A/N - Written for the Space & Magic phase of the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2021. Artwork was done by KerrAvonsen, and can be found in/through the fic at AO3.

"Stephen? Stephen! Hey, wait up!"

Stephen Strange – Doctor Stephen Strange but… was he a doctor anymore? His hands… He held them up to check and saw them shaking-normal-scarred-missing-shaking.

"Stephen!" A hand caught his shoulder and swung him round. He blinked at the brunette-blonde-redhead-brunette in front of him. She looked vaguely familiar, but then, everyone looked vaguely familiar to him. After fourteen million timelines, it was rare to come across someone that he'd never interacted with before.

"Stephen? Are you okay?" Blue-green-grey-hazel-blue-dead-blue eyes were peering at him with concern. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He brushed off the hand with its rings-bracelet-watch-bangle-nothing and took a careful step back. He wasn't sure how close he was to the edge of the sidewalk; more than once he'd taken a tumble into the street because he'd thought he was in a different reality than he actually was and the sidewalks were just a fraction out of alignment. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Red-pale-naked-pink lips pursed at him, and the hand came back, this time reaching up to touch his forehead. "Stephen, it's me, Christine," the blonde-redhead-brunette-black-haired woman said. "Christine Palmer? Seriously, what happened. Do I need to find any of your—" She stepped even closer, and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "—cult?"

Cult. Cult? He'd known what that was, once upon a time, hadn't he? Hadn't he made some kind of joke about it? Or was he going to make a joke? Was that now? Or had somebody else made it and he'd just missed it?

"Okay, you're seriously starting to worry me now," the woman said. She began rummaging through her coat-dress-pants-bag-jacket-scrubs until finally she came up with a phone-StarkPhone-cell brick-pager. "Do you know a number I can call?" She glanced up at him, her long-short-medium hair swinging over her shoulder-brushing her shoulder-tied in a ponytail-falling into her eyes.

When it became clear that no answer was forthcoming – except he'd just answered her, hadn't he? Or was he about to? Had someone else answered her? Had she answered him? Wait, what was the question again? Had there been a question…?

"Um, yeah, hi, this isn't really an emergency, but I don't know who else to call," the nurse-doctor-shop assistant-ghost was saying. "I've just run into Stephen Strange on the street but he doesn't seem to recognise me, nor does he seem to be aware of his surroundings. He's one of you guys, right? Can someone come and get him? I don't think he should be on his own right now." A passing car-carriage-hover vehicle-plane-train-motorcycle drowned out her next words. He automatically side-stepped the ball that flew through the air where his head had just been-would be-still was. He'd been hit by that thing too many times already.

Fingers gingerly wrapped themselves around his elbow. "Come on, Stephen," the woman said to him. "Wong's on his way. Let's get out of everyone's way while we wait for him."

"Wong." He rolled the name around his tongue, tasting it.

"Yes, that's right. Wong," the woman said. She led him-he walked-crawled-flew-drove down the street to a small café-grocery-burnt out husk-apartment building-market stall and pressed him down to sit on a chair-stool-log-cement brick. "Wait right there," she ordered. "Don't go anywhere."

Had he gone somewhere? Was he going to go somewhere? Or was it just to Anywhere that he wasn't supposed to go? He couldn't say he'd heard of Anywhere before, but a lot of people recommended not going there, didn't they? So it must be a well-known place. Perhaps he knew it as something else? That was always a possibility; names changed from timeline to timeline, and even in the same one, they changed so quickly.

"Oh, thank you for coming," he heard the woman say, her voice filled with relief.

"It's no trouble," he heard someone else say. "I'm glad you found him. We've been looking for him for some time now." A man crouched-danced-spun-whistled in front of him and reached out to touch his shoulder. "Stephen?"

"Hmm?" He gave them an absent smile-coin-nod-clap-punch. "Do I know you?"

"Apparently not," Wong said gently to Strange as Christine Palmer hovered anxiously behind his shoulder. "But I know you. I'm your friend and I've been looking for you."

In the six months since the Snap had been reversed and all the Blipped had returned, the entire Mystic Order had been searching for Strange. During the final battle with Thanos, he had appeared to be fine, spending most of the time holding back the giant tsunami that Thanos had tried to flood the battlefield with. But once the battle was done, and the dust had cleared, and the one, lone funeral had been held for Tony Stark, Strange had just… vanished.

The Order had been in shambles anyway, with half of its members having been Blipped, and half of the rest dead or lost in other dimensions due to having fought monsters from other realities that were too strong for them, but they had quickly realised that although their Sorcerer Supreme had returned, nobody had actually seen him since he'd left the New York Sanctum to head upstate for Stark's funeral.

The temporary Sorcerer Supreme – Wong himself – hadn't wanted the job any longer, but with Strange missing, he had no choice. He had more than one reason for being relieved that somebody had finally found Strange.

Although Strange himself was… concerning.

He looked almost as homeless as he had the first time he'd come to Kamar-Taj, clothes dirty and torn, beard full and scraggly and worn away in patches where it looked like he'd pulled at it. His eyes were constantly flickering around, as though he were seeing things that weren't there.

Or that just weren't visible to them. That was always a possibility in their line of work.

"Where did you find him?" Wong asked Christine, keeping his hand on Strange's shoulder. He didn't trust that Strange wouldn't just wander off again if something else caught his attention.

"Oh, er, he was just… walking down the street." She pointed back over her shoulder. "Well, walking is probably a bit of a strong word," she added, reaching up as though to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear, but her hair was still secured neatly in a braid. "To be honest, when I first spotted him, I just thought he was a drunk. Then I realised it was actually Stephen."

Given the way that Strange was swaying slightly even as he sat, then Wong wasn't surprised that the man hadn't been able to walk in a straight line. "Thank you for contacting us," he said to the doctor. He might be blunt to the point of rudeness, but the woman had done the Order a favour, even if inadvertently.

Christine shifted, nervously. "Look," she said, awkwardly folding her arms as though hugging herself. "I may not understand everything about your c—" She bit her lip, cutting herself off. "About what you do," she began again, "but once I realised there was something seriously wrong, I figured you guys were the best ones to help him."

The pager attached to her waistband beeped abruptly, and she jumped, swearing as she checked it. "Damn, I've got to go," she said, and glanced at Wong. "Will you let me know how he is?"

"Of course," Wong agreed, inclining his head.

"Great, thanks. You have my number now." Christine turned her attention to Strange and gently touched his cheek to draw his gaze to herself. "I have to go now, Stephen," she said, clearly. "It was good to see you again. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Strange merely blinked at her. "Okay," he parroted, but Wong didn't think he knew what he was agreeing to. Christine obviously didn't think so, either, by the way her expression fell, but she didn't say anything else or burst into tears, merely cupped his cheek for a moment and then turned and hurried away.

Wong glanced around the street. There were a few people passing by, but they were relatively secluded here. He reached for his sling ring and conjured a portal. When it closed, Wong, Strange and chair had vanished.

He blinked as a glittering orange loop passed over him and the scenery rippled and changed. Huh, that was a drastic timeline change – he'd not seen it do that before. Or had he? He thought he had a vague memory of orange sparks, flying out into various shapes and holding against… something. Someone? He couldn't remember. It probably didn't matter. That timeline had probably just collapsed; he'd been in a few where that had happened.

What he did find odd was that the new scenery was all the same. No rapid flickers of timeline upon timeline upon timeline. This building was old, yes, and a few of the decorations – no, not decorations, relics – here and there were different, but overall this space was the most stabilised he'd seen in… well, he didn't remember.

"Do you know this place?" the man from the previous timeline asked, curiously.

"I—" He did. Did he? He thought he did, but how could he be sure? It might be somewhen he hadn't reached yet. "I don't—"

"Don't push. It'll come to you," the man assured him. Something whistled through the air, and the man tilted his head and smiled. "Better brace yourself," he warned.

Before he could become alarmed-complacent-arrogant-smug-ready, something flashed through the air, something red-red-black-red-red, and smothered him in it. He got the impression that this something both very strongly wanted to kill him and yet also very strongly wanted to hug him.

"Let him breathe," he heard the man say. "You don't want to kill him the moment you get him back."

'Get him back'? Had he been missing? Where had he been that he would come back from? Could he even come back when he hadn't gone yet?

The red-red-black-red-red reluctantly slid off his head and hovered-hovered-hovered-hovered in the air in front of him. To his surprise-delight-knowledge-sorrow, it was a cloak. A cloak that he… knew?

No, not a cloak. Never just a cloak. This was The Cloak. The Cloak of Levitation, the relic that was fickle-loyal-loyal-loyal and had chosen him. The one that… He frowned. Hadn't-wasn't-wouldn't it turned-turning-turn to dust? In so many timelines, too many to really count, he had felt himself slip away, turn into atoms and molecules and disperse into the air. The Cloak should have been with him. He couldn't imagine a timeline where it wasn't.

He startled as a smooth-rough-snagged hem corner stroked his cheek, breaking him out of his cycling thoughts.

"I think I'm happy to see you, too," he told the Cloak, and it bobbed in a way that suggested great delight but also an uncertain sorrow.

"We'll fix him," the man – Wong, that was it! – said. "I have a suspicion as to what has happened, but I will have to do some research first. It will take a while."

The Cloak rippled sideways in a shrug and went back to petting its corners at him. He knew exactly what it wanted. With a smile-smile-smile-smile, he reached-reached-reached-reached for it.

Wong watched impassively as the Cloak settled itself back onto Strange's shoulders in a great swirl of fabric. Its clasps clung to his shoulders and it puffed up its collar for a moment before relaxing back into its normal shape. Quite how Strange had managed to lose the Cloak in the first place, no-one knew. The Cloak had just appeared in the New York Sanctum one day, three weeks after Stark's funeral, draped over a chair in the Relic Room, its fabric limp and lifeless.

None of them had quite known what to do with it. Leaving it in a puddle on the floor of a relic case didn't seem right, and putting it on a coat hanger and just… leaving it somewhere even more so. In the end, Wong had draped it over Strange's bed and had carefully shut his door, leaving just the tiniest gap for the Cloak to edge through if it became active again.

Several masters had recommended just shutting it in there completely, but Wong had a pretty good idea of the kind of chaos the Cloak could create if it found itself trapped in a room. Given that Strange was Sorcerer Supreme, he didn't think it wise to leave a mystical relic that could think for itself trapped in a room with magical objects and precious tomes and relics that didn't think.

That was just begging for a hole to be blown in an important wall.

Strange was delightedly petting at the Cloak's edge. It was hard to tell, but Wong thought he seemed rather more… present than he'd been up until now. Maybe the Sanctum was helping him. It added more support as to what Strange's problem might be.

"Come on," said Wong, reaching out to touch Strange's elbow. "Let's go and see what we can do for lunch."

"Lunch?" Strange cocked his head, then frowned at Wong. "Rupees," he said. "Ham on rye."

Wong felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. "Not exactly," he replied. "I said I wouldn't say no to a tuna melt. You remember that?"

"I—" Strange's mouth worked for a moment but no sound emerged. He glanced around, seemingly confused, before glancing upwards towards the ceiling where the Hulk had crashed through and interrupted their conversation. "Someone will crash," he said, finally. "Someone will crash through the roof and land in the stairs and he will say that he is coming…"

"That's already happened," Wong assured him, placing a steadying hand on Strange's shoulder when the other sorcerer swayed. "The Hulk came and warned us about Thanos. We beat him for the final time six months ago."

"He turned to ash and his Children turned, but Ebony Maw will attempt to get the Stone." Strange clutched at the Eye of Agamotto that was hanging around his neck. It was empty now, as far as Wong knew. Strange had given up the Time Stone to Thanos to save Tony Stark's life; the only way to ensure that they won against him in the end. Thanos had destroyed the Stones after he'd gotten what he'd wanted. The Avengers had gone back in time and borrowed the Stone from the Ancient One in 2012 but they'd put that back so as not to branch off the timeline.

"Ebony Maw did not get the Time Stone," said Wong, which was true enough. From what Strange had said, in the very brief time between the final battle and Stark's funeral, Stark and Spiderman had saved Strange by blowing a hole in the side of Maw's ship, sending him out into space unprotected.

The Cloak tightened around Strange's shoulders as the man shuddered, apparently remembering the agony Maw had put him through. Even if Wong managed to solve his current problem, it was going to take a long time before Strange was anything close to alright again.

"Come on," he repeated, firmly. "Lunch – not a tuna melt, nor ham on rye. Something softer for you. We'll have it uninterrupted by anything or anyone, and then I think you should go and lie down for a while. When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know." Strange obediently began moving under Wong's guidance. "Which timeline are we in?"

The Cloak tilted its collar at Wong, and he nodded back at it. That, at least, confirmed that his suspicions had been correct. Strange had viewed too many timelines, lived through more versions of the future than anyone was supposed to be able to handle. Spiderman had brought it up in conversation once, a throwaway line that he hadn't realised the significance of.

There was a reason that the Ancient One hadn't allowed just anybody to use the Eye of Agamotto before Strange arrived. Trying to keep that many timelines – most of them exceedingly similar to each other – straight in your mind would be beyond most people. It wasn't surprising that Strange was lost amongst them all.

The Sanctum, and Kamar-Taj, rarely changed between realities. They would be a good place for Strange to rest for a while.

The red-red-red-red Cloak was a comforting weight as he followed Wong up the main staircase and then through the twisting corridors towards the Sanctum's kitchen. Surprisingly enough, the landscape around him remained steady, with only a few minor decoration changes here and there. It was… peaceful, and he began to relax as he realised that he didn't need to guard his steps so closely. No uneven floors, no abruptly appearing or disappearing steps to trip his feet, no walls or doors to slam in his face or gaps to send him plummeting through the air. No people to manoeuvre around.

Well, there were a few ghostly images that flitted in and out of rooms, but the Sanctum had never been full of people so the ghosts rarely intersected with he and Wong. In fact, only one of them actually seemed to see him – a bald woman in bright yellow robes gave him a sad smile as they passed her.

"Ancient One," he murmured. Was he late for a lesson? He had trouble getting his hands to do any magic at all; was she here to throw him out?

But when he glanced back, she was gone.

"Here," Wong's voice brought his head round again. "You sit here while I see what we have."

He sat obediently at the table, barely remembering to pause long enough so that he didn't end up sitting on the Cloak. It billowed its hem up and over the chair but didn't relinquish its grip on his shoulders.

"You got covered in soup stains," he observed to it, smiling at the remembrance. It hadn't wanted to let him go, but his hands had been shaking worse than they had for a long time, and the soup had gone everywhere.

The Cloak ruffled its collar against his cheeks and loosened its clasps but didn't fully remove itself just yet. In fact, to his surprise, it didn't let him go at all, even when Wong set the half-full bowl of soup on the table in front of him. Instead, it wrapped a corner of its bottom hem around his wrist as he picked up the spoon and helped to steady his shaking hand.

"Much better. Thank you," he said to it, and it stroked his cheek with a corner of its collar. "And you," he added to Wong.

"Wait until you taste it before you thank me," the other man said, his expression unchanging. But he wasn't worried; he hadn't spit it out before so he wouldn't now.

It took him some time to finish off the bowl of soup. Hardly anybody else entered into the kitchen whilst they were there and this time he could see the overlay of them, as two of them bustled around the kitchen getting their own meals, and one came over to mouth soundlessly at Wong, who never even blinked. It wasn't urgent, whatever it was, as the person nodded, smiled, and then left. He blinked after them. How curious.

"I think it's time for you to rest now," said Wong as he put his spoon down. "I know what is afflicting you, but I need a little time to look up a couple of things. And, to be frank, you could do with a shower."

He tilted his head, tempted to say But you aren't Frank, you're Wong, but Wong had not appreciated that when he'd said it – or if he had, the other sorcerer hadn't laughed where he could see it – so he figured it was-had been best to just do as Wong suggested.

Strange was rather more obedient than Wong had thought he'd be. Strange had been so arrogant, so full of himself the first time he'd come to Kamar-Taj, and things had only gotten worse the further along in his studies he'd gotten. Like, for instance, opening gateways into the library. Not just one, which would have been bad enough, but multiple!

Obviously the battles Strange had been involved in had changed him, especially the one against Dormammu, but the innate sense of superiority had never really left, so it gave Wong a jolt to have the other man trailing after him now like a lost lamb, glancing around as though he expected the Sanctum to disappear out from under him at any moment.

"Here," he said, stopping outside Strange's room. "This is your room. There is an en-suite bathroom attached. If you don't mind, I will place a monitoring spell in your room; that way if you need me, you have only to shout for me."

"Of course," Strange murmured. He stepped through the door ahead of Wong and glanced around, blinking rapidly. Wong wondered just how different his room might be in however many other versions of the Sanctum Strange was currently seeing. He didn't think the colours would have changed too much – they hadn't redecorated for decades – but furniture, the placement of items Strange had left there? There could be an infinite variety of those.

Strange crossed the room to the en-suite, the Cloak still swinging from his shoulders. "You know," Wong pointed out, "it might be better to leave the Cloak out here. It won't appreciate getting wet."

The Cloak immediately clamped down around Strange's shoulders. Apparently, it wasn't going to let Strange out of its sight now it had him back.

"Very well." Wong shrugged and turned to leave. "Just don't come to me for drying spells when you're all wet and soggy." If the Cloak gestured an answer to that, Wong didn't see it.

After setting the monitoring spell on the inside of Strange's door, Wong made his way to the Sanctum's library. This was his domain; all of the libraries in all the Sanctums and Kamar-Taj were his. There wasn't a book in any one of them that he didn't know where it was. Or should be, at least. Strange had given him fits a few times, taking books out of the library through unauthorised gateways. But it meant that for research, Wong was the best person to ask.

As it happened, books on multiple timelines colliding were part of the Ancient One's private collection, which had been housed in Kamar-Taj almost since the moment it had been built. But when Strange became Sorcerer Supreme, those books had passed into his keeping, and since he was also the Master of the New York Sanctum, then the entire collection had been transported here. Technically, Wong was supposed to get his approval to remove any of the books, but the Ancient One had all but waived that right, and Strange had never thought to question whether he needed to do the same or not.

It was, perhaps, a dangerous level of naivety, especially for someone who could command the kind of magic that Strange could, but Wong was not Kaecilius; he knew exactly what was in those books, and had no interest in ever trying to cast any of it.

He absorbed himself in book after book, making notes as he went on things that he thought might be relevant to Strange's situation. By the time the sun rose the next day, he had gone through three quarters of the lot and had some idea of what he could do to assist Strange.

A faint tapping on a window high up on the wall made Wong look up. There was only one person who could even reach that window, let alone used it. And sure enough, the red and blue uniform of Spiderman was pressed against the glass, the white eyes of his mask somehow giving the impression that the young superhero was beaming widely.

Wong had no idea why he would be, though. It was too damn early, and due to having been Blipped, the boy was still only a teenager. Teenagers hated early mornings.

Although, to be fair, Wong hated them, too.

"Hi, Mr Wong!" Spiderman called, loudly enough for Wong to hear him through the glass. "How's it going today?"

"Get down from there!" Wong barked in response. "You'll get smudges all over the window!"

Spiderman gave him a lazy salute and leapt away. Wong caught the shadow of his swing going past another window. He shook his head as he shelved the last book he'd been reading. The young hero had apparently grown attached to Strange during their first battle against Thanos and in the aftermath of the Snap and its reversal, the final battle, and the death of Stark, Spiderman had all but imprinted on Strange. And when Strange had disappeared, that attachment had been transferred to Wong himself.

Exiting the library, Wong wondered whether it would be too early to contact Christine Palmer. He had an idea of how to help Strange, but Strange would need to do the bulk of the work and he would need visual cues, ones that Wong thought his doctor friend would be more able to provide than Wong or any of the other masters. They were too steeped in the mystic arts; too many of their actions would be the same from universe to universe.

Then again, he reminded himself, she is a doctor. She is probably used to early morning calls and broken nights.

Phones didn't work in the magical air of the Sanctum, so Wong descended the steps to the street outside to place his call.

"Doctor Palmer speaking," she answered, sounding slightly groggy but awake enough.

"Doctor Palmer, this is Wong," he replied. "You called me yesterday to assist with Strange?"

"Oh! Yes!" Her voice suddenly sounded a lot more awake, and he could hear a rustling sound over the phone. "Is he alright? Has something happened to him? Something else?" she amended.

"No, no, Strange is fine. But I have an idea of what's wrong with him, and a way of fixing it, but I shall require your assistance. Are you able to meet with us?"

"Me?" Now she sounded surprised. "Well, I don't know what you think I can do to assist you – unless it's performing surgery on Stephen again, and let me tell you, I am not doing that again! But if you really think you need me…?"

Wong shook his head, deciding not to even question her surgery comment. "Don't worry, it won't be for anything like that," he assured her. "In fact, it won't require you to do much of anything at all—"

He blinked rapidly as Wong led him down the steps to the sidewalk-road-grassy track. The rapid changes weren't anything he hadn't seen before, but after the constant calm of the Sanctum they were even more disorientating.

"Here." Wong took hold of his arm and led him carefully down the street-track-trail. "Just keep beside me. I won't let anything happen to you, Strange. In fact, I think I can help."

He tuned out the words-bird song-roar-grunts and began to more carefully watch where he put his feet. He would trip on this section if he wasn't precise – and even when he was – and he had no desire to do so again. People-beasts-aliens-creatures walked-ran-flew-scuttled-crawled past him, and something was clinging tightly around his neck.

"Doctor Palmer," a man beside him said-whispered-shouted-signed. "Thank you for coming."

"Not a problem," said a blonde-brunette-redheaded-black haired woman, her green-blue-hazel-grey-green-blue eyes gazing at him with concern. "Is he alright? He barely looks any better than yesterday."

The man directed the woman to a sheltered place in the brickwork, and he found himself trailing after them. He didn't quite remember deciding to follow them, but he supposed he was going to, so he had.

"Our Order has been the keeper of the Time Stone for millennia," the man said to the woman. "It does precisely what you'd expect, but it's dangerous. The first time he ever used it, Strange almost broke the space-time continuum. But during the first battle with Thanos, he used it to look ahead into the future, looking for a timeline where we won. But he saw too many."

"How many is too many?" the woman asked, folding her arms-shrugging-laughing-crying.

"Over fourteen million," the man said, solemnly. He shrugged-laughed-shook his head-collapsed and died. "And now I'm afraid he's lost in them."

The woman looked pleased-terrified-smug-hopeful-puzzled. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means he sees them all, one on top of the other. Whatever could be happening in this space right now, that's what he sees. All the choices we make, all the actions that have been taken. That's why he's so confused; because he's not just seeing this reality."

"Okay, and how do you expect me to be able to help with that?" The woman flung her hands into the air. "I'm not part of your… your cult! Stitching him back together, that I can do. But this—" She waved her hands around. "This reality business, I can't help with that!"

The man held out his hand and touched her shoulder-slapped her-shushed her. "You don't need to worry about that," he said. "Strange will be the one doing the heavy lifting, so to speak. I'll be guiding him. You will merely need to act as the lodestone." He held up his other hand as the woman opened her mouth. "You will just stand where he can see you and do any action that I tell you to do. We – Strange – will do the rest."

"Alright," she sighed. "So just… stand right here?"

"Yes, just there," the man said, pointing to a spot on the sidewalk-track-cliff-railway-tree not that far off from them. "Are you ready, Strange?"

With a jolt, he realised the man was talking now to him. Was he ready? He thought so; he'd been ready and would always be ready.

"Good," the man said, despite the fact that he hadn't given an answer. Had he? "Now, look at Christine, just there." He pointed at where the woman had gone. "Just keeping looking at her, alright. Let's start with something simple. What colour coat is she wearing?"

That was rather odd, because shouldn't he have just seen that when the woman was standing with them? But he insisted on an answer, so he'd answer. "Red-blue-green-black-pink-beige-red—" he began.

"Stop!" The man held up a hand. "Now, pay close attention to those coat colours. Some days, she decided to wear a red coat, yes? Pay very close attention to those realities. And ignore them."

Ignore them? How could he ignore them? They had happened-were happening now-then-future. How was he supposed to just ignore that?

"Christine is not wearing a red coat today," the man informed him. "So, you shouldn't be seeing her in a red coat."

Oh. Well, then, that was easy enough. The red shades of the woman's coat winked out of view, leaving him with blue-green-black-pink-beige-grey…

"Take a small step closer, Christine," the man said, and then turned back to him. "Christine is not wearing a green coat today. See those realities where she is and push them away. They are not your reality."

Not his reality. Well, he couldn't see anyone else's reality but his own, so then how was he seeing a green coat? His mind must be playing tricks on him, he realised, and shook them away. The green coat winked out of sight.

"What colours are you seeing now?" the man murmured.

"Black-pink-grey-beige-blue-purple-yellow—"

"He's adding in new ones," the woman said, sadly. "I don't think this will work, Wong…"

"It will take time, but eventually we will winnow him down to just the one reality," the man assured her. "There aren't so many coloured coats that you could be wearing. Eventually we will only be left with one. This one."

"Still," she said, doubtfully.

"Trust me," the man said. "I can help him help himself, but he viewed over fourteen million different realities, Doctor Palmer. It will not be a slow process to discard all of them."

The man – Wong, the man was Wong, how could he forget that? – wasn't wrong. He didn't have the best grasp of time anyway but almost everything was going dark-dark-dark-dark by the time Wong told him to only focus on the reality where Christine was wearing a grey coat. And it was Christine now; he recognised her, too. The last step had brought her to within spitting distance – not that he would spit at Christine; she wouldn't need a scalpel to murder him if he did that! – and so he was close enough to see the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiled tiredly at him.

"Stephen," she said to him.

"Christine," he said, his voice gone to a croak, as had Wong's, after speaking so much. "I'm – I'm so sorry. I—"

"It's alright." She reached out and rubbed his arm. "I… well, I suppose I don't really understand what happened to you, but I know it wasn't your fault."

"Things aren't fixed yet," he told her. "I can see you, just as you are, here and now and have ever been, but everything else…" He flicked a quick glance around, seeing buildings-trees-empty space-ruins, before concentrating back on Christine. He had to really focus on her but found it much easier now to discard all of the other possible timelines around and over and through her.

"It will come," said Wong, dryly. "Or go, as the case may be. It will require work, a lot of work, and perhaps a protective ward or two so that they don't all come crashing back into your mind."

He nodded at Wong. It had taken a lot of work, but he knew he could do it. He had, after all, managed to gain a PhD and an MD at the same time. Learning to determine which timeline, which universe, which reality was his would be a bit harder, but he wouldn't be alone.

With a little help from my friends, he thought. The Beatles, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, 1967.

No, he wouldn't-wasn't-won't be alone at all.