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Stephen rubbed his gloved hands together, wincing slightly as he did so. It was cold, far colder then he was used to, having spent most of his life in New York, and the change in temperature was hell on his hands. Still, he tried to focus, blinking away the moisture in his eyes from the stinging cold, even as the Cloak pressed against him as tightly as it dared. Before him were trees, great towering Siberian pines sprawled in a thick forest and coated in the glistening, powdery snow. By all rights it was beautiful, the sky clear and bright blue, but for the storm clouds approaching from the East, yet Stephen did not have time to appreciate it. He glanced down at Peter who was standing at his side, shifting from foot to foot. It wasn’t the cold, he knew, because Peter’s Spider-Man suit had been equipped with what was essentially a heater before they left, no he was anxious to get down there, far too eager for the action. They had received an alert not two days ago of an unusual amount of energy radiating from this forest in front of them. Satellite photos acquired by Shield confirmed that a para-military base camp had been set up, their tents and equipment painted black (who the fuck does that in the winter when everything is white?) and were carrying copious amounts of….something into an underground bunker hidden among clusters of great big boulders. Stephen had listened to all this with polite silence, Tony going on and on about why the bad guys seemed to always like places with extreme weather when a particular image, scattered across the counter caught his eyes. He had picked it up and after several minutes of scrutinization and Tony’s insistent questions, admitted that one of the items being held by a man clad in full bodied black gear, bullet proof vest, guns, ski mask, the works, looked vaguely familiar. An hour later found Stephen and Wong explaining to Fury that this group had relics, ancient magical relics that could cause even greater destructive damage then whatever energy signatures they had been gathering. And that was how Stephen found himself there now. He and Tony had agreed, after months of back and forth, that Stephen would not be involved in Avengers business, it wasn’t his place and would create needless complications. Yet, it was his duty as a sorcerer to gather and secure magical relics, an exception to the rule and he spent the entire trip there (he wasn’t allowed to portal because Shield were dicks he decided) he tried to ignore the not so subtle hinting on his lover’s part about how useful he would be on future missions. “Dr. Strange? Should we go now?” He sighed, “no Peter, wait for Rogers or Tony to give us the ok.” In all honesty he was also getting antsy, he wasn’t used to working with an entire team. He knew how to deal with Wong and some of the other sorcerers, but even then, he was able to make his own decisions and he was simply backed up. There was a steady chatter over the line and Stephen had to admit his ears perked to attention every time Tony’s voice carried across, usually with updates or the brief sarcastic remark, it was surprisingly soothing to hear, a constant reassurance. “Strange, flare is going up,” came Roger’s voice, cackling in ear through the old comms piece. His hand came up instinctively to hear better, “direction of retreat?” “West.” Peter was already leaning forward, and Stephen had to physically grab him and restrain him, “copy that Rogers, we’re headed in.” The Avengers were focused on flushing out the soldiers and crew while Stephen and Peter slipped in from the opposite direction in order to secure the relics with hopefully less confrontations. That was the very reason Peter was with him, they had nearly refused to let the kid come on this one, but it was only after his incessant pleading and the promise that he would obey that Tony reluctantly agreed. They would certainly run into soldiers, but Stephen’s concern that they might just barricade themselves in the bunker was discredited when a scan showed the chamber was incredibly tiny and they would all have to wait in the hallway. Not a great strategy, they were far more likely to either retreat or stand their ground in the open of the forest. Apparently, they went with retreat. He looked down sternly at Peter, who was still buzzing with pent up energy, “slowly Peter. We aren’t rushing in.” He nodded and seemed to reign himself in, his eyes doing the narrow thing that meant he was taking it seriously, Stephen honestly had to hold back a chuckle at that. They began their approach, however, stepping out onto the fresh snow from the relative safety of the hut they had commandeered an hour before. They moved swiftly, Peter matching his pace, though he strongly suspected the kid wished he could swing through the trees or maybe jump from one to another. The whole time, Stephen kept his eyes fixed ahead, one of his hands out in front of him, following a thin glowing string that was invisible to everyone else, toward the bunker. His other was hanging loosely, ready to move into configurations at any moment. Despite the beauty of the area there was something uneasy about it too. At first Stephen thought it was the silence, but for the snow crunching beneath their feet, the fact that all the wildlife seemed to have fled in anticipation of the confrontation, even squirrels and birds. Now, however, as they got closer something else rose up in Stephen’s consciousness, a creeping, uncomfortable feeling that he knew was his instincts warning him. He decided it must be the relics, it had to be. There was no other explanation he could attribute it too. “Stephen?” he flinched in surprise at Tony’s voice in his ear. “Here,” he stated simply, glancing down at Peter, signalling a stop. “Status?” despite the single word Stephen could hear with ease the concern in Tony’s voice. The man knew how to focus on a mission, knew how to push back emotions and do the job, but it was clear some reassurance was in order. If it was any other situation he would be annoyed, but he not this time. “Approaching from the East as agreed, three minutes out.” The reply was cut off as a high-pitched squealing noise sounded in the air around them. If there had been glass, Stephen was certain it would have shattered instantly. As it was, Peter dropped like a brick the moment it began, hands clutching his ears and a scream coming from his open mouth, only to be swallowed up by the noise around them. Stephen himself gasped as the pain sliced through is skull like a machete, a distant prickling in his ears leaving him sure there was blood. He stumbled toward Peter, knees weak, and eyes distracted by bright spots. He collapsed next to him and reached out to place his hands over Peter’s and began frantically reciting a spell, something that should numb the noise. The kid’s spidey-sense was going to get him killed if he had to listen to it much longer. Within moments Peter went limp and Stephen lifted his mask enough to expose his nose and mouth and feel the warm puffs of breath. Reassured, Stephen felt like passing out himself, the throbbing in his skull only getting worse. Instead, he lifted his hand to his ear and tugged out the ear piece, it had been killed by the ungodly noise. Then as suddenly as it began it stopped. He blinked harshly, realizing he had closed his eyes. His ears were ringing and as he clapped his hands, he discovered he couldn’t hear anything at all. Grimacing he stood, wiping at the snow on his knees and debating his next move, while trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. There was muffled noises and Stephen’s head snapped up, eyes darting around the forest and realizing how precarious their position was. The Cloak popped off Stephen’s shoulders to hover over Peter, prepared to stand guard while the boy was still incapacitated. His hearing was returning but far too slow to offer him any advantage. He looked back down at Peter who appeared to be waking, quiet little moans falling from his open mouth, near as Stephen could tell over the constant ringing. Fighting was Stephen’s first instinct, if he were able to get one or two unarmed (assuming they were) he’d be able to question them about the activities. That, however, would be both selfish and foolish. Peter was in no state to fight, might need urgent medical care and Stephen couldn’t fight them off and protect Peter at the same time. Sling ring it was then. Stephen had just pulled it from his pocket when out of the forest ahead of them came a woman, making him stop dead. She didn’t seem to see him, head down and running into the opening at a frantic pace. It didn’t last long, she tripped over a rock barely protruding from the snow and dived face first. Before Stephen could stop himself, he was moving forward, intent on helping the woman stand but the moment he moved she looked up and let out a muted scream, scrambling back. Stephen’s extremely brief analysis suggested she wasn’t one of the men from the base camp. She didn’t wear the dark combat gear, instead clad in jeans and puffy brown winter coat. Her red hair was pulled sharply into a ponytail and her startling green eyes were wet with unshed tears. Civilian. Stephen lifted his hands to show he didn’t mean any harm, but just then the noise from before came rearing to the forefront, his ears suddenly clearing with a painful pop. The result was clear indication of men shouting, something mechanical wheeling through the forest ahead, and the crunching of snow. Stephen’s heart began to pound, and he quickly motioned at the woman to stop backing away, “its alright I won’t hurt you. Come with me and I’ll get us out of here.” She stared at him with those vibrant eyes, her expression twisting into something not so different to devastation. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Stephen didn’t even have the chance to register her words when her hand flew out, holding a thin metallic wand like thing. A light shone red and suddenly the noise was back a thousand times worse, sending Stephen to his knees in an instant. He gasped and reared back, ignored the mass of men clad in black walking into the forest and turned toward where the Cloak was fluttering in distress. “Go!” he couldn’t even hear himself, but the command was clear as day. Stephen watched as the Cloak wrapped around Peter’s form and carried him off. His vision began to blur, his stomach twisted sickly from the pain and as he threw up into the once pristine snow, he was horrified to see blood dripping down. A swipe at his face revealed blood, snaking their way from his eyes. As he finally lost consciousness and dark figures stood over him, Stephen spared a thought for Tony, who was certainly going to be pissed.