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The Avengers found out Stephen was missing by happenstance. Peter, once he had discovered where Stephen lived, made it a habit to visit the Sanctum on what he called "slow days" when he was in the area. Wong had gotten used to him over time.
Naturally, one of his visits corresponded with when a team of sorcerers uncovered Stephen's ambush site. Normally this would be fine as official Kamar-Taj matters were discussed nowhere near Peter. Wong couldn't hear the passing conversations of the distant apprentices and acolytes in the hallway adjourning the foyer of the Sanctum, so it should have been fine. He would entertain the young man for a few minutes, tell him Stephen was busy, and then lead him out.
Just as Wong was about to give his excuses, he learned that the kid had super-hearing and that the conversation Wong couldn't hear was very, very audible to Spider-Man. It was a rather unfortunate time to discover such a fact.
And once Peter learned the news, it was just a matter of a few texts before every Avenger knew.
"We'd like to help out," Tony said, being the first to call Wong. Wong had given his number to a couple Avengers on the off-chance Stephen was wounded while working with them. He hadn't expected his number to be used in this fashion.
"Us sorcerers handle our own affairs," was Wong's gruff reply. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be retired?"
"Special occasion."
Wong said, "We're fine," hung up before Tony could retort, then sighed. Stephen would be displeased if Iron Man ended up dying after all the work he did to save him in the multiple future fiasco. He was just happy Stephen managed to get to 16 million—from what he understood, a couple other "winning" timelines were absolutely dismal on a global scale—but that was another topic altogether.
Then Tony gave out Wong's number to the others.
"It really would be no trouble," Steve said. "We consider all of you our allies after Thanos."
"You're supposed to be retired, too," was Wong's exasperated retort.
A pause. "Well, I did pass on the mantle of Captain America to Sam, sure, but that doesn't mean I don't go out in the field here and there. Just less public."
Wong hung up on him, too.
"We really would like to see him safe," was Bruce's call.
Bruce was a little harder to hang up on; he had been visiting the New York Sanctum frequently for meditation purposes, to better understand and work with the other side of his personality and come to some sort of balance with it. According to Stephen, Bruce had achieved something like this on his own in other futures, but he was certain the resources at Kamar-Taj could help him achieve this faster and with potentially better results.
Still, Bruce Banner was not a sorcerer. "I appreciate the offer, Doctor Banner, but this is a matter for our order," he told him, then hung up before the other could retort.
"It's pretty slow right now; you'd be doing everyone a favor in letting us help," Natasha admitted when she called.
Wong pulled the phone away from his face to sigh; if it weren't for the very slim chance of Stephen potentially calling him, he would have turned off the damn thing. "Weren't you supposed to retire from field work, too?"
"People like me never retire," she answered. "Think on it, Wong."
He grimaced and hung up.
"You have to let us help!" was Peter's plea. Peter had been barred from the Sanctum until the issue was settled—Wong knew that Stephen wouldn't want the kid involved—but apparently Tony Stark was more than happy to give Peter Parker his phone number, as well.
"Stephen would want you to stay out of this," he told the kid without ceremony, and hung up on him, too, though he felt a little bad doing it.
This was getting ridiculous. The other Masters had decided the Avengers shouldn't be involved, but if they had to endure what Wong was enduring, maybe they'd change their minds. Besides, the extra eyes wouldn't be a bad thing to have, at least in Wong's opinion.
By the time a sixth call from an Avenger in under an hour occurred, Wong was ready. He surrounded himself with sorcerers in the Masters' strategy room as they discussed leads and next steps, then let the phone ring.
The Masters caved in less than two hours. Part of it may have been due to the Avengers' resilience, but Wong liked to think that setting his ringtone to Beyoncé's "All The Single Ladies" helped encourage the use of outside help. They agreed that the Avengers could assist them, though they were taking absolutely no responsibility if anything untoward or deadly happened to them. The Avengers didn't seem to care about the warning, which didn't particularly surprise Wong.
The dead security cameras near the site of the ambush suggested magical tampering, which meant that every two to three Avengers was paired with one or two Masters. The tracking was long and it took everything within their power to narrow down the search to the three most likely locations out of the many that Mordo had passed through over the last year.
(They were 99% certain Mordo was behind Stephen's disappearance. For the past several months Mordo had been stealing former students' abilities to do magic—and on three occasions, ended up killing the former student instead. The Masters of Kamar-Taj had been actively hunting him down for some time, doubling down when they learned Mordo was gathering followers. That Stephen's body wasn't found instead is a miracle, but it made Wong worry as to what Mordo could possibly want with him.)
They decided to infiltrate the three chosen locations as soon as they narrowed down the list. All the Avengers that had been allowed in (eight of them sans Peter because no, Wong wasn't going to be responsible for a minor no matter how close he was to 18) were on standby and allowed themselves to be split into groups by the Masters without contest.
Wong ended up with Master Grem of the London Sanctum and Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanov—all the supposedly-retired-but-not-quite-yet Avengers. Exasperating.
Still, he couldn't say that he minded having them at his back in such an unknown situation. With a lesser sorcerer, the Order could have set monitoring wards on all the rogue sorcerers' known locations to go off whenever another made a gateway into the area. But Mordo was one of the best and such magic would immediately alert him and his followers to the order's knowledge of their current bases and send them into hiding, and all that work of the last few months in tracking them would be lost.
The original plan, before all this, had been to track Mordo's movements for a pattern until they could ambush him and his followers. With Stephen taken, though? The time for waiting was over. Still, it was largely unknown what they would find at their assigned location—a dilapidated, Soviet-era warehouse in Eastern Europe—so having experienced company was no bad thing.
He was especially grateful for the Avengers' presence when it turned out that the warehouse was not devoid of life. Ten of Mordo's recruits (only four of whom were former students of Kamar-Taj) were present and quite willing to kill him if necessary. He and Grem alone would have been very hard-pressed. With the three Avengers helping them, the fight took only a couple minutes, the most difficult of the group being two of the rogue sorcerers that proved more creative than their counterparts.
Those that survived the fight were quickly disarmed and restrained for later questioning, and it was easy enough for Wong to push a portal around each person to the rarely-used cells of Kamar-Taj. He frowned as he considered their number; that was a significant number of recruits in what seemed to be an unimportant building.
"That's convenient," Tony said as he watched the portals take the surviving combatants.
As Wong opened and closed the portals, Grem scanned the building for any remnants of magical use, carefully scanning above and below as he slowly circled around a single point. He stilled, then squinted. "There's something in that corner office." He pointed.
Wong saw Grem, Steve, and Natasha take off to the office, then turned back to his own task. Tony Stark stayed with him to guard his back as Wong finished securing their prisoners and had the bodies of those who did not make it portalled to the morgue within Kamar-Taj.
As the last body was flown through the portal, a streak of red burst out of the corner office and onto the larger warehouse floor. Wong would recognize the Cloak of Levitation anywhere, and it currently darted to and fro about the space as if searching.
"As you can see, the Cloak's fine," Grem called as he left the office, the other two Avengers in tow. When he got closer, Wong could see the scowl on Grem's face. "But I don't think that's the only thing this building's hiding. There's something else here, Wong, but I can't see what."
"How did they manage to separate it from Stephen in the first place?" Natasha asked. "From what I've seen, that thing is quite protective of him."
"It is," Wong agreed. "But there are some complicated spells in existence that may temporarily incapacitate a relic, even one as unique as the Cloak. Mordo is a skilled enough sorcerer to perform such a spell."
Grem hissed between his teeth. He was performing another pivot on the spot as he searched the area with his third eye yet again. As he ended, he shook his head. "Nothing. We're going to need to do a more manual search, and we may need to split up to better cover ground."
Wong, though, remembered something that happened after one of the fights during the War of the Infinity Stones. "That may not be necessary," he said, and looked over to the man beside him. "Tony, you are able to scan for heat signatures with your suit, correct?"
"Sure can, Wong." Tony paused and began to scan the interior, slowly pivoting on the spot, then froze halfway through. "Basement, northeast corner. One person lying down. Looks like it's empty otherwise."
"Useful," Grem remarked as he immediately headed towards the stairs. As one they followed him, hurrying their way to the stairwell, descending to the basement, and then making a sharp left to head in the indicated direction. They encountered no one else along the way, as expected. Despite this, when Tony said, "That door up ahead," both Wong and Grem paused before they could reach it. Wong held up a hand to halt the others. The Avengers wouldn't see it, but the magic upon the door was very evident to them.
"Wards are more your thing, Wong," said Grem as he eyed the door up and down. "But even I know this is quite a piece of work. I didn't realize Mordo knew all these warding spells."
Grem was right; the warding was very intricate. It was no wonder they could not find Stephen through his magical signature alone; the spells set about the room were put in to prevent such magic from having any use. A closer study of the details within the intricacies of the design showed that any attempt to remove the wards or force one's self into the room by magic would have dire consequences for not only the caster, but the person held inside.
Wong pursed his lips together unhappily, then glanced over at the Avengers. "The wards set on this room mean I will not be able to enter, not in the usual way. Not easily."
"Do we even know if it's locked?" Natasha asked, eyeing the door up and down.
"It doesn't matter if it is or isn't. The warding includes spells against non-approved visitors touching the doorknob, and the side effects of doing so are not pleasant."
Tony's repulsor flared. "I can blast it open."
Wong shook his head. "No; too much kinetic energy. The wards might see it as spells and react negatively to you."
"Yeah, but if it's Stephen inside, I'll take my chances," Tony shot back.
"The same consequences that fall upon you also happen to the individual contained within," Wong said, and he heard the man hiss in frustration.
"I hear you," Grem muttered in sympathy. "Wong, your dispelling is faster; how long do you think it would take you to remove all these wards?"
Wong shook his head. "Hours, likely. Too long of a time for my comfort." Behind him, he heard Grem mutter a curse under his breath.
Steve stared at the door thoughtfully. "So we don't want to touch the doorknob, but we can't blast it with firepower. What about just—knocking the door off its hinges?"
Again Wong shook his head. "I can't use magic against the door to do so."
"No, I mean, I can do it," Steve clarified. "Just brute force, no firepower. It would be a lot less kinetic energy than a repulsor blast and I won't touch the doorknob."
Grem looked sidelong at Wong. "I don't see anything in the wards that would react negatively to that scenario. I don't think the average person could knock this down, but they weren't expecting us to bring anyone else."
Wong studied over the wards once more himself, and brute force that didn't have enough energy to be mistaken as magic was not warded against. "I think that may be our best shot," he agreed.
"Then step back," Steve said, and the team gave him some room.
The Cloak, on the other hand, continued to hover closely beside Steve with an urgency that Wong wouldn't have known was possible on a piece of fabric before seeing the Cloak with Stephen.
"Cloak," Wong said. As it turned to him, he told it, "You can't enter the room. That warding could do you serious harm." The Cloak stiffened, as if offended by the suggestion. Wong resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gestured to it. "Come on. Stephen would be very upset if you got hurt."
That Cloak remained stiff and unmoving for another three seconds, but Wong gestured again and its shoulders slumped in resignation and it moved itself beside Wong.
Steve then put himself in a braced position. He had a shield—not the iconic Captain America shield, but a smaller black one that was more rectangular in form—and used that in his lead up run towards the door to force it open with his shoulder.
The door flew open and Wong watched Steve—and Tony, who immediately followed—carefully for any side effects. When none happened, he spared a quick glance at Grem.
"I'll keep a watch out here," Grem said quickly. Natasha nodded in agreement and moved her gaze down the hall.
Wong inclined his head, again told the Cloak, "Stay out here," then followed the other two men in. He immediately felt when he was cut off from his magic by the wards and grimaced at the foreign wrongness of the feeling. But he could still sense the wards, so at least Stephen would have hopefully realized that he was in a warded cell rather than drained of magic.
Speaking of.
The room was mostly bare except for a cot, a chair, and an IV pole in the corner. Laying on his back on the cot was Stephen, stripped of his outer clothing and left with only his tunic and pants. His upper left arm's sleeve was cut off and the arm itself was bandaged, while further down an IV tube was connected to his forearm. A neat line of stitches crossed over his left temple, and some sort of feeding tube was inserted into one of his nostrils and taped down to his face. Both lines led to the IV pole, which held what looked like saline and a bag that Wong guessed was used for tube feeding.
Steve slowly approached the bed. "That noise should have woken him up. Is one of these lines drugging him?"
"Possibly," said Tony, "But this doesn't look drugged. I'm getting really weird readings on his vitals."
Feeling unusually bare without the connection to his magic, Wong approached the bed with the same caution as he asked Tony, "What are you seeing?"
"Elevated heart rate just under 120 bpm, and—" He paused as if listening to something, then said, "Right, the suit can't quite scan brainwaves of other people to the detail of an EEG—yet—but I can get a good picture. FRIDAY's saying that it looks like the brain of someone awake, not someone drugged or asleep."
"Does that mean he can hear us?" Steve asked.
"That means he'll be pissed we're talking about brain stuff without his contributions," was Tony's remark, but his tone fell flat. Suddenly his helmet disintegrated away as the nanites retreated from his face, and he turned his attention from Stephen to Wong. "What're we doing here, Wong? Is this magic or something else?"
A good question. "I won't be able to find out here," Wong answered, then strode forward and carefully removed the cannulas from both Stephen's nose and arm. "Grem, do you see anything on Stephen that prevents him being removed from here?" he called as he worked.
Beyond the warding of the room at the open doorway, Grem performed a gesture before tapping his own forehead. He squinted. "Nothing I can see, Wong. They weren't expecting anyone to get through the door or enter the room through a portal. You can carry him out."
Wong nodded once, then frowned down at Stephen's tall, lanky body. He looked at Steve and Tony. "I don't suppose one of you could—"
"Got it," Tony volunteered, and Wong stepped aside as the other man bent down and carefully picked Stephen up. The way Stephen's body remained utterly limp made something clench in Wong's stomach.
He's alive. Stop it.
They left the room soon after that. The second they were out the Cloak was fretting about Tony back and forth from side to side, and in the hall Grem already had a portal set up and ready. But it led to the infirmary at Kamar-Taj.
"No, his room at the Sanctum," Wong said.
Grem frowned, but closed the portal. "Why?" he asked as he started up another.
"You know he's not fond of being in the infirmary. He complains that it's 'too open.'"
"That was before things went tits-up and everything changed," Grem answered and, well, Wong knew that Stephen had changed significantly in ways he still hadn't come to full terms with. It hadn't been that long since he had Returned, not really. What was eight months, after all? But he hadn't gotten Stephen's opinion since, so, his bedroom.
The portal opened in the hall now led to Stephen's chambers in the Sanctum, which was a sizable bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. The Sanctum had sensed Stephen's love of the dramatic when it had formed this room for its Master when he was first instated there: the building had installed a bedroom with dark mahogany furniture with intricate carvings and delicate curves around the edges, with even the computer desk and bookshelves not being spared the finery. The star of the bedroom was the ostentatious four post king-sized bed with a top canopy and a cream-colored comforter that had red accents with a design that resembled the embroidery on the Cloak of Levitation.
Now that he thought of it, the motifs on the furniture looked similar to the faded design in the checkered lining of the Cloak, too. Interesting. He spared them no further thought as he walked in and flicked on the light switch from across the room, bathing the dim room in a golden light.
Tony lowered Stephen into his bed as Grem and Natasha entered last, and the portal closed in behind them. The Cloak immediately lowered itself over Stephen once he was laying down. Wong, in turn, started casting what Stephen liked to call 'diagnostic spells' and ever since he said it, the term had stuck in Wong's mind. That was largely what they were: spells that identified what was wrong with the body and spirit, and so could aid a sorcerer in narrowing down the possibilities in what was happening to the person and if it was magical, multidimensional, or mundane in nature.
"I'm not quite sure what I was imagining for a sorcerer's bedroom, but I don't think I was expecting the computer," Natasha said.
"Why not? He has a phone," Steve asked.
"That Tony gave him," she answered.
"You should have seen the brick he was carrying around before," Tony complained. "And if that hadn't drowned in the Hudson, I'm not sure if he would've taken mine. I had to nearly threaten him."
"We find email quite handy, actually," Grem said. "And I really love the Google suite. Calendar, Docs, Sheets."
Tony cracked a smile. "So wizards do their business over Google's servers, huh?"
Grem winked in reply. "Wouldn't you like to know." He cast a look at Wong. "I'll let the others know that we've found him. I warrant they've seen the cells and morgue by now, but I'll double check on that. I'll send an apprentice to wait in the hall in case you need a runner." Wong only grunted in reply. With a quick, "Thanks for your help, bruhs," Grem made a portal and left the room.
It took a few minutes of various spells and analysis, but eventually Wong came upon an answer as to what was keeping Stephen unconscious—and he felt his heart drop into his stomach as the realization came. His poker face fell and he murmured, "Oh, Stephen." But he banished the sorrow quickly; such an emotion wouldn't help Stephen. Instead, his face became stone as he began to bark orders. "One of you needs to get the lights; make it as dark in here as possible. When I remove this spell from him, I need you all to be as quiet as possible, and if you must speak, do so in a whisper."
Natasha's loose stance immediately stiffened and she took a step closer to the bed to look again at Stephen. She pursed her lips as the rest of her face hardened. "Sensory deprivation?"
"Unlike anything you can imagine," Wong answered grimly.
Steve was now frowning. "Do you think he was like this the entire time? How long was he missing?"
"Between thirty to thirty-six hours," answered Wong, already starting the preparations for the removal spells. They would take a couple minutes to fully set up. "I don't know how long they have kept him under this spell. If it has been for that full length of time, just note that he might not—be fully in his right mind."
"Then we should give him some room," Tony said, with a note of sympathy that admittedly startled Wong. Before he could make anything further of it, however, Tony was already ushering the other two away. "We'll wait in the hall, Wong."
Steve's expression was clearly one of worry as he walked away, Tony's prodding quickly understood. "We'll be here if you need anything." He flicked off the light switch as they left, and the door softly closed behind them.
Wong slowly exhaled and looked at the Cloak. "Up," he ordered. The Cloak raised its collar, but like the stubborn, fickle thing it was, didn't obey immediately. Wong didn't have time for this. "If you don't want to hurt Stephen, you'll get off immediately and wait until you're given permission to touch him again," he snapped, his anxiety for his friend making him shorter than usual.
That did the trick. The Cloak lifted itself, albeit reluctantly, and set itself hovering on the other side of the bed instead. That was fine.
Everything would be fine. Stephen would be fine. Wong forced himself to take a deep breath once again.
As he performed the last of the preparations for the spell's removal, Wong could not help but remember the last time the spell had come into conversation. Unsurprisingly, the conversation had been with Stephen, perhaps two to three months after he had become Master of the New York Sanctum.
"Why does this spell even exist?" Stephen asked Wong as he gestured to the open book on his desk. Wong had made the mistake of entering the New York Sanctum library to find something while Stephen was reading through one of the Ancient One's old tomes, and thus the first fellow master available to hear his complaints.
"You're going to have to be more specific," was Wong's dry answer.
Stephen grimaced and clarified, "Excidit Sensus. It's utterly inhumane."
Wong went to the bookshelf where he suspected his quarry lay. "Compared to contemporary methods of interrogation when the spell was created, it was likely considered a more humane option."
"Incorrectly so!" Stephen shot back, fuming. "This spell removes everything: sight, hearing, touch, all sensations. If you keep a person like that for, say, forty-eight hours, there is a significant chance of hallucinations, anxiety, and depression. The ability to do the simplest tasks deteriorates upon freedom, and if this goes on longer than that, the results can be catastrophic!"
The librarian paused to look over at his colleague, who was slowly (perhaps inevitably) becoming a friend. "I am simply explaining the likely rationale behind its creation," Wong said. "That doesn't mean I endorse its use."
Stephen exhaled. "Sorry. Right. I just wasn't expecting to see something like that."
"For what it's worth," Wong said as he found the book he wanted, "that spell hasn't been used in over a century. Very few sorcerers would have the power and skill to successfully apply it, and there are none in Kamar-Taj who would consider using it now."
"Good," was Stephen's answer, and the conversation ended.
How could Mordo fall to such lows?
Wong finished the prep work and stalled no longer; Stephen had been suffering for more than long enough. He moved his spell work that he performed on the side to hover over the prone man, then in one gesture, settled it upon his body to release the spell. He steeled himself for the fallout.
It came all at once: at first Stephen was utterly still, and then he inhaled sharply and audibly as his eyes flew open. He immediately squeezed them shut and then cradled his hands near his chest, every breath shuddering. To Wong's alarm, the little light remaining in the room glinted on the wetness of his cheeks. He was crying very, very silently.
Still, he did not say anything; the sound of breathing may be too much for Stephen at that moment, never mind conversation. Instead he waited for some sort of cue from the other sorcerer. Opposite him, the Cloak fretted as it swung back and forth in silent worry through the air; it clearly wanted to envelop its Master and it was only Wong's strict word that kept it from doing otherwise.
When Stephen did speak, several minutes later, it was barely above the volume of breathing. "I forgot—how much they hurt."
Wong could not help but exhale in dismay. Stephen made it easy for others to forget that he experienced what would be categorized as chronic pain. One eventually learned to cope and live with such a thing until it became a background ache on normal days, or so he understood it, and his friend had perfected that act a long time ago. However, Wong had not considered how the reintroduction of feeling to his hands would affect Stephen. That was his folly—he was only glad that Tony had the sense of presence to get all others out of the room.
The sigh caused Stephen to freeze. "Who's there?" he whispered.
He tried to keep his voice just as low. "Wong." He paused to gauge his reaction to his voice; Stephen did not flinch, and so he added, "And the Cloak." That was the most relevant, for now. The Avengers were out of sight in the hall and could wait a little longer.
Stephen's breath shuddered. "Give—give me a minute. Just—give me a minute."
He kept his response limited. "Take your time."
The silence sat for longer, the only sound being of the soft breathing from the both of them. All other sound from the rest of the Sanctum was completely muted. Eventually Stephen carefully moved an arm down from his chest to his side on the bed, and the Cloak took that as permission to reach out and lightly touch him. Stephen stiffened before relaxing and breathed, "Cloak. Right." He swallowed. "How long?"
Wong exhaled. "Thirty to thirty-six hours, if you were under the whole time."
"I was." He kept his voice at a whisper. "You need a report."
"It can wait." He kept his voice at the same volume. "The Avengers helped in your recovery. Stark, Rogers, and Romanoff are outside."
A pained look crossed over Stephen's face. "They can't—they can't see me like this."
"There is no shame in your condition," said Wong, "but I will not press it."
Stephen clenched his eyes shut. He swallowed. "Please."
Wong inclined his head and concealed his alarm; Stephen never begged. "I'll be right back." He rose and cast a silencing spell around the room to filter out all noise from outside, then left the bedroom.
Three pairs of eyes met Wong as he closed the door behind him. "How is he?" Steve asked.
"He'll recover, with time," said Wong. "At the moment he does not wish to have any visitors. You may call in a few days." That should be enough time, hopefully.
"Understandable," Natasha said.
"Ring us if there's anything else you need," Tony added. "And let Merlin know that if I don't hear from him soon, I'll be making a house call."
Wong didn't doubt it. "Noted. You know the way out."
After they turned the corner of the hallway, Wong turned his attention to the apprentice hiding in the shadows; the runner Grem sent. "Bring up a bowl of chicken soup and a cup of herbal tea. Soup should be largely broth." He had no idea what a stomach living off a liquid diet for two days did to solid food, so he'd have Stephen start small. "Keep others away unless it's urgent." The apprentice bowed and took their leave.
Wong sighed, letting his emotions flow away from him now that he was alone in the hall. He only allowed himself a brief moment before he solidified his serene expression and entered Stephen's bedroom once again.
"It's me," he whispered. "Food's on its way."
Stephen hadn't moved in the short time he was gone and his eyes remained closed. He was conscious enough to make a face at Wong's words, however. "Not hungry."
"It'll be waiting for you when you are." The joy of everlasting heat spells on dinnerware. He then considered his next words carefully; Stephen had been unusually emotionally vulnerable the last few minutes, but it did not mean he wouldn't start to close up if he was too brazen. "Would you prefer solitude or company?" Straightforward, yet not coddling—a statement that could be said in any normal situation. Stephen was often allergic to sentimental emotions, especially if they were because of his condition. He'd rather tend to his own wounds than for anyone to see him less than capable. It was only if Wong acted unaffected and casual that he could slip past that shield in times like this.
Stephen was silent for a moment. "Company's not unwelcome," he muttered. "Quiet company, at least."
"That is expected," said Wong. And once Stephen's meal was here, he was ready to sit in silent meditation and companionship as his friend recovered his senses throughout the rest of the evening.