He attended the funeral with an empty heart,
He thought he would be sad, shattered – devastated, but he experienced none of those painful, negative impressions. And the fact was that he didn't feel anything at all was worse. It could be a delayed reaction, he tried to be logical, as he always was, as he always meant to be. He was a surgeon as he also mastered the mystical art he used to fail to comprehend. Yet, here he was. A perfect marriage of a scientific, rational being with the delicate touch of magic. He was the best in his field. He trespassed time to seek the hidden way and steal a tiny chance for the world, the earth, to survive Thanos. At. All. Cost.
The fact was; he didn't really understand what 'all' really meant – he realized when he stared at a pair of mesmerizing, glimmering hope in those caramel eyes which belonged to Anthony Edward.
(For a moment, he forgot who Iron Man of the Stark Industries was.)
"How many did we win?"
Tony's question that day was about the victory. The triumph. One absolute result to end this madness and chaos regardless of how much they had to pay. (How much he had to pay.) The man who just got back from his inter-dimensional travel, panted, exhausted, said the answer with a trembling mouth. He never knew that trading one man for the sake of millions would be this hard, would be this lonely.
Then again, being the hero, the time-keeper, was the way of solitude. Not even the access to peek through the curtain of time was able to rescue him from his own. From his selfishness, from his own will as a mere human – and Stephen Vincent wasn't the exception. He stayed longer than he should every time his path of life crossed Tony's. In a timeline, he stayed as a friend, in another, he lingered as a soul mate. When he accidentally found the later, he would remain there, watching how much 'he', the other Stephen, indulged and pampered the mechanic with all of his soul, with all of his heart.
In every timeline, Stephen was always Tony's supporter –
And his current self was trying to be that Stephen once again. Stephen who could hold the man he secretly loved to accomplish whatever he wanted. To know Tony for fourteen million times, taught him that Iron Man was a stubborn, restless, suicidal individual. To be with Tony for fourteen million times, developed him into a brave man who prepared himself to encounter a massive loss. So, his answer to Tony's – current Tony's – question would always be the same; one. One, and only one.
The difference was, Stephen, that day, couldn't move his lips. Nor his tongue. So he let his cerulean eyes did the speaking, and lifted a single finger then nodded heavily. (He knew, he saw this more than once and it never got easier.) Had he already knew everything, he didn't find observing it necessary, yet it was his job to make sure Tony's motions went on track. Scene after scene swayed, it almost as beautiful as a dance, and no matter how much he wanted to shut his eyes, he didn't. Stephen had made a personal promise to himself to watch over Tony until the very end. To fully acknowledge that every decision, every step, even a snap of fingers, could affect the whole solar system – he remained.
To know was to suffer. To know but unable to tell other was the worst.
Stephen Strange saw the small, simple bouquet decorating Tony Stark's arc-reactor flew through the water, gathering all the sadness and longing. He saw Pepper Potts, holding the little hand of Morgan Stark, as he saw Peter Parker, the legacy of the futurist himself, and perhaps, he could do something to protect what Tony had left. If he couldn't save him, at least he could take care of the rest of his world.
Time, for him is a burden,
Still – someone had to do it, and speaking about to endure; he was an expert in it.