Magic //Peter Parker x Reader

Past and Present

You knock on the door to Strange's office. The door swings open and the interior of the office appears.

Strange glances over at you from his desk, "Good evening, _____. I see you got my message. Please come, sit."

You step forward and glance over at Strange's office cabinets, the Pensieve is open, you eye it curiously, then sit.

"How are you?" Strange asks.

"Im fine, sir." You shrug.

"Enjoying your classes? Professor Wong, I know, is very impressed with you."

You laugh, "I think he overestimates my abilities, sir."

"Do you?" Strange asks.

"Definitely." You nod.

Strange smiles affectionately, and nods, "And what of your activities outside the classroom? Do they bring you joy?"

You lift and eyebrow, "Sir?"

"You and Mister Parker seem to have resumed your closeness, I couldn't help but wonder..."

"Oh, no. I mean he's amazing. And we're best friends. But...no." You frown.

"Forgive me, once more _____, I am merely a curious old man." Strange smiles faintly, shakes his head, and then rises out of his chair, "No matter, I'm sure you're wondering why I've summoned you here tonight. The answer lies here."

Strange swings opens a cabinet above the Pensieve where doezens upon dozens of vials stand like tiny glimmering soldiers.

"What you see before you are memories. In this case pertaining to one individual: Thanos. Or as he was known then...Santho."

Strange reaches down with his damaged hand and removes a stoppered vial, dusty and veined with age.

"This vial contains a very particular memory— of the day I first met him. I'd like you to see it. If you would..." Strange extends his ashen hand and you rise, and gingerly take the vial and remove the cork. You tip the contents into the Pensieve. Strange nods and you lean into the iridescent liquid, your face breaking the surface...
_

A horse-drawn milk cart rattles across a rain-swept street and a younger looking Strange appears in a black and gray suit. You were surprised to see him without his iconic red coat. You walk with with him along the street until he reaches a grim building surrounded by iron gates.

A skinny, sharp-featured woman leads Strange down a drab corridor. Children's voice carry from an unseen courtyard, splashing and shrieking, in the midst of some game.

The woman turns to Strange, "I must confess to a bit of confusion upon receiving your letter, Dr. Strange. In all the years Santho's been here, he's never once had a family visitor. Frankly, I was stunned to find that someone knew of his existence."

"I am not family. But his name has been known to me since birth." Strange says calmly.

"I see..." The woman says. But she doesn't, not really. She stops, and frowns, "I think I should tell you. He's a funny boy— Santho. Odd. There have been incidents with the other children. Nasty things."

"Perhaps you could give me an example?" Strange asks.

The woman starts to speak, then shakes her head, moves off. As Strange makes to follow, his eyes glance upon a photograph on the wall, old and yellowing, depicting a seaside scene of a sharp rock outcropping and a cave.

Strange and the woman stop in front of a door, and the woman knocks on it.

It opens to small room, grim and shadowy. Santho, no more than 11 years old, sits atop a bed, hands in lap. The walls crawl with reflected rain, oozing like oil down a grimy window.