Stephen felt like he was burning up, and he could not orientate himself. He thought there were hands on him, but he could not be sure. Friend or foe, he could not know that either. He was a doctor, though, and he could recognise his own symptoms easily enough. A fever. He had read, he dimly recalled, about using magic to make your enemies ill, but this was probably natural. Hadn't he gone out yesterday and been soaked to the bone? He thought so.

Fevers did not lurk in the rainwater itself, of course (not unless something was very wrong with said water, anyway) but being soaked did make it far more likely that you would actually fall ill as you were chilled as well as exposed to an infection, and at this time of year in New York, you were exposed to an infection.

Fevers wore themselves out, and besides, Stephen had a more pressing concern. Where exactly was he? The world was misty and nonsensical, his eyes giving him no useful imput at present, and he had no way of knowing if the hands seemingly holding him down were those of a concerned friend or a malicious kidnapper. He could not be sure his condition was natural and not a trick of some kind, either, not until he knew more. And he didn't even remember enough to tell what time it was.

Panicking somewhat at that thought, and not thinking clearly, he tried to break loose but that was when he felt it. It was another kind of touch, not that of hands, and he knew it. It was his loyal Cloak, covering him gently and suggesting by touch he ought to lie down again. It curled around him protectively, helping against the chill.

Through his feverish, illogical mind, Stephen noted that it had curled up leisurely, keeping him warm, but it did not attempt to cover him, not like it would if seeking to protect him from harm of some kind. That answered his earlier question: the hands, now resting comfortingly on his shoulders, perhaps making sure that he would remain lying, must be those of a friend. Good enough for him.

Settled, and now finally feeling safe, Doctor Strange fell asleep, watched over by his loyal companion, the boa constrictor, his Cloak.

Wong breathed out a long sigh in relief. He had not seen Stephen for a few days, but that was not uncommon. In the two months which had passed since they had lost the Ancient One, Strange had settled into the New York Sanctum and while he checked in several times a week, they did not normally hear from him every day.

On this day though, he had been alerted by Strange's companion, the Cloak of Levitation, that something was off, when the seemingly agitated Cloak had come into his library. Knowing the magical world too well to dismiss such a clear sign of something being amiss, but finding no magical disturbance when searching for such an explanation, Wong had brought a young Islandic novice with him and followed the Cloak back into the Sanctum through the door the powerful relic had come through in the first place.

He had found Strange collapsed on the floor in his combined library and study, body burning with fever. Even an elementary examination revealed that there was no magic nor malice at play, just a perfectly ordinary human illness, so he helped the concerned Cloak settle Strange into bed in his nearby bedroom, and sent Elice, the novice, to cook some broth.

Before too long, Strange seemed to wake up, but he was not coherent and struggled to get away from Wong when he attempted to keep him calm and in bed. He did not blame the man, he must be very confused.

The Cloak; reacting to the disturbance in an instant, came to his rescue, covering Strange and calming him down immediately. Wong was pleased to see that Strange knew his relic so well, it spoke highly of their bond to one another and would serve them well in the future. In the end, he left the novice there to assist the Cloak in taking care of the ill sorcerer, and went back home and returned to his duties when he was sure Strange been safely settled.

In case anyone wonders, the fever doesn't interfere with Stephen's eyes, but messes with his brain's ability to interpret more than the most basic sensory data such as touch: any other evidence is hazy and confused. That he can think at all is only because he is so very clever to start with.

I do not pretend to own Doctor Strange.

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