A/N: I've seen this movie twice, and with every passing day I become more obsessed with the Cloak/Strange brOTP. I LOVE this cloak. So much. It's ridiculous. But he's so perfect.

Cloak drifted through the halls of the sanctuary, searching for something to subtly mess up to screw with Stephen in the morning. If he switched a few books around, Stephen would know something was off, but it would take him hours to realize what it was. It was Stephen and Cloak's favorite game (Stephen's daily annoyance was totally faked). Maybe it would get old, maybe it would always be a thing, but it was a good way to pass the time while Stephen slept.

Suddenly, a shout broke the night's peace.

Forgetting to put down the book he was holding, Cloak raced for Stephen's room. He remembered to ease the door open, careful not to startle him awake, lest another magical accident occur.

The bedroom was nothing special, not much bigger than an average kid's room. The walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves, each shelf crammed with books. A king bed sat in the middle of the room, and it was there that Stephen lay in the fetal position, the ruby red blankets all kicked to the floor. He mumbled to himself, unintelligible utterances broken up by plaintive gasps of "No more," "Stop," and the like. One scarred hand clutched the sheet, the other shaking from more than nerve damage.

Cloak dropped the book on the carpeted floor, floating over to the distressed sorcerer. He burrowed between Stephen's side and the mattress, wrapping tightly around him and loosening his grip on the sheet.

Stephen lashed out, gasping something in Sanskrit, his tone laced with terror.

Cloak jumped back from the unexpected response. Why was Stephen not calming down? If anything, he was even more distressed.

Human warmth.

The one thing Cloak couldn't give Stephen. (Aside from verbal communication, anyway.)

He snatched Stephen's phone from his nightstand and dropped it on the bed by his free hand. Grabbing that hand tight and steadying his pointer finger, he opened the phone and struggled to type a short text, his efforts helped by neither the nerve damage, Stephen's nightmare-induced struggles, and autocorrect's idiocy. Finally, he managed to type "Nightmare need hug" and send it to Christine.

All that was left was to wait and hope she wasn't asleep or working. He passed the time by stilling the panicking sorcerer enough to keep him from hurting himself.

After about ten minutes, the phone lit up. I'm here.

Cloak raced to the front door and opened it, revealing a Christine with disheveled hair and a long coat thrown over bright pink pajamas. She darted inside and Cloak shut the door before scooping her up and carrying her to Stephen's room.

"Oh God," she whispered, stumbling as he set her down. She hurried to Stephen's side, taking his free hand. "Stephen? Stephen, wake up, you're safe."

He stilled for a moment and swallowed. "Christine?" he rasped.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's Christine," she replied encouragingly, stroking his hair.

Slowly, his eyes flickered open, fear fading as he blinked her face into focus. Cloak floated closer, resting lightly against his back. With trembling, desperate hands, Stephen pulled her into a hug. He burrowed his face into her shoulder.

"I died," he rasped, "so many times. I… I killed."

"You saved the world," Christine reminded him gently, rubbing his back. "You saved so many innocent lives. You saved me."

Stephen lifted his head, tear-filled eyes meeting hers. She pressed a kiss against his forehead. "You're the best doctor anyone could ever ask for."

"Sometimes exactly what I want to hear isn't exactly what I want to hear," Stephen murmured.

She laughed a little, the sound brightening the room, coaxing a tiny smile from Stephen. "Then let's just sit here, my contradictive sorcerer."

"I like that idea," Stephen agreed, tiredness slurring his voice a bit. Christine tugged him down to the bed, and Cloak draped himself over the pair, hugging them protectively. Stephen took a fistful of fabric in one hand; even Christine patted him in thanks.

They laid there until morning, curled up together, the humans' chests rising and falling in sleepy unison, until rumbling stomachs finally urged them upright. It was then that Stephen noticed something.

"Cloak, why is my book on the floor?"