Strange looked at John and John looked back at him. They stared at one another. How long? Centuries? When he leaned forward, John took the initiative again and he gasped when his fingers worked their way through the fabric of his clothing, groping the material folds until he reached his target—flesh. He shivered and John stopped.
“Are you okay, Strange?”
His body began to shake. “Yesss, I’m fffine.” Then he paused, taking a deep breath. “John, I’m not fine. It’s my illness and this dimension. They are crushing me. I must project into my astral body. We both must, if we are to survive.”