For once, I have no plan, and no idea where this is going. Usually I have at least a vague outline, or climactic scene to work towards. Or a plot. Your guess on what's going to happen is as good as mine at this point.

The winds that weren't winds tore at him in the empty space between dimensions. The faint, trailing scream of, "Doctor!" lingered in his ears, but this time he didn't fight. He gave in and fell. His successor was ready, yet another threat defeated, and he was just so tired. No one even remembered his first name anymore. None of his order asked him for it.

It seemed an age, as nothingness pressed against open wounds, and it didn't matter if his eyes were opened or closed, the scenery didn't change. He should be more patient, after so many centuries alive. Threat after threat defeated, and each one tearing away a piece of himself until he felt riddled with holes as he struggled to hold onto his title and kept failing to live up to that first oath. Not to mention the chronic pain that he should be accustomed to, but that hurt no less throughout his too-long life.

He should be more patient, but he wasn't. Surely his end would finally come. Soon.

He felt himself hit…something. Nothing physical, and yet it somehow felt soft and elastic. Almost bouncy. By all means, he should have been flung back, but it was unlikely he actually had any sort of momentum. Just the illusion of it. Just his mind tricking itself into experiencing something that made sense.

This whatever it was – dimension, it must have been, though he'd never traveled like this before, which might explain why he was so confused by it – seemed to almost cradle him. It sucked him in, slowly, and he resigned himself to whatever happened next. Maybe this was what it took to finally remain dead.

Too much to hope for, apparently.

He didn't know if he passed out or simply blinked, but suddenly he lay in a field of grass, blinded by the sun. He groaned – mostly in pain, only a little in disappointment – and turned over to hide his face in the ground. Through bleary eyes, he could barely make out just how torn and dirty his robes had become. The unmistakable bloodstains were vaguely irritating, as were his open wounds.

He sighed and let the tension flow out of his body. Focused on his senses. He might as well get some idea of this world.

It felt similar to his Earth. Though, it lacked the buzz of the technological metropolis his world had become. He had to concentrate to sense the background hum of technology present, so either he was in a time period long before his end, or long after. Assuming history was as similar as this world felt.

He let his mind drift for a long while, waiting for the energy to move. Then for the motivation.

At last he heaved himself upright and sighed. He should at least explore his new...home, he supposed. But he was so tired of being responsible. Of being in charge, and looked to. So tired of being Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. Of just being himself.

Moments later, a pale-eyed raven took to the air in a flurry of black feathers.

It should probably worry Stephen that the only time he took human form anymore was either cleaning up after hours at a local Y or the equivalent, or to do research in libraries. If he were in a better frame of mind, it probably would.

As it stood, he felt content in any shape but his own. Shapeshifting had come to him with nearly the same ease as astral projection. Whatever it took to escape his body. His favored forms were generally a raven or a raptor in the air, or a cat if he was slinking through city streets. Animals too big or intelligent to be easy prey. Then he could take a backseat to the animal instincts and just not think. Not worry. Easily find a hidey-hole to hunker down in when the ache in his hands, or paws, or wings flared up.

This world wasn't so different from the one he'd known. He couldn't remember all of the details, of course – World War II, for example, had names and battles that he didn't recall studying in his long-ago youth, and it was a toss-up whether or not that was a fault with his memory. Likewise, were Sokovia and Wakanda new countries, or had they just been renamed? But the big things seemed to be the same.

Once Stephen felt a bit more settled and less ignorant, he flew the one-day journey to Greenwich Village in New York. He'd felt the mystical shield around the Earth almost immediately, of course, but his long guardianship of the New York Sanctum compelled him to take a look in person. Even if he had no intention of making himself known.

He begged for his dinner as a cat, and then perched as a crow on the building across the street from 177A. He ruffled his feathers and settled. It was quiet, but it was definitely and recognizably the New York Sanctum. Not under his own mastery, of course. His counterpart had died early in this world, and even then, if history followed, Stephen Strange would not have made it to Kamar-Taj for a few years. The different feel of the magic and warding reflected whatever Master was in charge now. Master Drumm, he assumed.

Stephen considered entering. It wouldn't be hard, although doing so undetected might be. He could do it, no doubt. But it would be a tedious and time-consuming, and it would ultimately leave the Sanctum just that little bit more vulnerable. Not worth his curiosity. Nor his sudden desire to peek at Kamar-Taj. Just to see. Just to be sure that it really wasn't too different. That the order's goals were the same.

He cawed in irritation and launched himself into the air, too far away to hear glass shattering within the Sanctum. Time to figure out a way to Nepal without a sling ring or convenient gateway.

Stowing away on a plane with the pets in luggage was made much easier with magic, although it wasn't entirely comfortable. Probably more comfortable than trying to fit his lanky frame into a seat on the plane, though.

Stephen had felt a sense of nostalgia when he wandered the streets of Kathmandu as a large, pale-eyed mutt. He could have flown and avoided the crowds, but he preferred standing on solid ground when he tried slipping through any sort of ward. Secretly, he also liked the occasional pat that he wouldn't get as a bird. It had been a long time since he'd had much positive physical contact, and people were almost always friendly with dogs. Several days before, he'd also spent what might have been hours curled up as a cat against a homeless woman in Central Park.

Now he sprawled beneath a tree on the edge of the courtyard, head resting on his paws. He'd watched two classes in the hours since arriving, and was just beginning to think about searching for dinner. The sound of footsteps on stone behind him had his ears twitching and his head perking up to see who was approaching.

The flash of yellow robes, color washed out by a dog's vision, prompted his tail to wag slowly. He had spent so little time with this woman, learning from her, and yet she had had such an enormous impact on his life.

"I thought you might be getting hungry," the Ancient One said with a serene smile. She placed a bowl of water and a dish of rice and goat meat in front of him, then settled on the ground at his side.

Stephen's tail wagged a little harder, though he was cautious enough to keep most of his attention on her as he ate. He didn't know if she knew who he was, exactly, but she certainly knew him to be a sorcerer.

Once he finished eating, the Ancient One ran a firm hand down his spine, and then gently began stroking his head and ears. Stephen leaned against her, relaxing almost against his better judgment. His muzzle rested on her thigh as he looked up, wondering what she was thinking.

She looked sad.

He resisted a little as her thumbs stroked along his skull just above his eyes. She murmured, "You look so tired."

Stephen huffed and closed his eyes. He was. He had no idea if he had even reached the Ancient One's age physically, but he suspected - thanks to his use of the Time Stone - that he had surpassed her mental age.

They sat together in silence for a long while. Stephen dozed off and on until a few of the apprentices began evening sparring practices in the courtyard. The Ancient One shifted, then, giving him one last scratch behind his ears and stroking a hand down his spine before standing up. She looked down at him and said, "You'll always be welcome here, Stephen, should you ever decide to stay."

His ears pulled back slightly, before returning to neutral. So she had known who he was, after all. He watched her move to monitor the apprentices, and wasn't all that surprised at her knowledge.

His mouth opened in a yawn, tongue lolling a bit as he shifted back on his haunches and stretched. Feeling more awake, he stood and decided to nose his way into the main building for further exploration. He had something like blanket permission for wandering from the current Sorcerer Supreme, after all.

Still, he preferred not to be noticed.

When he was certain no one was watching, between one step and the next, he shifted into a cat. Smaller, quieter, and more agile, he slunk into any room that caught his attention. Stephen hesitated only outside of the library, bracing himself for a glimpse of Wong, a man who had become one of his closest friends, and who had died so long ago. He was almost unbearably familiar with loss, and the grief never fully went away.

So to see a stranger behind the librarian's desk felt like his feet had been knocked out from under him.

Stephen crouched a little as his ears flattened, and his tail tucked up under him. He shook himself back into neutrality, fur still slightly bristled and tail a little too stiff. It was so much harder to keep animal body language under control. Thankfully, no one had seen him, and he scooted into the dimly lit stacks, wandering aimlessly as he calmed himself. Wong hadn't always been the librarian. It was just as likely that this was his predecessor, and Wong was somewhere else within Kamar-Taj, or taking a break from library duties. Stephen had no reason to think that he was dead, or had never existed here.

Oh, he thought, pausing abruptly by a book on defensive shields he'd never seen before. He memorized the location. Once he had the time, he'd have to remember to come back for it. He had felt the Ancient One slip a sling ring into his pocket somehow, despite him having been in animal form the entire time. It would be an interesting mental exercise to figure out how she did it when he got bored.

The rest of Stephen's explorations were perfunctory. He finished quickly, sensing nothing too untoward, and then headed for the kitchens. It was a warm place to curl up for the night, and he'd be able to eat breakfast right away and head out first thing.

That's alarming, Stephen noted upon noticing an enormous explosion of flames in the middle of nowhere, Afghanistan. He tilted his wings slightly to adjust his flight path toward the disturbance, and gained a bit of altitude in hopes of avoiding someone deciding to take a shot. If his eagle eyes hadn't noticed the clumsy metal thing shooting away from what was likely some sort of weapons cache, he might have avoided the place altogether. His wandering was mostly purposeless – disregarding rare nudges from his magic, or the universe, or what-have-you – but he actively tried to avoid imminent violence and probable terrorism.

But unless it was his imagination, that metal thing had been vaguely man-shaped and not well controlled. And Stephen was a doctor, first and foremost. Villain or victim, if it was a person, they were unlikely to last long out here on their own. He could decide what to do once he'd gained more information.

Plus, he'd never really been able to help his curiosity.

It didn't take Stephen long to spot where the metal thing had come down. Only a few feet away, covered in dirt, sweat, blood, and burns, a man staggered away from the ruins. He circled slowly, and tried not to screech in anger. It was easy for him to tell that many of those injuries were the result of torture, and he had no idea what to make of the glowing thing in his chest. But if it wasn't something simply attached to the skin, he had a very good idea of the trauma that could wreck on a body. Small favors; at least the man was smart enough to have managed a bit of cover from the sun for his head.

He looked vaguely familiar.

Stephen banked and dove out of sight behind the nearest hill. From there, he shifted into a wolf just large enough to help support the man should he need it, and then loped across the sand towards the probable escapee.

He slowed his approach when the man turned to look, tripped backward, and nearly fell.

"Shit. Shit! Uh, don't eat me, I promise I don't taste any good, you ought to be able to smell that, fuck, I'm attacked by my own fucking weapons, manage to escape the Ten Rings, and of all things, I'm about to be eaten by a giant fucking wolf. I didn't even know Afghanistan had wolves."

Stephen wondered if this man was always so talkative, or if it was just an accumulation of everything that had happened to him. But he recognized him now. For a while, he had seen his face on every news channel. Tony Stark of Stark Industries, missing in Afghanistan, was all anyone had been able to talk about. Even months later he caught snippets of speculation on radios and television as he passed through cities.

He was supposed to be a genius. Did Stephen really look like he wanted to eat him?

He approached slowly, and with exaggerated care. And if it looked like he was mocking Stark? Well, Stephen had never managed to improve his bedside manner much above condescending asshole.

Stark's eyes narrowed, his frightened and defensive posture mostly shifting into exhaustion and annoyance. "Great. Either I'm imagining things, or you're a fucking asshole."

Stephen snorted. He half-wished that he could roll his eyes.

Indignation warred with nervousness, and Stark's body was definitely strung tight when Stephen nudged him with his nose, and then gently leaned his side against him. It must be painful. Stephen almost hurt just looking at him, and his two front paws definitely made their aches known. He stood, not moving away and not pushing, as Stark slowly relaxed, and tentatively touched the fur on his back. Encouraged, he buried his calloused hand more firmly in Stephen's fur, and then sagged against the large wolf.

"Am I hallucinating?" he mumbled. And then, "You're either very well-trained, or you're very strange."

Stephen huffed, and then twisted to better examine the glowing circle in Stark's chest. This close, he could sense the energy coming from it, and it was...unusual. Powerful. And not exactly like anything he had felt before. His curiosity flared.

"Okay, yeah, that's strange, too," Stark grumbled. Discomfort, hurt, and lingering hints of fear were evident in his eyes and the tension of his body.

Stephen nudged him to get moving, and began steering them in the direction of the nearest town. Whatever else Stark needed, medical attention, a sterile environment, and access to water were the priority.

He kept close, though careful not to knock the man over. He was unsteady enough as it was, and Stephen soon needed to catch him as best he could to keep him from tumbling to the ground. His open wounds were bad enough, they didn't need more sand and dirt to contaminate them. Not to mention that he was a little afraid that Stark wouldn't be able to keep getting back up. What he'd managed so far was impressive as is, and Stephen doubted he'd guessed even half of what the other man had suffered through.

Stark got the idea quickly enough when Stephen nudged at his hand, and rested some of his weight on the wolf.

"Good dog," he mumbled.

Stephen did him the courtesy of assuming he was delirious and didn't snap at him, though he did growl in warning.

"So touchy," Stark muttered.

Infuriating. But not completely broken, at least.

They walked together through the sand for quite some time. Stark leaned more and more heavily on the wolf, and their breaks became more frequent. Stephen was trying to figure out how to find some sort of shelter for the two them from the noon sun, when he heard something new in the distance. His ears pricked up, muscles tensing and alerting Stark to the change.

"What?" he mumbled.

Stephen placed the sound at last. Helicopter blades. Hopefully friendly, but they really didn't have much choice. Stark needed help, and Stephen could defend them if pressed.

At last the helicopter was close enough for Stark to see and hear. He must have recognized it, or was just too relieved to care. He barked an almost hysterical laugh as he waved and let go of the wolf to stumble toward it, falling to his knees and raising one hand in a peace sign.

Stephen hung back. The moment he saw men exiting the helicopter with guns in hand, far enough away not to be able to see him in much detail, he shifted into a mutt. A dog was far less threatening than a wolf, and soldiers would hopefully be reluctant to shoot a probable pet. He did his best to seem non-threatening, and hoped that they weren't trigger-happy.

Judging by the reunion, Stark at least knew one of them well, so they must be able to get him to safety. He was just thinking about sneaking away when Stark turned back to him and did a double-take. Yeah, hopefully he would think it a hallucination or something caused by the heat, dehydration, or aftermath of torture. And if Stephen left now, he'd probably forget all about it.

So of course Stark opened his mouth to say, "We got room for this guy, don't we?"

"Tony…"

"Just look at him. You can't abandon him out here to die, Rhodey, look at him. He's basically skin and bones, and there's absolutely nothing out here."

"He is looking a bit ragged and malnourished," the soldier sighed.

Stephen was affronted. He did not look that bad. He turned to go, only to grunt when strong hands grabbed his sides and carefully pulled him back. "This guy helped save my life, I'm not leaving him behind," Stark said stubbornly. And if his voice cracked on the first half of that sentence, eyes darkening at some memory, well, no one said anything. And if Stephen went limp and nearly knocked the air out of Stark at the abrupt weight of him, well, that was just to show his displeasure.

He ignored the genius' calculating stare as he curled up on the floor of the helicopter. Stephen was confident that he could escape if it became necessary. Meanwhile, he could learn more about that glowing thing in the man's chest.