I have fallen down the black hole of Ironstrange. Seriously, I've loved my share of pairings, and had my preferred ships in various fandoms, but I have never been so completely obsessed. Everything I've felt before for other ships pales in comparison. It's only been how many months since Infinity War, but there are fics I've reread so many times I've lost count, and I've browsed through every page of the ship tag in AO3 multiple times! Is this what people mean by OTP? Damn, I thought I knew…
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The massive characters are seared with scars.
-Khalil Gibran
In the chaos of Thanos' defeat, the exaltation of people reappearing – of Peter's return – and the haze of post-battle exhaustion, Tony hadn't noticed immediately. But that low voice had infected his mind for months now, followed him into his dreams until he would have done almost anything to be able to take that infuriating wizard by the shoulders and shake him for straightforward answers. Maybe punch him for giving up that goddamn stone for him, as if that could ever have been an equal exchange.
Tony, there was no other way.
He tore his eyes away from Peter – living, breathing, speaking Peter – and studied his surroundings more closely. The Avengers and their allies were once again scattered throughout the wreckage of New York, mostly sitting on whatever ruined bits of sidewalk or buildings were near. Quill and his maniacs were grouped together with Rocket and... a tree? That must have been Groot. Everyone from Titan was accounted for except for Strange. He couldn't have slipped away, right? He wouldn't have.
If he had, Tony was definitely going to kill him.
Sudden fear stole his breath. Illogical, surely, but what if he hadn't come back? What if Tony had done something wrong, had fucked up somehow, and Strange was gone for good?
His hands were shaking, and he spared a moment to note the irony there as he looked around to orient himself. He'd get Peter to his aunt, and then make the trip to Bleecker Street. Strange was some big, powerful wizard, wasn't he? Wong would be able to figure out what happened, if the asshole hadn't contacted him by then.
Premature. He should check more of the surrounding areas first. His suit was a wreck, a patchwork of nanotech barely clinging to his body, but FRIDAY was still a comforting presence in his ear. Unfortunately, any security cameras in the area would be so much scrap metal. He'd have to rely on heat signatures, which would be slower going and more complicated, but better than randomly picking a direction and hoping for the best.
Or perhaps he actually would get lucky. Tony figured that he was about due some good luck right now. He had moved at just the right angle to notice a flicker of familiar red within a cavern of twisted metal and concrete slabs.
Forcing his tired body to move more quickly, his heart raced as the wizard and his loyal outerwear came into view. He was here. But relief too quickly turned to dread. The body was a little too still, the fluttering Cloak a little too frantic. Relief returned with the movement of Strange's arm, waving it away, and Tony was getting a little dizzy from the emotional whiplash.
"Stop that," he heard the rough voice say as he approached, seemingly too tired to be properly irritable. "If you're going to help, do something about my ribs."
The Cloak, somehow, managed to project an air offense, even as it slipped beneath Strange's torso to wrap tightly around his chest. Tony really couldn't understand how a piece of fabric could be so emotive.
"You look like shit, Merlin," he said as he approached, careful to inject a lightness into his tone that he didn't really feel.
The other man jerked in surprise and then stifled a moan, his pale complexion turning sheet white.
"Whoa, hey." Tony rushed to his side, even as the Cloak braced its master. "Careful. I didn't go through hell and back, only for you to die on me now."
"Yeah," Strange wheezed. "You don't look so great yourself, douchebag."
Tony snorted and rolled his eyes to hide his growing concern. It might have been an off-hand comment, but this close to the other man, he could see that he really did look awful. It wasn't just that he looked more battered and broken than the fight on Titan had left him – and those memories were far too clear for his taste, he knew he wasn't misremembering things. The wizard looked positively gaunt, with a sickly sort of pallor to his skin.
None of the others who had returned had looked bad. Or, no worse than before they'd dissolved, as far as he could tell. He definitely would have noticed in Peter's case.
"Seriously, Strange," he said, catching those almost fever-bright eyes. "What happened? You look worse than when you…" He trailed off, unable to complete that sentence.
"I'm fine," he said dismissively, and struggled to get up.
Tony kind of wanted to hit him. He hardly knew him, and already he was one of the most stubborn, infuriating, egotistical assholes he had ever met. He told him so, as he helped him to his feet, grasping him by an elbow and around his waist as those scarred and shaking hands failed to manage any sort of grip.
Strange didn't respond. Possibly because he was distracted and breathless by the pain of broken ribs. Possibly because he was just ignoring Tony, although he thought that rather unlikely. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was being difficult to ignore.
"Now what?" he asked after a long silent moment. It wasn't unpleasant, the warm, solid weight leaning against his side. It was rather comforting, actually. But he was becoming increasingly worried by Strange's condition, and he didn't think standing around was doing him any good.
Strange sighed, and seemed to slump even more against him. "I don't suppose you can call Wong?"
"Sure thing, Houdini."
He ignored the muttered, "Don't call me that," and connected with the other wizard through the remains of his armor. In moments a wheel of orange sparks heralded Wong's portal, the man himself waiting on the other side in the foyer of the Sanctum.
His typically stoic façade cracked, just slightly. But for Tony, who had never seen an expression other than 'resting bitch-face', the barely identifiable worry Wong portrayed drastically increased his own.
"Strange," he said, approaching quickly to support his other side. A faint glow betrayed some sort of magic was being used. "What have you done?"
"What I needed to," he murmured unapologetically.
"What's going on?" Tony demanded, almost growling when the pair glanced at him and then more or less ignored him to glare at each other.
"I know you don't pay attention to rules or listen to anyone, Stephen," Wong began, "but you will listen to me when I tell you this. Under no circumstances are you to leave your body. At all. Not reflexively, not accidentally; you will stay in your body until at least three Masters say otherwise."
Strange bowed his head in acknowledgement.
"What?!" Tony squawked.
"So you can dress the part of a real boy," Tony greeted him as he crossed the field to where the Milano sat, ready for take-off.
Stephen automatically glanced down at his sweatshirt and jeans, bandages tight against broken ribs, leather gloves on trembling hands, and the scarf around his neck a deep and familiar red. "It's called being inconspicuous, Stark." He preferred to blend in when out in public, and he had had to take the subway to get here. There were a few too many action shots of him floating around the internet and news reports for his comfort. Particularly in the wake of Thanos. "I know you Avengers aren't familiar with the concept; try looking it up in the dictionary some time."
Tony scoffed. "This coming from the wizard – "
"Sorcerer."
" – with his tacky robes and melodramatically fluttering cape – "
"Bold of you to insult the Cloak while in its presence."
"Wait, wha – " Tony broke off with a yelp as the scarf struck, winding around his neck, one end lifting to stare him in the face and flaring rather like a cobra's hood. "Jesus fu – Strange, call it off!"
Stephen hummed. "Ah. Spectacular ignorance it is."
"Strange, seriously, what the hell is it doing?" Seeing absolutely no help coming from that direction, he repeated his question to the camouflaged Cloak, "What the hell are you doing?" and missed the startled, reluctantly charmed expression on his companion's face. It was rare for others to recognize the sentience in the Cloak of Levitation, and rarer for it to be treated accordingly.
The scarf tightened slightly, so that fabric brushed against skin instead of hanging loosely around his neck. "Okay, okay!" he yelped. "Sorry, you're not a melodramatic cape."
"Cloak."
"Cloak!"
Stephen couldn't help but chuckle at the scene, deep and sincere. He ignored the pain that flared in his ribs. Brief though it was, it was his first genuine laugh since Ebony Maw had come to Earth.
"Strange," Tony warned as they reached the spaceship and the Cloak still hadn't moved except for a bizarre, side-to-side swaying.
"Alright, weirdo," Stephen said and beckoned. "Play with him later."
"If that's your idea of play, I am definitely going to hold an intervention," Tony commented as the scarf resumed its original place, hanging low and loose around that graceful neck. His dark eyes lingered, caught on the hollow at the base of that throat, but his amber sunglasses hid the direction of his gaze well enough. He could very well have been watching his most recent attacker.
Stephen ignored him, and the small group gathered near the entryway, as he strode to the opposite side of the spacecraft. Tony hesitated, puzzled, and threw a quick greeting to the early arrivals before hurrying to catch up. He reached him just in time to see the sorcerer shift into a more solid stance and begin scribing lines of orange light in the air.
"What are you doing?"
"Not a curse, if that's what you were wondering," he muttered tersely. The magic burned like fire in his veins, and he clenched his teeth against the pain. It really was too soon for him to be performing any spells at all. He was an overused conduit; like a shorted-out circuit breaker. He needed more time to heal. Time he didn't have, since the Guardians were leaving today. He hoped Wong didn't find out about this, or he would be in for another blistering lecture.
"That wasn't why I asked."
"Quill knows about it." He really hadn't wanted to ask, had just wanted to do it with no one the wiser. He almost had. But he knew just how much the Milano meant to Quill, and it wasn't like he had given the man his true reasons anyway. He was an asshole who liked to learn, who wanted to experiment and try new spells just because he could. That was all anyone needed to know of him.
"Good to know, I guess, but that's not why I asked either."
Stephen chanced a glance from the corner of his eye when he reached a point at which he could pause in his casting. He expected…distrust, perhaps, or wariness. He knew very well that Tony Stark was not a fan of magic.
All he could see was curiosity.
He finished creating the intricate mandala of the spell and pushed it forward, watching it dissolve into the metal before answering. "Essentially, this spell will increase the defensive capabilities of the ship. Not just the strength of its materials, but also speed, maneuverability, and possibly even good luck, if done well enough. It's quite an obscure and complicated spell." He had spent a few sleepless nights researching before he found it. His spirit was in no shape to astral project, he knew, even before Wong had laid down the law in that regard. And the nightmares were…horrific.
He turned to find Tony watching him with a strange look in his eyes. "Impressive," he murmured, "and…extraordinarily generous."
Stephen scowled, pride over the initial compliment overridden by the unwanted addition. "Hardly," he snapped. "But I may never again have the opportunity to cast this on something so advanced and exotic as a literal spaceship."
His companion smirked. "If that's the excuse you want to go with."
He lifted his chin and spun away to rejoin the group on the other side of the Milano. The motion wasn't as dramatic as it would have been had his Cloak retained its usual form. But he was hardly about to stand around with Stark while the latter was under the impression that he could see right through him.
He heard the other man follow, and tried not to feel exposed and vulnerable.
Stephen had felt surprisingly steady for most of the morning. His equilibrium had slipped, however, and despite, or maybe because of, his outburst, he was beginning to feel listless. It was better than slipping into the other extreme while in a crowd, but it still served to highlight, even if just in his own mind, that he was unwell.
He hovered at the fringes of the growing group of superheroes, patting his Cloak in thanks when it squeezed the back of his neck encouragingly. Earlier he had thought to at least speak with some of the Guardians, perhaps let Quill know that the spell had been successful. Now he found his words trapped, dissolving before ever reaching his throat. So he stayed silent and forced himself to be alert enough to watch the others from the edge of the group, even if he couldn't find the motivation to participate.
No matter how inconspicuous he attempted to be, however, he did not remain unnoticed. A number of superheroes eyed him, some discretely and some outright staring at him with frowns and puzzled expressions. Spiderman, when he showed up bouncing with far too much energy, easily drifted between Stephen's orbit and Tony's, speaking excitedly and mostly unbothered by his severe features and stoic silence.
Even as he listened to the kid, Stephen was always aware of Tony's attention. He wasn't fooled by his easy chatter as he fielded several conversations at once. That formidable intelligence was focused on him. He was willing to bet the genius had already noted that everyone who had reacted strangely to Stephen's presence had been in the soul stone. That Peter was unusually comfortable with a man who would generally be described as unfriendly, and with whom he had interacted for less than a day.
There was really nothing he could do at this point to deflect that attention, or whatever suspicions were no doubt churning in his mind. It would eventually fade, he was sure, when they all went their separate ways and Tony no longer saw him.
Finally, the time came for the Guardians to depart. Stephen forced out a quiet goodbye and, "Thank you for your assistance." He wasn't sure who began the Titan group hug, but he was willing to bet on either Peter or Drax. Unfortunately, in trying to extricate himself, his sleeve was pushed back, exposing his bare forearm to Mantis' touch. He flinched, reflexively throwing up barriers against her empathy and wincing in pain at both his jostled ribs and burnt out magic pathways.
Too late, of course.
"Oh!" she breathed, startled. She stared at him for a long moment, confused and thankfully silent. No doubt she wondered at the strength of his emotions, regret and melancholy that they would be gone. That he would likely not hear from them in a long time, if ever. And relief, too, at the same. She likely wondered how and why he had become so attached.
The Guardians were fools, most of them, but they weren't stupid. Mantis might have been ignorant, but she wasn't unintelligent, and he looked away when her expression became a little too understanding. It was a minor miracle, really, that she didn't simply blurt her thoughts – and his emotions – out loud. Perhaps it would come up when he was gone, but at least it wouldn't affect him.
He stood back with the others and watched as the ship disappeared into the sky, lost in thought. Trying not to think about what Drax might have told him about his dead family, about Mantis' regret and guilt, about all of those futures where Quill had really let it sink in that he, Peter, and Tony were the first humans he had met since he was abducted from Earth.
He lost time, didn't realize that he was staring into space until the Cloak subtly tugged at him. Stephen blinked, and glanced around to check that no one was watching him or had tried to get his attention. Thankfully, the two most likely to do so were distracted by each other. No one else knew him, and he…
He knew them better than they could imagine, had seen them at their worst, had seen them suffer, and die, and fall, and give up, and die, and scream, and fight, and so, so many last words and tears and screams and wishes and curses and dreams…
Stephen didn't know them. Not really. He didn't want to, either, so he turned to go. There was nothing for him here.
The hand that caught his forearm, no matter how gently, made him tense. Even on their stressful first meeting, Tony had been conscientious about touching his hands.
"Can I give you a ride?" Tony asked in response to his inquiring glance.
Stephen was still not entirely present, so it took a moment to register and understand the question. Once it had, he tensed further, paling as shattering glass, and bone, and life exploded in his memory. He quickly shoved that particular trauma to the back of his mind, but by then his companion was beginning to look worried.
"No. Thank you." Stephen stepped back and out of his reach. The Cloak pressed reassuringly against his collarbone, unable to squeeze him as it would like while it was a scarf. "I'm fine."
"If you're sure."
"I am."
"I'll see you around, then?" Tony said as Peter waved.
He watched them for a long moment, committing them to his memory and damning himself for this weakness. "Good bye," he said, and walked away.
It was finally over. He probably wouldn't be seeing them again.
Stephen didn't expect Peter Parker to show up on his doorstep less than a week later. Clearly, the kid couldn't take a hint. Not that he'd been trying all that hard, admittedly. And he wasn't so cruel as to turn away someone with that uncertain, haunted appearance.
Peter jerked as he was transported inside the Sanctum, and a more befitting expression of awe and excitement appeared, however subdued.
"Tea?" Stephen offered, and a blink later they sat across from each other in well-worn, comfortable armchairs, a steaming mug in hand. Because he was an excellent host, obviously. It was nothing to do with keeping an over-energetic child from sinking into melancholy.
"So cool," the boy breathed. He looked around with wide eyes as he fiddled with the mug and picked at the cushion. "How did you do that? Can I learn to do that? What's the difference between, like, what is it, instant transportation? And your portals? Hey, do you think Mr. Stark could make some kind of teleportation device? What kind of science would be – "
"While I would be…" Stephen paused, searching for an accurate description and steepling his gloved hands before his mouth, "willing to answer your questions, I think those are not the questions you came to ask."
Peter slumped slightly, clutching his mug and looking subdued. "Dude, can you read minds or something?"
"Not usually, no." He waited as the silence stretched, mind racing for something to say. Stephen was far better at making people uncomfortable than he was at offering comfort. He had never managed to develop much of a bedside manner before he'd become skilled and famous enough to stop caring about it. "We can discuss your interest in teleportation and portals if you prefer," he offered.
"I have questions about the Soul World," Peter blurted.
It coalesced, the reason for the boy's tension, his near desperation, and the reason he had sought out a sorcerer of all people. "You remember?" he breathed.
"No – well, yes, but – no I…not really?"
People remembered disappearing, of course, and they remembered returning. But as far as he knew, only people with training in the Mystic Arts truly remembered what happened in between. At least, for those people of Earth. Stephen really couldn't speak for other worlds and species.
"I just," Peter continued before the sorcerer could comment, "I've got my spider powers, you know? And the instincts are really…. Anyway, I don't remember what it was like, but I get these feelings. Kind of like déjà vu, I guess. And flashes of what I think I might have seen? But that's mainly when I'm asleep so that might just be dreams. Mostly it's feelings." He unconsciously clutched at his chest, tone going hollow at the end.
"I would think you would speak with Tony about this," Stephen said gently.
"I do! Sometimes. But he wasn't in the Stone, he doesn't…. And you know more about these things, don't you? You were there with me, right? You feel…" He trailed off, quieting and shifting slightly, obviously trying to hide some awkwardness or embarrassment. "You feel safe."
Oh. It felt a little like Peter had knocked the breath out of him. He'd tried to do what little he could to keep an eye on the kid in the Stone. He hadn't realized he would remember even that much subconsciously.
And no one had ever said such a thing to him before.
"Yes, I was there with you. Not all of the time, of course."
Peter gazed at him with large, haunted eyes. He knuckles were white as one hand clutched the handle of his mug. "Then can you…." His voice broke. "I don't understand."
Stephen kept his voice low and steady as he put Peter's experiences and feelings from the Soul Stone into perspective. He spoke quietly until lack of sleep finally caught up with the boy, and he slumped down in his seat. The Cloak caught the teacup that slipped from lax hands, and the armchair adjusted until it was more of a recliner.
After some consideration, he set an alarm for what he thought was Peter's curfew. If he himself lost time or slipped too deeply into meditation, at least Peter wouldn't get into trouble with his aunt.
There was a knock on the Sanctum door right around the time he was heading back to wake Peter. He doubted that the boy had told anyone where he was going, but somehow it didn't surprise him to see Tony on his doorstep.
"When was the last time you slept?" he wondered as he stepped back to let him in.
"Pot. Kettle," the other man muttered, swiping a hand over bloodshot eyes. The dark circles beneath them made his complexion seem washed out. "Turns out I sleep better in the middle of an apocalypse than in the aftermath. Or even pre-apocalypse," he added with a distracted frown.
Stephen hummed in acknowledgement. "I assume you're here for – "
"Mr. Stark!" a voice squeaked from the top of the stairs.
"Hey, kid. Thought you could use a ride," Tony said as Peter leaped hurriedly down to the foyer.
"Sure, that'd be great! But how'd you know I was here?"
"I know everything. Obviously."
Stephen snorted.
"Hey, no comments from the peanut gallery."
"You are even less original sleep-deprived."
"And you're just a barrel of articulation."
"That doesn't make any sense."
Peter coughed, shifting nervously when two intense personalities focused on him. "I'm ready to go whenever you are, Mr. Stark. And, uh, thanks Dr. Strange. For, y'know."
Stephen's glare softened slightly. "You're welcome, Peter. You – apparently – know where to find me if you need assistance."
The kid grinned sheepishly.
"And Tony." He turned back, pale eyes examining his companion. "I do apologize for any panic incurred when the GPS disappeared. The Sanctum's protections ward against all manner of intrusions."
"What, you read minds now? And I do not panic, Merlin."
"Hardly. And perhaps not once you realized where, exactly, he was."
"I am Iron Man. I don't panic," he declared, ushering Peter out the doors while ignoring his complaints.
"You are Iron Man," Stephen agreed. "And you do panic."
"Well, this has been great and all, but next time stop by the Compound," Tony babbled. "We're always looking for new Avengers, we've got the space, we can set you up with your membership benefits and shit."
"No." Stephen slammed the doors behind them, as if that could adequately demonstrate just how abhorrent he found the suggestion.
Coming back from the Soul Stone - from Titan and over 13 million futures - was different than coming back from Dormammu and the Dark Dimension.
Trapping himself in a time loop and physically dying over and over again had damaged him, mentally and emotionally. He'd been even more reckless than usual in the aftermath, to the point where it wasn't unreasonable that others would consider him suicidal.
Stephen disagreed. He didn't wish for death, because death hadn't seemed real. Nothing seemed real, and so there were no real consequences. He was a cast member in a stage play, a character in a video game. Or he was insane, but his existence was insane, and so nothing he did to himself mattered. He might know better logically, but he just couldn't bring himself to feel it, though he wasn't so far gone as to deliberately endanger anyone but himself.
It had taken Wong and some of the other Masters months and quite a few threats before he would meet with Master Tanaka, one of several Masters with therapist training. Two years later, and he might not quite feel real, but he was better. If nothing else worked, 'fake it till you make it' was a viable alternative, and something Master Tanaka had immediately encouraged. She had Stephen become more mindful and deliberate of his thought processes, to try using logic and his impressive intellect to consider all possible alternatives when faced with dangerous situations. And in the beginning, he had reluctantly agreed to discuss solutions with Wong before taking action if they weren't in immediate danger. Not just because of his instability, but also because he was still quite new to the Mystic Arts.
For all its similarities, the aftermath of the Soul Stone was markedly more dangerous than that of Dormammu. He had once again been damaged mentally and emotionally - and, of course, physically.
But, above all, he had very nearly shattered his soul.
It was that which had caused Wong to react with such horror when he had first seen Stephen. To immediately and fervently pose such restrictions on anything that would threaten to finish the job. By now knowing him quite well, the Librarian had essentially cuffed his soul to his body with runes around his wrists. Stephen couldn't complain, as astral projection had become almost a reflex. He wouldn't mean to, but he could easily do so without thinking, even asleep or unconscious. He didn't want to experience what would happen to such a damaged soul without the buffer of a physical body, and Wong was too well-learned not to know of the likely consequences of such a thing.
It was difficult enough as things stood. Healing would require time more than anything, and meanwhile Stephen vacillated between extremes, struggling to find his equilibrium. He often lost time, staring blankly into space and lacking motivation to do...anything. Some days it was a struggle just to get out of bed. He made little headway in his studies, and Wong had taken up the slack regarding the protection of the New York Sanctum while he healed, with several Masters on call to provide assistance should it be necessary.
When Stephen wasn't listless and apathetic...well.
Once, frustrated for no particular reason and almost trembling with suppressed, directionless fury, he had deliberately dropped a glass bottle. Next he knew, he had flung empty plates from the counter with all the force he could muster, and the sound of shattering destruction was not even remotely satisfying.
"Useless," he snarled. He was almost completely useless. He had never been the most patient man, particularly with his own healing as evidenced by his hands. It had been weeks, and any progress made towards repairing his soul was practically negligible. He deliberately attempted to yank his spirit from his body, enough to activate the bonding runes Wong had placed around his wrist, but not with enough force to break. Just hard enough to sustain what felt like electricity coursing through his body, for him to really feel the pain of it in a way Wong had never intended. It was, after all, meant to be merely a jolting reminder, not a torment.
Stephen had never had any patience for himself, broken, useless body or no.
Even after he stopped straining against the bonds, his own powers refused to settle, reacting to his wildly fluctuating emotion, his overworked spirit. Orange sparks of magic flared wildly from his form like a wildfire when Wong rushed into the room.
"Go," he said, taking everything in with a glance.
Stephen portalled immediately to Kamar-Taj and found Master Long, martial arts and defensive specialist. Someone who was least likely to be seriously injured sparring with such a wild, out-of-control student. One look, and they were in the training area, feet and elbows and magic striking brutally at each other. Stephen's technique was unusually sloppy in such a feral state of mind, and Master Long poked at holes in his defense, teaching and encouraging muscle memory even as he let the other man spend his excess energy.
It was not an uncommon sight, since Thanos' defeat.
They were persistent. Stephen would give them that. Peter had become an almost expected visitor and, for all his energy, he could be surprisingly quiet. As often as he peppered Stephen or Wong with questions, everything from homework, to medical history, to esoteric mystical theory, he could just as often be found lounging on a couch, tinkering with his superhero accoutrements or studying.
He also knew when not to speak of something. At least in regards to Stephen's unusual behavior, since he must have noticed his occasional episodes, or the times when Stephen or Wong abruptly kicked him out or turned him away at the door.
Tony was a different sort of visitor. He showed up often enough that Stephen stopped bristling every time he saw him on his doorstep now, but the man continued to pester him about being part of the Avengers Initiative. Stephen had no idea why he persisted. He knew better than to think it was solely to be annoying, but surely there were other people he could bother with recruitment?
"C'mon, Doc. Statistically speaking, the Avengers are more likely to run across a supernatural threat alongside everything else we deal with. Don't you agree that we should have a magic man handy for when that happens?"
"Master of the Mystic Arts," he corrected, just to be contrary. "And you know statistics don't work like that. Do you have any idea how often people get possessed in New York?" The number of exorcisms he performed as part of his duties was disquieting if he really stopped to think about it, and that was just one city. Why were people such idiots? What made attempted demon summoning seem like a good idea?
Tony looked startled and doubtful. "I've never come across anyone who's been possessed. I think."
Stephen arched an eyebrow. "Precisely. Unless one of your Avengers takes up demon summoning or something equally as foolish, there's hardly a need for sorcerer on your team."
"You want me to believe that you're as careless as that? You seem more like a guy who would appreciate prevention instead of just reacting after the fact."
"Fine," Stephen allowed. "I'll ask around and see if there's a Master who would be willing to join your group."
"Whoa, wait, no." Tony slashed a hand through the air. "Not interested in one of those stuffy, boring, old strangers, or anyone else in your cult. Just you, Strange. Or maybe Wong," he allowed.
"You realize you just basically described Wong?" Stephen smirked. It was too bad the librarian wasn't around at the moment to hear that. Needling him could be fun, although he usually paid for it later. "And I am the Master of the New – "
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The billionaire flapped a hand, unimpressed. "Full-time position, 24/7, protector of all reality, big-headed sanctum blah, blah."
He scowled, his Cloak twitching a bit in response to his displeasure, causing Tony to eye it warily. "I am not – "
"What about consulting?"
The interruption combined with the abrupt change in direction threw him off. He hesitated.
The businessman sensed weakness and pounced. "I get it, you're too busy to be a full-time Avenger. Or part-time. But consulting would be on an as-needed basis. We'd call you for magic-related problems and advice, and the occasional full-scale invasion or something. And let's face it, you'd probably be dealing with those things eventually, we'd just be getting your attention quicker. You'd also have us as backup, even if," he continued quickly, before Stephen could protest, "it's just to help with evacuation or something. We'd keep each other up-to-date on what's going on, debrief and all that."
Stephen was skeptical and reluctant, but he wasn't immediately saying no, which Tony obviously took as a positive sign. The sorcerer wondered if he had planned this all along, hounding him about becoming an Avenger so that consulting seemed more agreeable. "How is this any different than what we're doing now?"
Tony looked vaguely pleased at his acknowledging any sort of actual relationship between them. More than just reluctant host to persistent guest, anyway. "Well, for one, it would include more talk about your work, in actual detail, without Peter or me needing to pry vague statements out of you. And you would have to occasionally speak with, and maybe even interact with, other Avengers."
Stephen scowled.
"Plus, you'd have get out of this dusty old museum once in a while."
His scowl deepened. "I semi-regularly explore other dimensions, Stark. How much more 'out' can I get?"
"Why don't you try exploring this dimension and planet? I'll be your tour guide," he offered. "Seriously, it can't be healthy to shut yourself in here all the time."
"Wong would still be the better choice."
"Stephen," Tony said seriously, capturing his gaze and holding it, "I'm asking you."
He couldn't say how long the silence lingered as his traitorous heart raced. "I'll consider consulting," Stephen sighed at last, ignoring the whoop of triumph. "But I'm telling you right now, there will be no records or publicity."
"If that's what you want," the other man agreed.
Although he refused to show it, Tony always found it creepy when the Sanctum doors opened for him seemingly of their own accord. He didn't know if it was actually the building itself, or if the wizards or cape were messing with him, and he didn't ask. Well, he joked about ghost butlers, but the way Stephen responded to that - or deliberately didn't - kind of freaked him out. He really couldn't tell whether or not that was Stephen's awful sense of humor attempting to peek through.
"Hello?" he called, stepping into the empty foyer. "Anyone around?" A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see the Cloak waving at him from the top of the stairs.
"Hey," he said as he climbed. "Your person up there?"
It bobbed, enough for Tony to take it as a nod, and then drifted away to what he knew to be the library. No surprise there, he had often seen the sorcerer studying old tomes in strange and unidentifiable languages. He scoffed and teased because he wasn't comfortable giving away just how much the doctor impressed him. Arrogant, intense, fiercely intelligent, and beautiful, it was hard not to be just a little bit awestruck if he thought too much about it, and that wasn't even mentioning the power he wielded. But the way Stephen had lost everything and then built himself a completely new life, piece by agonizing piece, was what did it for him every time.
"Got your nose in a book again, Gandalf?" he asked as he entered the room, spying the back of the other's head over top of the couch and frowning when there was no response. Tony rounded the furniture he was sitting on. "Stephen?" Was he meditating? It wasn't the traditional meditation pose. He had a book open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he gazed into the distance, but this seemed a bit more than simply being lost in thought.
Was something wrong? Should he try to shake him?
Tony hated magic. He hated not knowing what was going on, how to fix things, whether he was going to make it better or worse.
"Stephen," he said, louder. The Cloak had led him here. It wouldn't have done that if Tony's ignorance was going to hurt its master, would it?
For no reason that Tony could discern, glowing orange symbols flared to life through the cloth that bound Stephen's wrists. The younger man let out a yelp, more surprise than pain if he was any judge, and blinked rapidly. "Tony," he said at last, yanking up a smooth mask of professionalism, too late to hide a flash of frustration. "Apologies. My mind was elsewhere."
"Literally?" Tony wondered.
"No," he said, and then seemed to reconsider for a moment before leaving it at that. "What can I do for you?" He closed his book and set it to the side.
Tony hesitated uncharacteristically. He'd just come for a visit, no ulterior motives, but now he wondered if it was time to broach the topic of Stephen's health since Titan. He'd caught hints here and there over the months, that the sorcerer had not quite recovered from something that must have happened with Thanos. But nothing so obvious as Peter had described seeing once, not until now.
And he had a feeling that it was somehow connected to certain inconsistencies his genius mind had been mulling over, now that he wasn't consumed with the grief and horror of an apocalypse.
He flopped down on the couch, close enough to notice any shift in expression, but leaving enough space that Stephen hopefully didn't feel he'd been backed into a corner. He wasn't sure how well he'd managed, given the suspicious look he was graced with.
He took a moment to consider his approach before slowly reached for one of Stephen's hands, giving him time to protest. He didn't, although he did tense quite noticeably.
Tony grasped the shaking hand gently, brushing his fingers across one of the scars that lined the back of it before running them along where the glowing symbols had appeared on the wrist. "What was that?"
"Nothing," the other man said automatically. In response to the stubborn, disbelieving expression, "A side effect."
"Looked like a spell to me."
"Well, both, then."
"What does it do?"
Stephen pressed his lips together, brow furrowed. "What does it matter? You hate magic."
"Okay, one, I don't actually hate magic. I mean, it's never going to be my favorite thing, but what I really hate is not knowing what the hell is going on. And you know that."
"I did not know your hatred of magic had diminished." Tony couldn't decipher the shifting emotions in that gaze.
"Seriously, witch doctor? I regularly hang out in your haunted house. Also, two, even if I absolutely loathed magic, do you honestly think I wouldn't want to know how it's affecting you? Especially if it's bad." When the other looked to protest, he amended, "Or at least not great, anyway."
"It is absolutely great," Stephen deadpanned, obviously realizing that Tony was not going to be fooled or let it go.
He snorted. "That might be more convincing if you tried emoting once in a while."
Stephen was quiet for a while, studying his hand in Tony's.
"They looked like restraints," he prompted.
"Good instincts," Stephen murmured. "Essentially, that's what they are."
"And that's not bad?"
"Wong cast it. They keep my spirit from leaving my body."
"He said something about that the first time you returned, and again I say, what. What is that supposed to mean? Tell me you're not dying."
"I'm not dying," he reassured immediately. "I promise. Astral projection – separating your consciousness or spirit from your body – is a well-known and fairly simple skill. That's how I was introduced to the existence of magic, actually."
Stephen's looked faintly rueful at that admittance, and Tony had a feeling he'd want to hear that story, but later. He had other concerns right now. "Then what's wrong? If it's so common, why have you been cuffed?"
"I use it so often, it's become something of a reflex in certain situations." He hesitated. "And my…spirit is not in good shape for wandering at the moment."
"Stephen, you're going to have to spell this out for me. What did Thanos do?" Tony was trying not to stress until he knew the problem, but this uncharacteristic prevaricating was giving him a sinking feeling.
"It's really just tangentially related to Thanos. But…I stretched my spirit too far. When Wong first saw me, he saw that it had very nearly shattered."
Tony made an inarticulate noise, nearly vibrating in place before leaping to his feet and pacing, just to bleed off some energy. Stephen watched this, momentarily stunned, before standing and reaching out to encourage him to, "Calm down. It didn't happen, it's fine."
"Calm – you – " he sputtered, arms flailing. "Your soul nearly shattered! I may not know magic, but that sounds really fucking bad, Stephen!"
"But it didn't. It didn't, and it's healing. At a glacial pace, perhaps, but it is healing. It just requires time."
"Stephen." Words failed, and Tony slid into his space, grasping his upper arms. "What happened in the Soul Stone?" He cut the sorcerer off with a sharp glare when he made to question his conclusion. "I'm not an idiot, you know. Something damaged your soul, and you're going to try to tell me the Soul Stone had nothing to do with it? Seriously?"
"Tony, people don't remember what happened in the Stone. I can't tell you what I don't remember."
"No," he agreed with a scowl, letting go to cross his arms. "People don't remember, but you do. You saw over 14,000,000 futures, damaged your soul, and returned more injured than you were when half the universe died. Do not tell me that you, of all people, don't know what happened."
The mask cracked. Tony saw Stephen give in, just a little, and he wasn't going to let this go anymore.
"Anyone with training in the Mystic Arts would remember," he admitted. "I don't know what you're imagining, but nothing bad happened, not really. It was rather bland, actually. A simulated world, meant to keep souls content, complacent, so that they wouldn't remember what came before."
"And? Stephen, I need to know."
"You don't need to – "
"Then I deserve to know, and I think you need someone to tell."
"Deserve…!"
"One chance," Tony interrupted. "One chance in 14,000,605, and you traded the Time Stone for my life. Yes, I think I deserve to know."
His protest died on his tongue. Stephen couldn't argue. Couldn't find his voice to respond.
"I'm not an idiot."
"Yes, you said," Stephen murmured.
"The Avengers who were in the Soul Stone recognized you, subconsciously," Tony ticked off.
"I slept better, with a distinct lack of screaming nightmares during the period when we were struggling to find a way to reverse the snap. I haven't slept so well before or since.
"I knew things without remembering how or why, and had hunches that prevented wasted time.
"I suggested a corner of the universe to begin searching for Thanos, and we found him almost immediately. One speck in an infinite universe, and it was almost as if I knew where he was.
"Sometimes my word choice or turn of phrase was…off, I guess you could say. Unusual for me, but maybe like I was quoting someone else."
Stephen grew pale as he spoke, attention focused on Tony with such intensity that it burned. He didn't blush easily, but he was grateful that his darker skin tone hid the slight warmth he could feel on his cheeks. "Genius, remember?" he shrugged as he watched the other man struggle for words.
At last, jaw clenched, he gave in. "The Time Stone couldn't show what, if anything, was happening in the Soul Stone. But I couldn't chance doing nothing, so I did everything in my power - limited though it was - to ensure that our one chance was successful."
"Control freak."
"Neurosurgeon."
Tony snorted, mouth twisted into a smirk.
"I started by waking others from the illusion. People who wouldn't panic or incite mass hysteria."
"Basically, the other heroes."
"And Masters of the Mystic Arts," Stephen nodded. "I thought it couldn't hurt to weaken the Stone's hold, perhaps make it easier for you to free us. It was an extremely delicate balancing act, however. If I did too much, the Stone, or even Thanos, could easily take notice and strengthen the prison, or destroy some of us altogether. Whatever effect that tactic may have had was negligible at best, I think," he sighed. "But at least the Masters were awake to protect vulnerable souls from creatures and beings that would feed on them."
Tony hissed. "I hadn't thought the Stone allow for the souls it contained to be damaged by outside forces."
"It might have been that some of those beings had phased into our dimension at the wrong moment and were caught by the Snap. Or the Stone is so powerful that parasites much weaker in comparison slipped through. Or it was unaccustomed to beings from other dimensions and didn't recognize what was happening. Whatever the case, there were actually few attacks. I imagine most wanted to avoid the chance of gaining Thanos' attention."
"And that's why you were in such rough shape," Tony concluded. But he noticed Stephen's hesitance, realized that he was considering whether to answer truthfully. Based on Stephen's rueful glance, he knew right away that he'd been caught.
"No, not really. I didn't have much to do with that line of defense, unless I happened across an attack. I concentrated on finding a way to interact with someone outside the Stone."
"Did you manage it? I'd think I would have heard if you had." He frowned, chest aching at the thought that Stephen would avoid or ignore him, would go to someone else. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one Stephen looked to for help, on those rare occasions when he acknowledged needing it. "I should have heard, anyway."
"I had limited success. I mentioned that I'm skilled at astral projection, so I tried to project myself to the outside world. They were very different conditions, though. After all, I was all spirit; there was no body to project myself out of. And while I could try thinking of the Stone as a body to project out of, the whole point of the Stone is to keep souls within it. I couldn't fully manifest, not even enough for a sorcerer to sense. At best, I could make myself known in dreams or the subconscious, but again, sorcerers have defenses against intrusions, and I hardly had enough power to push through."
Stephen appeared annoyed by his past helplessness, and Tony could relate. But at the moment, his attention was caught more by what he'd said than how he felt about it. "So you basically invaded my dreams," he said, trying to figure out what he was feeling. It should feel like a violation. Logically, he knew this. He just...couldn't.
"It needed to be someone I knew well, or someone I had recently been in contact with. Wong was shielded, Christine...even if she was still around, she wasn't in a position to do anything, and Peter and the Guardians were gone. That left you." Stephen obviously felt guilty, regardless of the lack of accusations and anger. Or, perhaps, obvious only to those who knew him well. He had quite an impressive poker face when it suited him.
"Does that count as people you knew well, or just people you had recently spent time with?" Tony asked. He was curious, but the question was more a means to let his companion know what else he had figured out, than because he expected a truthful answer. He was pretty sure he knew. And, yes, that was a flinch, a slight widening of his eyes.
"What do you mean?" He looked shaken, almost more than he thought was warranted, but Tony was impressed by the steadiness of his voice.
"Over 14 million futures, Stephen," he said almost gently. "That's a lot of time to spend with a small team. But never mind, let's get back to dreams."
"I didn't force my way in," he blurted, still a little off-balance. "I know you don't – I didn't have nearly enough power to do that, even if I was willing. You won't remember. I'd be surprised if you did, but…. You let me in, on a subconscious level. You kept letting me in." His voice had softened, still a little disbelieving, and Tony suppressed a shiver. It was surprisingly intimate.
"I wish I remembered," Tony said, throat constricted. "But that's how you damaged your soul?" For him. All that for him, and his heart raced even as guilt warred with pleasure. His skin prickled, fingertips tingling with adrenaline and too much feeling just begging to escape.
"I kept returning," Stephen said with a nod. "You weren't a lucid dreamer, and part of the time I didn't manage to make it as far as your dreams and ended up in your subconscious instead. Since you couldn't actively remember what I told you, it involved quite a lot of repetition on both our parts before your subconsciousness would prompt you while awake."
"And I didn't have nightmares because I was with you instead," Tony nodded.
"In a sense," he replied. "As I said, you weren't lucid dreaming, so you couldn't control your nightmares."
"But…"
"I fought them. Your terror and your demons. They were…powerful." Stephen grimaced in remembrance, one hand drifting to his side. "But I needed to speak with you and you needed actual rest."
Tony stood in silent shock as he stared at this man. As he registered just how far he had gone for him. To ensure that they would win, yes, but these were all unnecessary steps after setting this one timeline in motion.
"That's actually why I returned more injured than when I died."
This man had done all that for him, personally.
Tony lunged forward, both hands winding into the fabric of his tunic, and ignored his shocked yelp to yank him down into a kiss. He kept his lips pressed to Stephen's, prepared to let go immediately if he protested, but unable to resist taking whatever he could get.
Stephen remained stiff and mostly unresponsive, so Tony didn't try to go any further. Eventually, he leaned back, briefly pressing a second kiss to the corner of his frozen mouth. The other man hadn't pushed him away, and he was fully capable of making his displeasure known, Tony knew. His stomach twisted a little in uncertainty. Stephen wouldn't be afraid to reject him, but he also hadn't reciprocated, so he was unsure what to make of this.
And then he stared into those blazing eyes, at the emotions warring in them, and, oh. Oh, they really were far too alike in some ways, weren't they? He smiled a little as his hands followed the lines of the tunic up his chest. His left tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a faint shudder, while his right brushed back that stubborn lock of hair that persisted in hanging over his forehead. It then traced an eyebrow, skimmed his cheekbone, moving down and never losing contact with warm skin or rough facial hair until it settled on his shoulder.
Stephen swallowed hard and closed his eyes, swaying forward into Tony ever so slightly. He didn't see the triumph in the shorter man's dark gaze at this new crack in his façade. But Tony was sure that the sorcerer could guess that he was determined to break him open completely.
Stephen was frozen because he wanted this, and had never believed he could have it. He had tried to keep himself distant, had reinforced his walls to keep out the people he wanted to matter to. Because hope broke a person like Stephen far more thoroughly than even pain and suffering. And even now that it was happening, Tony could tell that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.
But Tony and Peter had maneuvered their way in, regardless. They'd pushed, and Stephen had let them, and now here they were, two more people with the ability to hurt him terribly.
And now Tony was in further than probably anyone. Tony would have to be the brave one in this, at least in the beginning, because Stephen was terrified of letting himself give in.
"Stephen," he murmured, leaning against that tall, solid body and feeling his breath hitch. He stretched and pressed a kiss to the furrow between his brow. Then to a closed, trembling eyelid. His cheek. The corner of his mouth. A series along his jaw. He gathered up his courage. There was never a guarantee, but the doctor deserved to know regardless. "Stephen," he repeated, so close to his mouth that their lips brushed. "I love you."
And Stephen surrendered beautifully, trembling and reckless, unable to deny either of them. It took Tony's breath away. They lost track of time, delving deeply, drowning in the heat of the other. Tony had one hand buried in Stephen's hair and the other clutching the back of his neck, while Stephen's hands gripped his hips for a time before sliding around his back. Their lips were swollen and sensitive, gasping for breath between kisses, when Tony noticed a movement from the corner of his eye that startled him into jerking back.
"Wha – ?" he gasped.
The Cloak of Levitation was hovering right next to them, ruffling in happiness.
"Jesus," Tony muttered as Stephen choked on a laugh. He opened his mouth to further berate the rug and made to step away when it struck. Red fabric wound around the two of them, trapping them back together with a short exclamation at the impact.
Tony looked up and smiled at Stephen's expression. Happiness was a good look on him, as was embarrassment. There was a lot that looked good on him, truthfully. "Your cape is a menace," he complained without heat.
"Cloak," Stephen corrected playfully. "I think this means he approves, love."
Tony's breath caught as he watched uncertainty and a hint of fear bleed back into those brilliant eyes. It wasn't quite a confession, but for Stephen… He pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, sucking lightly, and smirked against warm skin when Stephen's knees buckled and his body shuddered. All hints of negative emotion had disappeared when next he looked up.
"You're both menaces," Stephen grumbled.
The Cloak tightened around them in feigned offence.
Tony laughed and leaned up to kiss Stephen again.
I have become such a slow writer. Seriously. It took me weeks, possibly months, to finish writing this once I actually started. And at least that amount of time between conceiving the idea and actually putting it down to (metaphorical) paper. I do hope you enjoyed this though.