A/N: Okay, so I recently watched the movie Doctor Strange and got bit by the fandom bug. Now i'm trying my hand at writing some fluffy and exciting stories of my own that will also be containing some sweet hurt/comfort as well :D For those of you who read my other stories, don't worry I haven't forgotten about 221B Baker Street, but for now I'm enraptured in 771A Bleecker Street ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Marvel or Doctor Strange. This work is merely for entertainment purposes, not for profit or gain.

Chapter 1: Its Chosen

~S~

Stephen Strange peeked his eyes open. Though he was unpleasantly surprised as a ray of sunlight from the adjacent window hovered right over them.

He must have forgotten to draw the curtains closed in his exhaustion from last night, Stephen thought blearily, raising a hand to stop the slight sting so he could survey his surroundings. The cloak was in its usual place, hanging up in his closet (or more accurately, floating there).

The doctor turned over in his bed, not wanting to wake up just yet even though he knew and felt he should. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

With a groan, Stephen reluctantly left his warm bed to open the door for his friend Wong who stood by the entrance with a tray of breakfast in his hands.

Stephen gave a distasteful look. "You do know that I can make my own breakfast, right?"

Wong shook his head. "We've had this conversation many times before Stephen and you know fully well what my answer will be." The librarian replied smoothly and let himself in, casually moving toward Stephen's bed.

"Yes. And your answer is always the same. I need to be guarding the New York Sanctum, not playing chef," he spoke in a deadpan voice, ignoring Wong's slightly crucible expressions. "But I still don't understand why I can't cook something for myself occasionally…" Stephen muttered to himself.

Wong to a glance to the door before answering. "Now that you are the Sorcerer Supreme, you have other duties that lie beyond your domestic ones. Protecting the Sanctum is more important." The keeper gave him a serious look, which on his particular face came off as more endearing than anything.

Strange nodded.

Wong said nothing more, placing the tray on the bed before leaving.

The Sorcerer Supreme sighed heavily as if the weight on his shoulders would dissipate the harder he expelled air, before walking into the bathroom.

He came out a few minutes later wrapped in a towel and his hair dripping wet, before heading towards the closet to grab his clothes.

The cloak, without warning, swiftly jumped onto his naked shoulders.

"What the- get off," Stephen ordered, trying hard to pull the immortally strong garment off him.

But the cloak wasn't relinquishing its place on his shoulders. "I'm not at the Sanctum yet," Strange added in an attempt to talk some sense into it. But even with all the struggling and shouting, all the cloak did was press itself harder to him.

Stephen was suddenly raised into the air, causing the towel around his waist to fall to the ground.

"What are you doing! I need to get dressed!" He shouted in a more quizzical voice than an angry one.

The cloak then surprisingly drifted toward the closet, bringing him within an arm's reach away from the closet so he could at least wrestle his pants and shirt from their hangers before he was ripped away a second later.

Stephen made a silent prayer while he was "getting dressed in mid air" that Wong or his replacement wouldn't check in on the New York Sanctum and see him floating naked from the console. He finally managed to fully dress himself, sighing.

He finally managed to fully dress himself, sighing.

The doctor was familiar with a variety of the cloak's needs. It hated water, it always knew when Strange was in trouble or hurt and nothing was able to stand in its way when that happened. Plus, the cloak always seemed to be the most comfortable and content when it was on Stephen's shoulders. Why the cloak possessed all these human-like qualities continued to be a mystery to him. Though, what was worse was that now he was dressing in mid air contemplating that reason.

Before Strange could contemplate any more on the subject, a projectile smashed through the glass and impaled itself through 2 shirts before hitting the wooden back of his closet.

The cloak seemed to freeze in time. Stephen's breaths stopped altogether for approximately five seconds.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion, including the fractured shards of glass drifting soundlessly through the air below him. He'd heard about near death experiences before from patients under his care. They would mention the world around them slowing to almost a standstill before a split second of agony and then darkness shrouded their awareness.

Stephen spared a look to the cloak, after-which, began to lower him down slowly and hesitantly to the floor. He turned towards the gaping hole in the glass of the window and moved over to the closet to survey the damage as well as examine the projectile.

It was about 2 feet long and the entire length of it was covered in sharp spikes that were barbed at the ends. There seemed to be a combustion tube in the end that served to propel the object through the air as well.

The Cloak of Levitation lifted itself off of Stephen's shoulders, shaking off the water from Strange's back, obviously uncomfortable with the element.

Stephen saw the cloak's distress and grabbed his towel from the bedroom floor before pulling the cloak down to him and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He then proceeded to gently wipe off the water.

The cloak settled in his lap, deflated and unmoving to make it easier while its chosen worked to dry off every remnant of water.

Stephen now understood why he had been so abruptly levitated. The cloak had sensed the projectile coming and acted expeditiously to save his life from what would have been a painful death.

He owed the cloak his life, once more.

A/N: So, did I pull it off?