[The Library, The Abbey] SAD(Clap Your Hands)

A soft whimper slips from Anwir as Strange takes his arm and pulls the sling ring free. The movement makes the blisters there ache anew and tears prick the corners of his eyes. He looks up at the older man with a true shard of faith and trust.

Never in his life has Anwir's pain been taken away in such a manner. He watches as green magic forms a halo over his injuries and Strange merely twists it. Anwir cannot look away as the blisters are replaced with smooth skin once more and the pain drains way into only a memory.

He sucks in a breath as his other hand comes up to examine his skin as if expecting it to just be an illusion. "You really are a doctor," he quips with only mild success. With Strange's question, he shakes his head in confirmation.

"I'm an orphan, sir. I was raised by the state and there was an accident last year," Anwir answers, closing his fist and twisting his wrist to test the healing. "There was a battle between some supervillain or another and a hero. The building we were in was crumbling down and some of us were going to be crushed. It just-"

Anwir licks his lips, eyes focused in the middle distance as he tries to find the words to explain. "It just came over me, the idea and the urge. I just traced a word for protection into the dust and when it mattered most, we were shielded in shadows. I don't know where it came from. I don't know why I can do it."

"Does that- Am I making any sense?"

Anwir tips his head in consideration, trying to figure out if he even has an answer to that question.

"Not much, sir. Most days, I can use the teleportation spell to the Abbey, but that's all I've managed to cast. It's hard to practice when I know that the wrong move is rather...explosive."

An easy smile forms on his face as Strange seems to not think he very strange. Maybe his case isn't as far-fetched as it feels. He shakes out his arm and comes to stand a few feet ahead of Strange.

"I'm super grateful that it came to me when it did. No one likes Anwir Pancakes, though I do make a very solid stack of pancakes. Anyways, that time thing, how did you do that? Is it one of those things you studied?"

This change from a potentially traumatic situation to a happy and bubbly Anwir seems to be the standard for him. He just lets the bad things in life slide off his back like water. He's grinning as he talks and walks backward.

"Do you know lots of healing spells or is that the main one? Are you more of a utility-type sorcerer or like, do you have big blasty spells? James doesn't seem like a big blasty spell type."

Anwir expresses the appropriate interest as Strange gives him a little wink and his gaze drops to the odd amulet. This man has better drip than even Anwir and the lad tries to keep up his appearance. Maybe being the Supreme Overlord of Mages gives you instant rizz and aura points?

"They choose you? I suppose even those who write fiction must be correct sometimes. I think that's really cool though." Anwir grins a bit as the cape billows and Strange speaks to it. The lad even chimes in with, "Oh, a most excellent judge of character if I'm allowed to say so. You've actually been very kind to me despite not knowing me."

A hand cards through his hair, easily messing up the style and letting his loose curls hang around his ears. Anwir tucks both hands into his pockets and spins on his heel so that he is walking side-by-side with Strange.

"I just worry about getting people hurt. I know lots of people would look for explosive magic to fight their battles and the like. I would just rather help protect people. Maybe heal them if I can."

Threads of honesty and longing intertwine in his tone, adding to the tapestry that is the young mage. The butterflies catch his attention, bringing forth childlike wonder and a bit of awe. It's a warm feeling blooming in his chest. Something so very close to hope.

"I can try harder. I want to do better, sir. I want to be a person other people can turn to when they need someone in their corner." He laughs a bit to himself with embarrassment staining his cheeks. "I must sound like such a kid, but I have a whole lotta hope."

Anwir looks up curiously as Strange calls out to him. He doesn't have much time to react as the older man removes to cape from his shoulders. Warmth settles around Anwir and he can't contain a soft smile as he feels it squeeze him a little bit. Gentle fingers touch the metal over his collar bones where a typical clasp may have been.

"Hey there," he speaks lowly to the cape, absolutely amazed and in awe of what is happening.

Strange's next words bring forth that burn of embarrassment, but the young man bears the compliment with as much grace as he can. Despite everything that has happened, there is nothing that Anwir wants more than to keep the good heart he's cultivated.

"Healing what," he manages to ask, brows knitting in confusion before separating with surprise and alarm. Anwir steps forward even as the man speaks, one hand reaching out to cup the back of the injured hand and pulling it around and down so that the wound faces skyward. The young mage breaks the eye contact to look down at the injury and he takes a slow, calming breath. Those brown eyes drift shut and his second hand joins the first.

If ever asked, Anwir would compare tapping into his magic with standing on a speck of land surrounded on all sides by a vast, churning ocean. It promises power, ability, and knowledge. Anwir, however, is afraid. That fear and lack of information anchors his feet to the sandy shore. He's tried to step into the shallows before and nearly every time has ended poorly for him.

With Strange here and the cape over his shoulders, maybe it is okay to venture into the water. Maybe he does not need to be so afraid. The ocean is warm over the tops of his feet, welcoming him not unlike a mother's embrace.

Anwir's thumb touches where Strange's pinky finger meets his palm before tracing a line up the side of his hand to where it joins his wrist. He then cuts across to the inside of Strange's thumb before going back down to where his forefinger meets his palm. In his wake, he leaves a rune painted in the older man's blood.

The ocean laps at his knees, trying to unbalance the mage and sweat beads his brow. This is as far as he dares to go, uncertain as he is to where the shelf drops off. Anwir leans down, filling his cupped hands with that pure ocean water- the magic that marks him as a Homo Magi.

Shadows wash over Strange's hand from below, securing itself over his cut like a bandage. Anwir's face grows pale as a drop of sweat rolls down his cheek to pool at his chin. The magic is not painful and even the ache from the injury would ebb away into nothing. All at once, the shadows disperse and Anwir's eyes flutter open. He swallows hard, trying to find words as he looks down at the silver scar on the older man's palm.

"I've never-" His words tumble out in a short breath. "Are you okay?"

Anwir oddly feels like a kid whose English Lit paper is being graded in front of his eyes. Strange's smile eases all his nerves and he sighs in relief as he listens to the man. He wonders if strange had been able to see it, his ocean.

"Mostly tired, like I just finished a 13-day work week, had a nap, and just got called back in for an extra shift."

The young mage smiles, using a bandana from his pocket to blot away the sweat on his jaw and brow. He folds it back into a little neat, green triangle and tucks it away. Anwir is quick to follow after Strange as he is beckoned.

"I-" he pauses, trying to find the words. The realization of what he has done dawns across his expression with a bright, happy grin. The kind that is impossible to hide and is so full of joy and pride. "I did it. Oh my gosh, Dr. Strange, I did it! I used my magic and no one got hurt. In fact, I healed someone! I healed you. Oh, I can't wait to tell James and Constantine. This is great!!!"

Anwir is bright and open like a sunflower that finally earned the chance to greet the summer sun. He tucks his hands into his pockets and even his walk seems happy.

"Thank you, Dr. Strange. And you, Magnificent Cape. You two gave me the strength to do it." His grin can't seem to dim as he talks. "I've been burned so many times before that I've almost given up more than I can count. Thank you for this." Anwir hums for a moment, considering and his next words come out slow. "I have to learn to do it on my own. Is my fear holding me back?"

Focus. Breathe. Remove all distractions from your mind.

Calm, simple instructions. Anwir does not realize just how much he will repeat those few words to himself. They will become his mantra when he tries to steady himself enough to dare use his magic. He acknowledges that his fear is a hindrance in this instance because he feels it. Anwir may be many things, but pride is not a fault of his.

"Conquering fear is a long road and one that often comes with setbacks," he replies, glancing over as Strange closes his eyes. His interest sparks as runes appear around the older man's ankles, lifting him up and into the air. Anwir's mouth is open in surprise before it morphs into delight.

"Holy smokes, sir. That's- you're really flying!" Anwir takes a few steps forward, looking up at Strange like a child first seeing Superman take to the sky, one hand coming up the shade his eyes from the sunlight. The smirk that crosses the lad's lips is thick with acceptance of this challenge, eyes following Strange for a second. "Okay, Magnificent Cape. Let's not let the Old Doctor show us up, ya?"

Eyes flutter shut in focus.

Slow, deep breath.

Anwir stands at the end of the road, letting his senses reach out in a way he rarely dares to try. Other mages he's met have shown the ability to sense magic and he has spent time trying to add that to his list. He feels the weight of the cape on his shoulders, the weight of something... older, not quite unlike the feeling of walking into a very old bookshop. The musk of aging books, the cool touch of dry air on your bare skin, and the dark, sunless corners.

There is no ocean this time. There is only the warm presence of other. Anwir wishes to fly, to give chase after Strange in the little game they are playing. He feels acceptance of this request. His body lifts until his toes no longer touch the ground and Anwir can feel his heart in his throat.

His eyes snap open. His concentration shatters. He falls forward. Swift as a roaring river, the cape twists until Anwir is on his back, and catches him before he can return to the earthen path. The lad lets his head hang, caught between a panicked exclamation and laughter.

"You truly are the most magnificent," he praises the cape and looks up at the beautiful, endless sky above him. Anwir swallows with a nod. "Come on, we really can't let him think he's won. Yeah?"

He feels that connection again, the acceptance, and the cape turns him right side up. Together, they rise as far up as Strange had before shooting off after him. Anwir will never forget this.

There is a bubble of pride in his chest at the praise, his ears just a touch pink in modest embarrassment. Anwir is not a person who is used to or expects praise. As such, he holds each line given to him dearly.

"Thank you, sir. It is easy to trust my friend here," Anwir replies with a gesture to the cape. Yes, he's grown quite fond of it in a very short amount of time. He tips his head a bit as Strange summons a long ribbon, allowing it to billow out behind him from one hand like a little kite of sorts.

"I have no idea what that is, but you'll never see me turning down free food. At least, I hope that's a food."

His toothy grin simmers down to a faint quirk of the lips as he tries to figure out how to balance his new tasks. Flying is one thing. Trying to manage his speed to keep up with strange while also focusing on the fluttering ribbon is bound to split his concentra-

"Whoa!"

The young mage and the cape dip for a moment, coming far too close to the trees far below them. Anwir halts all thoughts except for those revolving around the cape, the smell of old books, and the feeling of other. He doesn't know how to do the task he was given. That doesn't mean he won't do it.

"Being able to make clones would be so useful on my end, ya know?"

It's an errant thought, something to take the edge off of the thread of anxiety. His first order of business is to keep up with Strange and he wills the cape to go faster, one eye closing as he focuses. He can worry about taking the ribbon when, not if, he pulls up shoulder to shoulder to the old man.