Wong had not signed up for this.
Seriously, when he'd come to Kamar Taj, no one had said that he would end up doing anything remotely like this. When he became the librarian, nothing.
Maybe he should have realized that Stephen Strange had thrown a wrench in the gears of his life, in more ways than one. And in fact had thrown an actual wrench in actual gears once, but that was a story for another day.
The point was, he was being strangled by his friend's cloak. The relic had wrapped itself around his head, and was coming very close to cutting off his windpipe entirely, not to mention obscuring his vision. He tugged futilely at the Cloak, trying to prise apart its folds so he could breathe again, at the very least.
Thirty seconds later, he was massaging his throat and gasping for breath, the Cloak finally off his head and at a safe distance away. The relic was twirling and shooting back and forth down the hallway. When Wong stood up again, it twined around his wrist and started tugging him along.
"All right, all right. Hold your horses, I'm coming." Wong relented, following the frantic garment down the hall. To nobody's surprise, it came to a stop outside Stephen's room.
Wong knocked on the door, and received a raspy "come in". He pushed it open, and there was Stephen, still in bed and grinning at him like a sheepish child.
"I see the Cloak made good on its promise to find you."
"You knew your menace of a relic was going to come looking for me and you did nothing to stop it?" Wong crossed his arms and glared at his friend. "I expected better from you, Stephen. It tried to kill me."
"I'm sure it didn't mean to." Stephen said, a tad absentmindedly. His "menacing" relic had raced to his bed and settled down on top of him like a very large cat. "You didn't mean to try and kill Wong, did you Cloak?"
The Cloak flicked a corner in what could have been confirmation or denial. Wong shot it a glare, though there was no heat behind it.
"So, what's the matter with you?" Wong sifted through a pile of things on Stephen's nightstand. He extracted a thermometer from among a pile of (thankfully) unused tissues, and held it out to the other, who grimaced but took it anyways.
"I think I've got a bug, or maybe the flu. Whatever it is, it'll probably be gone in a day or two. I have a fantastic immune system." Stephen said around the thermometer. Wong rolled his eyes the moment he looked away.
The thermometer beeped- Stephen pulled it out of his mouth and glanced at it. "I'm fine. Nothing to worry about, just like I said."
"Let me see that." Wong snatched the thermometer out of his hand and examined the tiny screen. He glared at his friend. "That doesn't look fine to me."
The device read 101 degrees.
After ordering his friend to stay in bed and not to get up under any circumstances, Wong made his way to the Sanctum's kitchen. As the librarian of Kamar Taj, he was used to people coming to him for any sort of problem. Books, WiFi, romantic advice (only occasionally, thankfully), and from time to time, medical help. He was no doctor, but he knew a few simple remedies for fever.
Ironic that his former doctor friend was the one he was helping. Then again, a neurosurgeon might not be knowledgeable about this type of thing. Stephen wasn't, anyways.
He was in the middle of heating up a can of chicken soup- a tried and true remedy for ailing sorcerers- when the Cloak of Levitation came barrelling into the kitchen. It hovered just behind Wong, almost as if it was peering over his shoulder.
"Hello." Wong said into the silence. "Is Stephen dead?"
The Cloak slapped his shoulder. Apparently the words "Stephen" and "dead" were not to be used in the same sentence. Wong shook his head in amusement. "That was probably an ill-timed joke on my part."
He finished his soup preparation with the Cloak still lurking behind him like a friendly (sort of) red ghost, and began to make a pot of the man's favorite tea. Lucky for Stephen, they had very similar tastes in tea. Seriously, the man could only handle two cups at the most and they ended up with half a kettle full of hot water. Wong had burned himself a total of three times on a kettle he'd assumed was empty.
The tea was just about done steeping when Wong felt a light tap on his arm. The Cloak was floating next to him, almost shyly. It gestured to the ensemble in front of him, then pointed towards Stephen's room.
"Yes, this is for him. He's feeling under the weather." Wong explained.
If the Cloak was a dog, it would've cocked its head in confusion. It seemed to settle for tilting its collar to the side and shrugging its shoulder pads.
"He's sick." Wong clarified. The Cloak tilted its collar even further.
Well, relics didn't get sick. And who knew how long the Cloak had been holed up in that case? Wong never missed an opportunity to pass on new knowledge to any man, woman, child, or in this case, sentient garment.
They sat down at the kitchen table. Or Wong did, at least. The Cloak draped itself over the back of a chair.
"Humans have this thing called an immune system." Wong began. "It keeps us safe from things outside our bodies that might want to hurt us. We call those pathogens. When they get inside us, they make us sick."
The Cloak pointed back towards Stephen's room.
"Yes. That's what happened to Stephen." Wong smiled slightly. The Cloak was just as intelligent and quick to learn as its sorcerer. He continued his impromptu biology lesson.
"Usually, they're not a big deal. We can fight them off fairly easily, but the process isn't fun. A fever is one way of doing that. Many pathogens can't survive the higher body temperatures."
Even though the Cloak couldn't speak, Wong understood its next question. What happens when it isn't fought off easily? He winced, and mentally apologized to Stephen.
"When we can't get rid of it, sometimes the human will die."
The Cloak, predictably, shot off the chair and sprang into action. It yanked the kettle off the stove, placed it on the tray next to the soup, and snatched up the previously filled teacup, which somehow didn't spill. It wrapped two corners around the tray's handles and would have raced back to Stephen's room right away if Wong hadn't said the magic words.
"He's fine! He's-" Wong pinched the bridge of his nose and vowed to never, ever yield to anything Stephen said ever again "-he's got a fantastic immune system."
This placated the Cloak, who set the tray back down and drifted over to Wong. He removed the kettle and sighed at the ring of burned wood it left behind.
The relic waited in the doorway while Wong removed the teabag from the cup and steadied the drink. "Seriously, why on earth did you think we would need the kettle?" he muttered.
The Cloak darted down the hallway and then flew back, pushing at Wong's shoulders when he didn't move fast enough. They made it to Stephen's room without incident, which was really a miracle considering how many times Wong almost dropped the tray due to the Cloak's urgency.
When he came inside, the Cloak had curled around Stephen's neck and shoulders like a large scarf or a friendly cat. He set the tray down beside the bed and gave his friend a tired smile.
"Your relic's still a menace."
Stephen laughed softly, petting his so-called menacing relic as it wrapped itself more securely around him. "I can't help it if my own Cloak likes me best."
They would be alright. Stephen did have a fantastic immune system, after all.
Hope you enjoyed! Remember to social distance, everyone. Be like Wong, Stephen, and the Cloak. Educate yourselves and stay home!