Chapter Text
The air is thick with dust, and so silent Stephen does not dare speak. As he works, the orange sands of Titan crunch under his knees. He rubs the sweat from his brow, piles of ash now gathered into distinct and separate mounds under his trembling hands. This is work he has to do. The result of some soul-deep compulsion. Although he can’t remember how, he knows he made this mess. All of these ashes need to be sorted. They’re not supposed to be mixed together like this.
Then something - or someone - bumps his shoulder.
Stephen falls forward, palms flat to the ground, the ash piles merging together. ‘No,’ he says, shivering. ‘No, no, no -’
Another shove knocks him onto his side. He recovers, struggling upright, fine, grey powder clinging to the fabric of his robes. Hot bile crawls up his throat. These are people, he realises. But he knew that. He’s known it all along.
‘Stephen,’ he hears.
‘What have you done?’ is his angered reply.
He turns to find the culprit. Can’t they see what he is trying to do? Have they no compassion, no humanity?
‘Stephen,’ the voice speaks again.
The sand suddenly runs soft into the ghostly imprint of a hundred hands grabbing, and clawing, and clutching at his clothes as he sinks downwards. The voice grows louder, booming out of the pale, dead sky, forceful and insistent.
‘Stephen, Stephen, Stephen!’
‘What?!’ he shouts.
When he opens his eyes, it is to a room clotted with shadows. There is a wheezing, chafing sound that he soon realises are his own breaths, each inhalation as quick as the pulse plucking at his neck. The left side of his face feels tender. His arms are folded over an open book, the desk somewhere underneath all of the cluttered pages and spilled-out tomes.
‘It’s just me,’ he hears from beside him. ‘You were dreaming again.’
Stephen turns in his chair, his fear feeling ridiculous against Wong’s stoic stare.
‘Luckily one of us is awake in defence of the Sanctum,’ he smirks, withdrawing his not-quite-there touch. He looks about to continue speaking until his eyes fall upon Stephen’s research. ‘What are you reading?’
He steps closer to the desk before Stephen can cover the open pages with his arms. Wong’s expression transitions from curiosity into hardened disapproval.
‘You won’t find the answers you’re looking for in those texts.’
‘There’s mention here of a book called the Darkhold,’ Stephen says. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘What do you know?’ Wong returns.
Stephen’s words are slow around his hesitation. ‘Just that it’s a book of unimaginable power -’
He cuts himself off as Wong begins closing and gathering up the texts.
‘An uncontrollable, all-influencing power,’ he corrects, stacking the tomes one on top of the other. ‘It gives a whole new meaning to the idea of losing yourself in a book.’
Stephen leans back in his chair, a bemused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘A little dramatic, don’t you think?’
Wong grunts a humourless sound. ‘Be thankful you’ll never find out. The only known copy of the Darkhold is lost to Kamar-Taj.’ Wong’s frown is the only thing visible over the tower of books he has collected. ‘If you have time to sleep, you have time to see to our guest.’
‘Guest?’ Stephen checks his watch. It is still broken. ‘What time is it?’
‘Late. Mr Stark is waiting for you in the foyer. He is very agitated.’
When is he not, Stephen thinks, but Wong must be mistaken.
‘It can’t be him. Nobody has seen Stark in months.’
Wong tilts his head in gesture to the staircase then turns away, taking the right-most corridor, no doubt heading for one of the Sanctum’s many libraries to reshelve the books. With a sigh, Stephen spreads his arms in invitation to the Cloak of Levitation, then heads for the stairs. He takes the steps two at a time before halting himself at the last one, the Cloak fixed to his shoulders and billowing behind him.
Sure enough there stands Tony Stark in the foyer, his arms crossed with impatience. He looks thin under his grey, sweat-dampened t-shirt, and wears an exhaustion Stephen can feel just by looking at him. His hair is pushed up at all angles as though he has done nothing but run his hands through it for days. Tony stares into the empty fireplace, not noticing he is in company until Stephen clears his throat to command his attention.
Tony’s expression is one of sour realisation, like he has only just come to understand where he is and who he has called upon. Or rather, how much time has passed since the pair of them had anything close to an amicable conversation.
Tony sighs as if already defeated. ‘I might as well get straight to the point. I need a favour.’
‘You’re assuming I have the time to give you one,’ Stephen starts.
‘Uh, after what you did, a favour is the very least you owe me.’ He runs his fingers over his shut lids, the purplish discolouration on his skin betraying a lack of sleep. ‘Besides, what do you mean, “assuming you have the time”?’ He provides the air quotes in sardonic temper. ‘No thanks to you, time’s all anyone has now. A whole load of time, and literally nothing else.’
Stephen narrows his eyes, willing himself to keep his tongue. There are many things he could say to Tony Stark, and with less patience, he might have said them already. But these things would only start arguments they have both already exhausted. And Stephen decides he has had enough of repeating the exact same moment in different flavours to last a lifetime…
At his lack of response, Tony lifts his chin. A lofty attempt to look down on him despite their height difference. Perhaps assuming guilt where Stephen wishes he could say there isn’t any.
‘You keep tabs on people, right?’ Tony presses. ‘That’s a thing you know how to do?’
‘To an extent…’
‘I don’t have time for maybes, Doc.’
Stephen catches a sigh. ‘Only potential threats. Is there someone you think I should be worried about? Besides the obvious, of course...’
Tony waves the question away. He already knows the answer to that one. They both do.
‘Could you do it for a friendly? One of ours?’
‘Why?’ Stephen asks. ‘Who is it you’re looking for?’
Working his jaw, Tony appears to be considering whether he should relinquish that information. He motions towards the staircase, Stephen elevated on the last step and watching his every move. What he does not tell Stark is that since a good chunk of the Avengers dusted out of existence, he’s made it a priority to know the general whereabouts of the ones that are still living. Perhaps if they had been able to locate Vision sooner, things would have played out a lot differently.
The benefit of hindsight…
‘It’s the kid,’ Tony finally offers weakly.
He comes to pause at the end of the handrail, using it as a rest for his elbow. When he clasps his hands together, Stephen notices the way his fingers tremble, already too conscious of his own.
‘Your ward?’ he seeks to clarify.
‘Yes, the kid, Pete,’ says Tony. He moves away again, back towards the fireplace. ‘The tracker on his suit went dark days ago. I’ve been trying to find him, and…’ He keeps his back to Stephen, the faltering of his voice betraying him. ‘...and I can’t.’
He doesn’t need to elaborate. Even with the eerily vacant and disarrayed streets firmly outside of the Sanctum, the collective despair of so many suffering, so many in mourning catches Stephen’s every breath.
‘...Give me a few minutes,’ he manages.
Tony turns on him. ‘We might not have a few minutes -’
A chair hits into the back of his legs, scooping him up. Stephen takes them to a different room, empty save for a stone table in the centre and the conjured seat. Skin shining with sweat, Tony gets to a stand and looks about himself, expression incredulous.
‘Where are we?’
‘Kamar-Taj,’ says Stephen. ‘But don’t worry. We can get back to the New York Sanctum in a matter of seconds.’
He approaches the great stone table where the Eye of Agamotto once sat. As he places his trembling fingers to the surface, an image of the earth swells into the cavernous ceiling. Tony comes to stand at Stephen’s side. He looks up at the revolving picture of their planet, then reaches out to touch the table Stephen uses to manipulate its positioning. The Cloak of Levitation whips up to slap his hand away.
Tony cradles his fingers and side-eyes the Cloak.
‘Where did you say this is? Still Earth, right?’
‘Yes,’ says Stephen. ‘We’re in Nepal. And as expected, Peter Parker is still in New York.’
‘Nepal?’
Tony staggers as they find themselves back in the Sanctum Sanctorum foyer, arms out to either side of himself. He glances around as if unable to trust his surroundings. Using his slingring, Stephen traces a circle in the air, a fizzing, golden light opening a portal before them.
‘This way.’
‘What exactly are these?’ Tony asks, stepping in after him.
‘Think of it like a door,’ says Stephen, ‘and Peter Parker should be waiting for you right on the other…’
He trails off, hearing pricked by a soft sniffling sound.
They are in an alleyway, pitch black under the starless night sky. Since Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of life on earth, there are areas of New York too dilapidated to excavate. Aeroplanes and helicopters suddenly left without pilots dove straight to the ground, toppling and crushing whatever lay beneath. Cars and trucks, their drivers dusted, drove head first into whatever was in front of them. Without the might of the skyscrapers that used to stand tall, the winds are rougher. Stephen tenses at the unsteady creak of the surrounding apartment blocks. Gnarled foundations spill and jut out of the blasted brickwork, the ground underfoot littered with broken glass and chunks of rubble.
Tony passes through the portal, hitting into Stephen before his eyes can adjust to the lack of light. Since the only view in front of them is an empty roadway, Stephen casts his gaze upwards. Slumped on a narrow balcony, Peter Parker sits with his arms over his knees, his face partially covered. The appearance of the portal (or maybe just the suggestion of a change in the atmosphere before the portal fully materialised) has caught his attention. Huddled-up, he offers a wounded stare through the wrought-iron bars he’s attempting to hide within. Stephen directs Tony’s attention with a gentle nudge.
‘Parker! You better have a good excuse for going off the radar, or so help me!’
The Cloak of Levitation fans out behind Stephen, lifting him off the ground and up to where Peter is huddled. Peter shrinks into himself, de-masked, breaths shuddering as he attempts to keep his face hidden. Stephen opens up another portal, allowing Tony to cross through and reappear up on the balcony.
‘Pete,’ he starts, furious-sounding. His demeanour changes quickly, however. ‘Wait. What’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you hurt?’
Tony approaches, reaching out to touch him, but sensing the move before it hits, Peter scrapes himself back, positions his hand, and shoots out a quick succession of webbing. Whilst Tony is distracted by his arm being suddenly attached to the balcony railing, Peter vaults over it, landing on the damp ground below with a light thud. The Cloak of Levitation furls inwards, dropping Stephen after him. Just as he is about to open a portal for Tony, he sees him press the arc reactor at his chest. His Iron Man suit spreads out from the blue light ever glowing by his heart, his whole body encased with nanotech in seconds. Using the boosters at his feet and hands, Tony jumps from the balcony and speeds after Peter, who has since left the alleyway, and is now leaping between the remnants of the buildings using his webs. On instinct, Stephen completes the spell to conjure the mirror world. Too many of the buildings are structurally unsound. The last thing they need is one of them trapped under several tonnes of rubble. They - and the city - have suffered enough.
The crystalline barrier extends out, engulfing them all. Stephen begins his manipulation. Peter misses his target, and in a panic hurriedly shoots for the next available space. The walls respond to the impact like liquid. As he falls, Stephen cuts a portal beneath him. He drops through it, and with a nod to Tony, Stephen indicates where the next opening will appear. Hovering in the air, Tony holds out his arms in anticipation. Moments later, Peter is spat from another portal and caught around the middle by the waiting Iron Man. The Cloak of Levitation fans out to bring Stephen closer to them.
‘Let me go!’ Peter fights, voice rough from his crying, ‘I’m serious, Mr Stark -’
‘So am I,’ Tony says. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
Although he still pushes against Tony’s arms in the hope he might be able to writhe free - his natural strength for the moment either matched by the Iron Man suit’s upgrades or else withheld out of respect - Peter at least stops kicking his legs, and relaxes somewhat. He surveys Stephen with suspicion, eyes red and puffy.
‘Nothing,’ he murmurs, in answer to Stark.
‘Then why did you disable the tracker in your suit? You’ve been home to see your Aunt May, right? It’s been days. I called over there this morning and nobody answered. Probably because, like me, she’s already out looking and half out of her mind with worry.’
‘No, she’s not, she…’ Peter seems to think better of whatever it was he was about to say, finalising, ‘She’s fine, Mr Stark.’ His teeth grit in his continued fight for freedom. Until, again, he gives in. ‘Could you let me go? Please?’
Unmoved, Tony looks to Stephen. His face is hidden behind the Iron Man mask, so he jerks his head in gesture for support. The Cloak fans out around Stephen in the still, cool air.
‘I know things have been tough after what happened on Titan,’ he attempts.
‘Don’t,’ says Peter, fighting harder. ‘This isn’t about that.’
‘Then what is it about?’ Stephen asks, despite being reluctant to believe that this is not, at least in part, about their battle with Thanos.
The three of them had to watch people they had only just met disintegrate into dust. Then they returned to Earth only to find so many more had met the same fate, and all of their knowledge combined was not enough to even begin to fix the problem.
Months on, everyone is still lost. Perhaps, for Peter, going to school everyday with half of the class missing is taking its toll.
Either way, this does not stop Stephen from feeling like his work so far has been done. With no further answer from Peter, he lowers himself to the floor. Tony follows, maintaining his grip around his struggling ward. With a few gestures, Stephen is able to free them from the mirror world. The transparent barriers fall around them like shattered glass before they vanish, the street in exactly the same state as they left it.
Once on the floor, Tony readjusts his hold on Peter, pushing the crook of his elbow to the other’s neck. Tired of struggling, or perhaps as part of a ruse, Peter goes slack in his arms.
‘I got Ned to help me turn off the tracker in the suit,’ he finally admits. ‘I - I didn’t want you to worry, Mr Stark - I can handle everything by myself -’
‘Who says you have to?’
His tone is so rough, Stephen thinks the words sound more like a challenge than an encouragement.
Peter leaves a deliberate pause. ‘Are you gonna let me go now...?’
Tony reigns him in with a tighter grip. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on. You don’t get to just up and vanish without telling anybody where you are or what’s happening.’
‘Why not?’ Peter snaps, resisting Tony’s hold, ‘that’s what you did.’
Tony retracts his mask, his face stricken with rage. ‘Alright. I’ve had enough. You either tell me what’s going on with you in the next five seconds, or I’m gonna have Strange here throw you into another dimension.’
Stephen raises his hands in mock surrender. ‘Uh, no, I’m not throwing anyone into any dimensions. I need to get back to my work.’
‘What work?’ Tony returns. ‘You were sleeping when I showed up.’
Peter’s expression softens from irritation into wide-eyed innocence. With Tony’s arm around his neck, he has both hands tucked under his chin, still searching for a leverage that just won’t come. Feeling his tentative explorations, Tony only squeezes harder.
‘I fell asleep whilst working,’ Stephen spells out, ‘and given the state of you, you’re not doing much better.’
‘Actually, I can guarantee the work I’m doing is ten times more helpful than whatever mystical bullshit you’re working on.’
‘It’s thanks to my mystical bullshit that you’re even here,’ says Stephen. ‘You came to me, remember, when all of your engineering failed you.’
‘Uh, my engineering didn’t fail me, I just didn’t think to look here. Figured no fifteen-year-old would be poking around in places where there are still bodies to be excavated.’
He stares down at Peter, who sets his jaw and refuses to return eye contact to anyone.
‘I’m not here to argue with you, Stark,’ Stephen says. ‘You have your ward. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m conducting important research -’
Tony’s voice rings harsh and clear. ‘Don’t you get it? No amount of your magical research is going to fix this!’
Tony loosens his grip on Peter only to force him to the ground with a rough shove. Peter rolls onto his back, but before he can spring upright, Tony presses his foot to his chest. The nanotech on his suit expands out from under his sole, retracting from his legs to pin Peter beneath an arch of red and gold alloy. With a tug of his foot, Tony detaches himself. He walks towards Stephen, Peter writhing and pushing against his prison in a furious panic.
‘This,’ says Tony, pointing at the rubble and the deep cracks in the tarmac, ‘this is your fault.’
‘We’re not discussing this,’ Stephen says, taking a step back to maintain some distance. ‘Not again.’
‘Of course we’re not,’ says Tony. ‘Discussing things, making plans? That’s not what you do. You just do whatever you want.’
‘I did what was right,’ Stephen argues. ‘I did what had to be done.’
‘Yeah, right. Where have we heard that reasoning before? Do you want me to remind you? Huh?’
He opens his arms in gesture to the ruined street around them. So enraged, Stephen cannot bring himself to answer. Tony offers a pained, incredulous laugh.
‘I didn’t think so. You know, you didn’t have to give up that stone. We almost had him. We were so close -’
Stephen’s voice shudders out of him. ‘You were about to die.’
‘And what happened to letting us die, huh?’ Tony is rigid in his temper, his fists clenched by his sides. ‘What happened to your moral compass, Doc?’
The question is like a slap to the face. Especially since Stephen has asked it of himself countless times, and yet still, so many months on, he can’t find an answer. Or more accurately, he can’t remember the answer. Which would be frustrating on its own if his memory wasn’t otherwise completely reliable. But after Thanos’s final, deciding move, Stephen felt his memories fade as fast as everyone around them faded into ash. The horror he felt was all-encompassing. It meets him in his dreams. In every waking nightmare. Even now, the dread plunges down into him, deep and dark and heart-stopping.
With all those memories of all the futures he saw gone, Stephen can only assume that this is the right timeline. That prioritising Tony’s and Peter’s lives is all part of some greater plan he used to know all of the steps to. He has affirmed as much out loud to anyone who asks ever since. He can’t bear even the thought of the alternative.
That he might have made a mistake.
‘...My moral compass is the reason you’re here,’ he manages instead.
There is a high-pitched, mechanical whir as the palms of Tony’s suit heat up white hot.
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘Mr Stark,’ says Peter in alarm, his voice small-sounding from where he is trapped on the ground.
But Tony is not distracted. His dark eyes are glassy with unshed tears, his throat jumping as he swallows.
‘I’m sorry, Tony,’ Stephen says, his tone thicker with emotion than he’d like. He pulls up the Cloak’s collar, and in the same movement, pauses to glance at the shattered watch face on his wrist. ‘We all made sacrifices.’
Hands set with tremors, Stephen begins to draw himself a new portal to leave through. Powering down his weapons, Tony shoves him hard at the shoulder - the sparking golden light forming in the air fizzles into nothing.
‘Don’t even pretend you had the right to make those sacrifices. And let’s face it. You didn’t sacrifice anything you weren’t already prepared to lose.’
Noticing how close Peter is to easing himself free of his restraint, Stephen reaches around Tony and extends the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. They snap around Peter’s ankle. He cries out as he is dragged on his back along the ground to where Tony and Stephen stand, the nanotech skittering across the floor to rejoin Tony’s suit.
‘Ow, ow, ow,’ Peter sounds, hair on-end.
Pure murder exudes from Tony as he looks Stephen up and down, but they came to find his ward, so Stephen maintains his hold on Peter, his gaze resolute.
Peter clutches at his ankle to try and free himself, but the bands are scalding to the touch, which forces him to withdraw. He heaves a sigh and drops his head back against the ground, talking as if in appeal to the stars.
‘I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, Mr Stark.’ Then, after an awkward pause, he tilts his face towards Stephen. ‘Or you, Doctor Strange.’ He closes his eyes, measuring another sigh. ‘Can you guys maybe stop arguing?’ A frown creases his brow. ‘I… I wanna go home...’
‘I’ll portal you there,’ Stephen says. ‘You probably won’t get a bus at this hour. That’s if the buses even still run here.’
‘No, I wanna see him walk through his front door,’ Tony argues.
Peter opens his eyes to make a point of rolling them. ‘I can go by myself -’
‘No, ‘cause you’ve made this a whole Thing, so now I’ve gotta make sure you do what you say you’re gonna do. Maybe I’ll say hi to your Aunt May when we get there. How about that?’
Rather than any further resistance, Peter just turns his face away, looking about to cry. Stephen drops the spell immediately, the magic tethers dissolving into nothingness. Instead of getting to his feet, Peter lies there, unmoving. Tony’s stance is aggressive once more.
‘What the hell have you done to him?’
Stephen scowls. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. He’s fine.’
But under the strength of the shadows, Peter’s tiredness is more pronounced. He is pale, his skin tear-stained and drawn. With a tap to his chest, Tony’s suit folds in on itself over his clothes, feeding back into the arc reactor. He crouches down and holds out his hand for Peter to take.
‘C’mon. Get up. Lets’ get you home. That’s what you want, right?’
Peter accepts Tony’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.
‘I’ll draw you both a portal and you can go through that,’ Stephen offers, desperate for this to be over so that he can return to the Sanctum.
‘Can’t I just go through on my own?’ Peter asks.
After a long, furious pause, Tony sighs reluctantly.
‘Fine. But only if it’s right to your apartment door so I can watch you go in.’
‘No, Mr Stark, please,’ Peter pleads. ‘If you do that, everyone’ll see. Can’t I just be sent to the street outside?’
Before they can get into another discussion, Stephen visualises the destination, moving his hand in a circular motion to generate the portal. Through the buzz of golden energy, a clear view of the street Peter lives on appears in front of them. Most of the rubble has been swept to the very corners, the clean-up still ongoing. By a pure stroke of fortune, Peter’s apartment was left standing, and from the sounds of things, his parental guardian, and at least one of his friends survived Thanos’ genocide too. Which is better than most people were left with…
Peter sends him a shy glance as he steps over the boundary between their current position and his home street.
‘Thanks…’
He lowers his voice to a mutter, and quips something in a disconcerted tone about Stephen knowing where he lives. Tony prompts him to speak up with a questioning exclamation.
‘Nothing,’ Peter answers quickly. ‘Bye, Mr Stark. And, uh… I guess I’m sorry, Doctor Strange…’
‘You guess?’ Stephen repeats, but Tony talks over him.
‘If that tracker isn’t restored by lunchtime tomorrow, I’ll be visiting you after school.’
‘I’ll get on it,’ says Peter with a half-hearted mock salute.
After offering a brief wave to indicate he is closing the portal, Stephen allows the energy to fizzle out, taking away Peter’s image with it. Tony sighs, gaze fixed to where the portal diminished. He puts his hands on his hips and grinds a chunk of blasted asphalt into dust under his foot.
‘Did you think that was weird?’
‘Your over-protectiveness?’ Stephen checks, unsure if they’re still arguing. ‘Honestly, I’m still confused as to the relationship...’
‘No,’ Tony says, tone condescending, ‘the fact Pete didn’t want us near his apartment. And the whole… crying thing. It was weird. Right?’
‘That’s just what teenagers are like,’ says Stephen, gesturing aimlessly. ‘Secretive and... hormonal.’
The summation feels right, but also like a guess. He can remember the books he read back when he was fifteen almost word-for-word, quotes from sitcoms he was probably only half paying attention to at the time, and the exact array of posters he used to have up on his bedroom wall, among other sentimental things. Like every crease on his parents’ faces. Those old, pastel kitchen tiles they never get around to switching out. And then before he can stop himself, he can hear a ringing silence by the lake… Smell the snow and the ice and see its murky surface, deathly still.
Stephen forces his thoughts back on track. How did his brain work, back then? What did he used to think about? How did he used to feel? A depth tries to open up in his chest.
‘Anyway,’ he says, clearing his throat and his mind of water-dark memories, ‘I assume you’ll be going back to the Stark tower?’
Tony reacts as though he forgot Stephen was even there, which makes Stephen wonder for a moment where his memories might have led him to. But then he starts speaking, all sass.
‘Uh, first of all, it’s the Avengers tower, and second of all, no. You’ve already done enough damage with your magical girl schtick. I’ll see myself out.’
Stephen exhales. Still arguing, then. Before Tony can utter any more slights, he conjures a portal, and returns to the Sanctum Sanctorum. There is still a light on in the foyer, and to his left, he sees Wong on the armchair by the fireplace, book in hand.
‘What happened?’ he asks, snapping his book shut and getting to a stand. A fiction novel, Stephen observes, rather than anything requiring serious study. ‘Some kind of emergency?’
‘Something like that,’ Stephen sighs. ‘I’m going to bed.’
Wong appears stunned. ‘Was it that bad?’
‘Not worth talking about kind of bad,’ says Stephen, already at the foot of the stairs.
The Cloak of Levitation remains pinned to his person, sweeping against his heels as he makes the climb to the next floor.
Glinting in the moonlight, the Sanctum’s signature circular window imprints a soft glow over the landing. The surrounding buildings, along with the Sanctum, didn’t perish in the chaos after Thanos snapped his fingers. A heavy-duty, billowing rectangle of green tarp covers the hole Bruce Banner made on his re-entry to Earth all of those months ago, the sky no longer visible from the Sanctum’s signature stairs. Even so, eyes dry with tiredness, Stephen swears he can still see spots of ash drifting across his vision.
‘Things will get better,’ he hears Wong call up from behind him.
Stephen hears the words, and, mildly irritated, he has nothing to say in return. On the way to his bedroom, he halts at his desk. Then looks to the corridor Wong took to reshelve his books. Just a few more pages of reading... Eventually, that is all it is going to take. Just a little more time, and a little more study, and he’ll be able to put everything right…