two worlds with a decisive gesture.
The all-consuming dark pressure ceased, and I let my defenses fall. The Mirror Dimension’s shell shattered. I hunched over, gasping for air. Cold sweat broke out across my skin. I would have collapsed right there, but I knew I only had seconds before the nurses arrived.
I turned to Frank. My trembling hand brushed gently over his broken face as I closed his eyes. “May your journey be peaceful,” I whispered.
I stumbled toward the exit — I no longer cared about the veil. I had nothing left in me to summon it again anyway.
I reached the lobby, where I nearly ran into an overzealous security guard.
“Can I help you, sir? Have you checked in at admissions?” he asked, more accusatory than helpful.
“No… I’m not…” I muttered. I was no longer capable of forming full sentences.
“Are you injured?”
“No… I just…” The whole place was spinning wildly. I wasn’t sure I’d manage without passing out.
“Then you can’t be here. Visiting hours are over,” he said, grabbing my arm. I jerked myself away and gathered just enough strength to straighten up and meet his gaze
“I’m leaving now,” I said firmly, between two desperate breaths. He finally let me go, and I staggered out the door — back into the narrow alley’s protective solitude.
I leaned hard against a trash container, doubling over. My entire body tensed. Coughing tore through me in merciless waves. I was gasping for air, but it felt like oxygen couldn't reach my lungs. Bright spots flickered across my vision. After a lifetime of struggling, I coughed up dead shreds of my soul. They stood out black against the crystal-white snow. I stared blankly ahead, panting, shivering — a few scattered thoughts drifted through my mind. For instance, that passing out here would be a terrible idea — I’d freeze to death for sure. Which meant I needed to get home — Somehow… Impressive logic, Stephen. No wonder they call you a genius.
Scraping together the last crumbs of my strength, I opened a portal to the Sanctum.
I stumbled through it, and after a few uncertain steps, I just collapsed onto the tile. I tried to push myself up, but all I managed was to roll onto my back. I was just lying there, panting, coughing — hoping that by some miracle a bit of strength would return to my limbs. A faint bluish glow appeared at the corner of my vision.
“Holy Moly, Doc.”
“Hello, Bats,” I whispered weakly.
“What the hell happened?” I don’t know what I must have looked like, but his voice sounded genuinely frightened.
“Soul-eaters,” I muttered. I turned onto my side, curling in on myself. I pulled myself tight as a sudden wave of pain hit me.
“Doc… You really should get to your bed.”
“I don’t know, Bats,” I panted, shivering. “I think I’ll just lie down here a bit… ‘s quite nice.”
The Cloak wrapped itself around me like a blanket.
“Don't cuddle him, you silly cloth — help him get up,” Bats snapped.
I grabbed its collar and pulled it even tighter around myself.
“Don’t be a stubborn dummy, Doc. If you can’t stand and walk to your bed, I’ll have to call Wong — and then you’ll get to listen to his lecture about why you didn’t ask for backup — like I told you.”
“Whose side are you on — really?” I mumbled mockingly while I tried to push myself upright. On the second attempt — and with a bit of help — I managed it. The Cloak kept me on my feet long enough for me to reach the bedroom and fall into bed.
I knew I should change the bandage on that cut, I knew I should drink and eat something, and I felt I could use the bathroom. But I didn’t have the strength for any of it. I was freezing. I pulled the blanket over myself — not that it helped. This had little to do with physical sensation — but at least it felt comforting.
Bats curled up beside me on the bed. “Just rest now, Doc. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“You’re a good boy, Bats,” I murmured, half asleep.
I woke to the Sanctum trying to signal me something. I had no idea what time it was, but at least I felt a bit better — tolerable, more or less. I opened my aching eyes, blinking a few times to make them work properly. Bats’s nose was already right in my face. “Doc, someone’s waiting at the door,” he whispered tensely.
“I know — but she’s in no danger. She can come back later,” I muttered irritably and rolled onto my other side, pulling the blanket over my head. Bats half-phased through the fabric and was right back in my face again. “Gods, Bats — could you just leave me—”
“But it’s Christine.”
He was right. Now I could feel her. With a grumpy moan, I crawled out from beneath the blanket. I checked the clock — it was eight in the morning. What the hell did she want here at this hour? I let out a long reluctant grumble, dragging myself out of bed.
I made a quick detour to the bathroom. After washing my face, I looked into the mirror. “Hells, Stephen,” I muttered reproachfully to myself. My face was pale as a sheet, hollowed out. The steel-blue ring of my iris gleamed lifelessly against a pitch-black background. I quickly turned away and went back to the bedroom to find some clean clothes. A gray T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants were the first things I grabbed — whatever. It would do. I pulled them on and stumbled down to the hall.
Taking a deep breath, I ran a hand through my hair, then I opened the door.
Christine was standing there. She looked stunning in her effortless naturalness — as she always did.
“Hello, Stephen,” she greeted me cheerfully.
“I wasn’t expecting you…” That came out a lot rougher than I meant.
“I know. It’s just… I don’t know.” She looked uncertain, even a bit apologetic. “I just felt like I should come. And from noon on it’s two full days of madness — family visits and everything. You know…
No, I didn’t really — but I just stood there, staring at her blankly.
“So there really wasn’t another time and I won’t keep you long — I just thought we could talk for a bit,” she finished.
“Look, I didn’t prepare anything,” I said tiredly, rubbing my eyes.
“I figured that,” she shot back, amused. Then a trace of worry showed on her face. “Are you sick?”
“No,” I said with a faint smile. “I just had a rough night.”
“Stephen.” There was unmistakable concern in her voice now. “Your eyes… are black.”
“Yeah, I know. It’ll pass… Uh, sorry. Come in,” I muttered. My brain was still trying to get up to speed. As she stepped closer, I instantly felt something else — someone else. Hells, she was pregnant. Oh, no. Not good — Not like this. In the state I was in — that pure and fragile life had no business being anywhere near me. “Or, rather not,” I panted in panic, leaning against the door frame with an air of casual ease.
“Stephen. I’m coming in, okay? It’s pretty cold, and I’ve been standing out here for a while,” she said gently but firmly.
“Uh, okay.” Okay, I need to be very careful. “Would you like some coffee? I could use one... Or tea?”
“A tea would be nice, thanks,” she said with a warm smile.
We went into the kitchen. I started pulling out mugs and tea, but my movements were unfocused, my hands shaking more than usual. I managed to knock one of the mugs over, but reacted just in time — with a flick of my hand, I floated it upright, back into place.
I leaned hard against the counter, my eyes shut, letting out a frustrated sigh. I felt Christine’s soft hand on mine.
“Stephen, you’re not well,” she said with a bit of reproach.
I pulled my hand away. “I’m fine… Just tired.” I poured some coffee for myself and turned on the kettle.
“You bled through your T-shirt,” she said flatly.
I gazed down to my right side. She was right. “Damn it,” I grumbled.
“Let me see it.” She reached for my shirt, but I took a step back.
“No,” I snapped. “It's not necessary. I just need to rebandage it.” I downed the coffee and poured hot water into Christine’s mug. “Sit down in the hall. I’ll take care of this — just a minute.” I meant to sound confident, but my voice faltered at the end of the sentence. A wave of dizziness hit me.
“Hey — careful.” She grabbed my arms and guided me to a chair. I sat down, gazing emptily ahead.
“Let me see that wound,” she said firmly, already pulling up my shirt.
“What… are you doing?” I mumbled weakly, but she didn’t pay much attention to my half-hearted protest and had already removed the dressing.
“Zip stitches? Really, Stephen?” she said with disapproval.
“I had no time… for anything else…” I panted, leaning back in the chair, searching for something solid to anchor myself in the spinning room. I closed my eyes — Hells, I felt tired.
“This will need proper suturing,” she continued. “Stephen.” She reached for my neck, checking my pulse.
I opened my eyes. “I’m here. It's nothing.”
“Your heart’s racing.”
“I just had a coffee,” I answered weakly, not very convincingly.
“Yeah, of course. You do realize I can tell the difference between caffeine-induced palpitations and near-tachycardia, right?”
“I didn't forget that.” I started to push myself up.
She tried to hold me back. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I’ll get the bandages.” I stood, focusing to keep my balance. “Drink your tea.”
“Do you have a suture kit too?”
I hesitated for a moment. “I do…”
“Bring that too.”
“Christine, you shouldn't—”
“Bring that too,” she repeated more firmly.
“Right… Wait for me in the hall.” I headed to the bathroom where I kept those things. The dizziness mostly passed, replaced by stoic emptiness.
When I returned to the hall, she was already sitting there. I paused for a moment, staring blankly, clutching the kit in my hand. She gave me a gentle but slightly impatient look. “Lie down here,” she said, gesturing to the couch.
“Are you sure?” I asked. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but that wound really did need stitches.
“Stephen. Don't be stupid. Take off your T-shirt and lie down.”
So, I did…
She studied the injury in silence. Her face told me she didn’t like what she saw. “That’s a pretty nasty hematoma. A fractured rib?”
“Probably,” I answered flatly.
“I’ll try to be gentle.” She put on the gloves and got to work, moving with quick, decisive — almost elegant — motions. As I lay there, exhaustion washed over me. For a moment, I let my eyes fall closed.
The next thing I remember is Christine’s gentle touch at my temple, her fingers brushing through my hair — and the softness of her voice. “Stephen.”
I opened my eyes — she was smiling.
“Hello,” she said softly. “You fell asleep while I was poking you with a needle.”
I let out a soft hum of agreement, gazing down at my stomach. She’d already finished.
“I haven’t seen you this exhausted after sixteen-hour surgeries,” she added with a worried smile.
I started to push myself up — my face twitched in pain.
“Easy,” she whispered, helping me to sit up.
I leaned forward slightly, gently pressing the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, I had a—”
“A rough night. Yeah, you mentioned.”
“Yeah…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No — I didn't. But then something broke inside me. My stomach clenched. I started shaking again. Words just came without thinking.
“I… I lost a… patient,” I muttered. My throat tightened. I felt tears well up in my eyes. What the hell happened to me… From the corner of my eye, I saw Christine watching me silently, with quiet compassion and a hint of concern. “I mean… he wasn't exactly my patient. And no one could have helped him anymore. I saved what I could. I saved his soul. But…,” my voice wavered. “Shit… I’m sorry. I don't know what…” I croaked.
“It’s okay,” Christine said softly as she sat beside me. I felt her gentle touch on my back. “Look at me.”
I turned, but didn't meet her eyes.
“It’s normal to feel this way,” she whispered. “To feel lost and— Stephen...” Now I finally faced her, and her expression tightened with renewed worry. “Your tears — they are black too.”
I touched my face. My gaze fixed on the tar-black liquid staining my fingers. I raised my brow.
“Oh, that’s not a bad thing,” I said with a hint of surprise. “It’s actually good.”
“Is it?” She didn’t look very convinced.
“Yes, it really is…” I said, staring ahead with glassy eyes.
“Is there anyone you can talk to about these things? I mean — truly talk to?” Christine asked, her voice like a summer breeze.
Wong’s not a bad listener… But soul-deep damage… that’s not something he can really meet me in. And beyond him — it’s just Bats.
I couldn't answer that one. I didn't want to. I just sat there, my breath growing ragged. I was about to lose it all…
“Jesus, Stephen.” She touched my face gently. I lowered my head. My shoulders began to shake with sobs. “It’s okay.” She pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn’t resist — I didn’t have it in me. Her hand found the back of my neck, soothing it gently. I was shaking uncontrollably, my breathing uneven. I could feel the warmth of her soft body, her pure soul. It reached my battered spirit, encircling it gently. I felt a slow wave of relief washing through me.
“I’m going to mess up your sweater," I murmured through tears with a hint of amusement. For the first time in hours, the pressure in my chest finally loosened, and my breathing came deeper, steadier.
“It’s fine — at least I’ll have an excuse to change it. I can’t stand it anyway," she said with light sarcasm in her voice. "It’s my mother-in-law’s favorite.”
I snorted and eased myself out of her arms. “Give me a minute,” I whispered, standing up. I went to the kitchen and quickly washed my face. I exhaled slowly — God, I felt relieved.
When I went back, Christine was already standing.
“Are you leaving?” I asked softly.
“I should. Duty calls,” she said wryly. “Family edition.”
“Sure.” I gave her a weak smile.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked with a hint of worry.
“Of course.”
“Stephen — your eyes…”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, a bit frustrated.
“No, I mean — the whites of them are coming back.” There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“Oh, really?” I replied with honest surprise. “That’s good.”
Alert, breach leaking energy from the Chaos Dimension.
I let out a weary sigh and glanced at the sphere — I think I was capturing the middle of a massive family argument.
“I’m needed, too,” I said to her half-heartedly.
“Yes.” Her smile was more relieved now.
“Take care of yourselves,” I said, shooting a gentle look at her belly — then dropped my gaze instantly, embarrassed. “Uh, I mean you and… uh, his name…”
“Charlie—”
“Charlie, yes.” I moved to help her into her coat a bit awkwardly.
“But you didn't mean him,” she said, as if she knew exactly what was going on.
“No… I didn't,” I answered with a nervous smile.
“You found out about—” Now she was looking down at her belly too, smiling.
“Her— Yes.” I moved my hand to the back of my neck.
“Her?” Christine’s eyes widened.
“Oh — I’m sorry. You didn't know yet, of course…" I said apologetically, completely flustered. "And you might not want to know it at all, until... Damn — sorry. But I might be wrong.”
“You? Wrong?” she teased, a wide grin spreading across her face.
Alert, breach leaking energy from the Chaos Dimension.
“I know, I know,” I snapped, waving the glowing orb away in frustration.
“You need to go,” she said, still smiling.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Be safe, Stephen. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes,” I muttered under my breath. “Christine,” I called after her, once more.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for coming,” I said seriously.
She gave me a kind nod. “Goodbye, Stephen.”