Months pass and life for Peter and Tony fall into a great routine. They don't often get to work together in the lab, with Tony stepping in for Pepper, but they make time to have lunch together, and they make love around the clock, when they aren't at work or doing something critically important for Team Stark.
Most of what Peter's been working on is tech for the team, and he's really got a knack for it. It's almost enough to distract him from the fact that he hasn't seen his best friend since the wedding.
Almost.
It's strange to go from living with somebody and taking almost every meal with them to not seeing them at all, but that's what's happened. Fine. If that's what Doc needs, to not be around him, Peter's going to give him that.
Even if it makes him miserable in the moments he lets himself think about it.
As more time wears on, and their libidos start to cool to reasonable levels, Peter finds himself thinking about it more and more often. He's still quiet, and maybe he'll never be that same carefree young man he was before he spent those two years in Mexico. But, he's reasonably happy, until he starts missing Doc.
He's sitting at the bar, sipping on a Dos Equis, waiting for Tony to come up to the penthouse after his last meeting for the evening. They've talked about going out for dinner, but if the man's really tired, Peter's on standby to cook, or at least order take out.
Then, Peter can hear the whispering of Stephen's magic making a portal in the living area of the room behind him, and the man steps out, the portal closing behind him. He's dressed in the garb he wears when he's, well, saving the world, and from the looks of things, he's fresh from a fight. Maybe it was a close one, for the opponent to have actually drawn blood, a streak of it at Stephen's temple and down the side of his face, from a small cut.
It was enough to snap Stephen out of not seeing Peter.
Multicolored eyes focus on the younger man, and then he steps closer, taking a seat beside him at the bar. His hands fold, and his elbows rest on the bar, tapping his lips once with the sides of his fingers in thought as he stares forward. "So. How's marital bliss?"
Peter slides his beer sideways, so that it's in front of the sorcerer, since he looks like he could use it. "Great," he says flatly, still looking ahead. "You didn't need backup?"
"I didn't have time," Stephen murmurs, taking up the beer and staring at it. It's about three quarters full, which means Peter's had some. Oh, he's going to enjoy drinking this. He takes a slow sip, then turns in his chair, holding the beer on the counter with a hand while watching the younger man. "Are you very upset with me, Peter?"
"It comes and goes," he says quietly, cracking his knuckles one by one, his eyes intent on the movement. "Right now I'm furious, but some of that might be worry. And, you know, actual fury that I wasn't there to help you." He drops his hands and looks at the other man, taking in that fresh cut. "Hold still. I'll get the first aid kit," he says rising and heading for the bathroom.
There're cuts peppered along Stephen's skin, ones that are starting to bleed through his garb, and are shown by the small cuts in the fabric. So many times he'd come so close to dying. If it hadn't been for the anger of his enemies, he'd have sworn they were toying with him, not trying to kill him at all. But no, they'd sincerely tried to take the top of his skull off at some point, and nothing short of fate being on Stephen's side got him through the encounter. That, and, well, maybe a little bit of skill.
Stephen's silent for the voicing of Peter's anger, drinking his beer and watching as the younger man goes, and comes back. The cape he's wearing tells on him a bit, patting Stephen's bleeding arm hard enough to make him hiss, bringing it, too, to Peter's attention. "Traitor," the sorcerer says over his shoulder at the cape.
"Shirt off," Peter tells him as he start to unpack gauze and ointments and alcohol. He's no doctor, but he's pretty good a patching up these sorts of wounds by now. He and Tony both get them enough in their lines of work. Not the Stark Industries work, the other, more dangerous work they do.
He starts by cleaning each wound he comes across, the lack of shirt making it easier to catalogue the injuries. Then, he bandages them, depending on severity ending with the nasty looking head wound. "Do you have a headache? I have ibuprofen."
Multicolored eyes close for the tending to his wounds, Stephen taking in slow, deep breaths. It feels good, being doctored by the young man, feeling those fingers whispering carefully across his skin. There's absolutely nothing inappropriate about it, but Stephen savors it all the same. When Peter finally speaks again, to ask him if he has a headache, the sorcerer solemnly shakes his head. "No, thank you. This is helping," he says, giving his beer a lift and drinking some. "May I borrow a t-shirt? My shirt is pretty much ruined, and a touch on the gross side, now."
"No problem," Peter says, gathering up the medical supplies and taking them back to the bathroom. He returns with a clean, black t-shirt and hands it to Doc. "It's one of mine, so it might be a little tight on you," he warns him before he puts it on. Peter is a few inches shorter and more slender than the other man who has a bit more muscle on his frame.
Stephen pulls the t-shirt on, then frowns down at himself. "I look like Captain America now. His shirts never fit. You won't tell on me, will you?" he tries for a joke. Before Peter can answer, he's fishing keys out of his pocket, and holding them up to the younger man solemnly. "Keys. To your new lair. It's in the basement of Sanctum Sanctorum. You'll have to come by and see it sometime, whether I'm around or not."
"You planning to be gone a while, Doc?" Peter asks, staring down at the keys and taking them with a serious expression. The penthouse doesn't really have keys, but he's got keys he carries with him to Aunt May's, just in case. He pulls the ring out of his pocket and slides the new keys in place, before tossing the set on the bar.
"No. I wanted it to feel like yours, instead of something I did for you to see when you happen to come over. Just don't touch anything that isn't in the basement," Stephen says lamely. He's pretty sure that didn't even scuff the wall Peter has between them. Then again, he supplied most of the bricks for that wall, by being gone for so long after the wedding. He picks his beer back up and finishes it, just in time for Tony to come swaggering into the penthouse.
"Hey, Cap," Tony murmurs to Strange, taking a look around at the bloody shirt on the floor and the cape posing on the bar counter like one of those French girls next to Peter's keys. Which seemed to have doubled since last time he saw them. Shrugging, he moves on to Peter, giving him a quick kiss. "Did I miss anything?"
"We both did," Peter says, finding a smile for his husband. "Doc swung by after all the fireworks were over for a beer and some patching up," he sums up their meeting so far. "You guys hungry? I've got take out menus," he doesn't figure Stephen wants to go out in public in his too-tight t-shirt. "I also have the makings of fajitas in the fridge, if you don't want Chinese or Indian.
"Oh, Chinese food," Tony perks up, picking up the menu and pouring over it.
"Let him cook, if he wants to," Stephen implores Tony. "His fajitas are absolutely delicious. Almost as great as his street tacos. Have you tried the guacamole he knows how to make?"
"That's nice, Strange," Tony half mutters, mostly ignoring the man.
"You two wrestle it out, and tell me what I'm doing," Peter says, heading into the kitchen, because he's betting Doc will win this round and he'll be making those fajitas. He might as well start chopping and slicing now.
"But, Chinese food…" Tony complains when Peter heads into the kitchen.
"Shut it, Tony. You get to sleep with him. You're giving me this," Stephen says in a hissed whisper.
"Fine. But I'm dicking him down good tonight for this," Tony whispers back.
"...You know he has fantastic hearing, right?" Stephen asks, quirking a smile.
"So that's a yes on fajitas?" Peter asks mildly, already peeling an onion.
"Yes. Do you need any help in the kitchen?" Stephen calls back, because of course now that Tony's made an ass out of himself, he's going to drive it home with some sucking up.
"No. You boys have fun catching up," Peter calls back, already done with the onion and moving on to the green pepper.
Tony fetches himself a beer from behind the bar, then begrudgingly gets one for Strange, too, shoving a lime slice in the bottle before sliding it over to him. "Here. I'd drink some of it for you first, but my saliva just isn't the same, is it?"
"It's really not," Stephen murmurs, taking up the beer and having a drink. Someone's been spying on the security cameras. That's fine. Stephen didn't do anything wrong, and if he had, he wouldn't give a fuck if Tony Stark knew about it.
"I didn't think you'd come around again. You've been gone for, what, six months? Sure, you show up for Team Stark fights, but then you're gone again. No shawarma. Peter has really missed you. And I like it when Peter's happy. So cut the shit, you fucking prick," Tony tells him, standing on the other side of the bar from him and having more beer.
Stephen is saved from replying when Peter hisses out a curse from the kitchen that sounds like pain. He's up in a moment, and dashing into the kitchen, stopping short in the doorway and frowning with concern. "Are you alright, Peter?" he asks.
Tony ducks under Stephen's arm, and is immediately at Peter's side, checking to see what happened. Seeing that Peter must have burned himself, he starts the cool water in the sink, and guides Peter's hand beneath it, murmuring comfort to the man and generally fussing over him.
"I'm okay, guys," Peter says, holding his hand under the water. "But somebody needs to toss the fajitas, while I cool this down. He's touched by their concern, and he gives Tony a quick kiss for fussing over him. He gives Doc a smile that touches his eyes, the latest of his current bout of anger dissipated.
Stephen goes to toss the fajitas, wanting to make himself of some use to the younger man, while Tony continues to fuss over Peter. He tells himself it's good that Tony loves Peter so much and is showing it, instead of letting it make him absolutely, unbearably jealous. Stephen has no right to be jealous. Peter never asked him to love him.
When the burn is soothed by the water, Peter takes over cooking the fajitas and before long, he has them served on plates with trimmings and flour tortillas. "So. Is there any chance whoever tried to take your head off might be coming back to get the other side?" he asks, worried about his friend, especially since he hadn't called for help.
"The forces of darkness are usually after the head of the person that keeps the Time Stone," Stephen drawls, unconcerned. "These particular people won't be coming back, but there's always more."
"Well, that sounds fun," Tony says brightly, tearing off a piece of tortilla and using it to scoop up some fajita pieces and eating them. "How about you let your team actually help you fight off the forces of darkness, instead of, you know, going all cowboy."
"Is that what we're calling fighting for one's life now? Going all cowboy?" Stephen asks. Really, having two sarcastic men in the same room might create a tear in space and time.
"Doc said he didn't have time to sound the alarm. I'm thinking I need to develop some sort of alert system. Kind of like that really old commercial with the old lady who fell down and couldn't get up, but for superheroes," Peter says, already thinking ahead to how he could make it something that each of the team members would carry and be able to use on the fly.
"Did you just-" Stephen begins, staring at Peter as he gawks a bit.
"Yeah, old man, he did," Tony pipes up cheerfully, eating more fajitas. He's really getting a kick out of the look on Strange's face.
"What?!" Peter looks between the two men. "I just said-"
"I know what you said," Stephen says quietly, cutting Peter off. "Thank you for dinner. It was delicious," he adds, wiping his mouth on a napkin and standing. He makes a motion with his hand, and the cloak on the bar whooshes over, settling on his shoulders, dropping his shirt into his waiting palm. The other hand is used to open up a portal, and Stephen is out of there.
"Someone's sensitive about his age," Tony muses, looking a bit delighted, judging by the gleam in his eyes.
"But, I didn't say anything about his age. I just said. Oh." Peter droops, and stares hard down at his plate. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant we need them for the whole team. I was trying to figure out how to make it something Wanda might actually carry, since she doesn't wear a suit."
"Hey, don't worry about him. He's just had a hard day. I'm sure that's it," Tony tries to smooth things over, reaching over to clasp the other man on the shoulder and squeeze it. "Maybe you could make it be like a necklace, or a thing to stick on one's clothing somehow?"
"Yeah. Maybe something like that," Peter says lamely, pushing his food around on his plate. "Hey, Mr. Stark? You think it'll be six months before we see him again?" he asks quietly, worried about not seeing his friend. Sure he doesn't see Ned much any more, but Ned was his childhood best friend. They grew apart, after graduation, which happens sometimes. He feels like Doc is his adulthood best friend, and he misses him terribly, when he's gone for long spans of time.
"I'm not going to let him do that to you again, kid," Tony murmurs decisively, a hand moving to smooth through Peter's hair. "Tomorrow, I'll go talk to him, and set things right. Okay?"
"You don't have to do that, Tony," Peter assures him with a sad smile. "He'll come around when he's damned good and ready. Besides, it's hard for him, I think, to see us so happy together. I don't blame him, if he wants to move on."
"He's your best friend. If he wants to stop being your best friend because you've got a man, then he's a shitty person. You think he's a shitty person? Because I'm hoping he's not, so I'm going to talk to him," Tony insists. As much as he'd love to give into disliking Strange, Strange is good for Peter. It's good to have friends.
"I always had a man. It's just that for two years, he didn't have to see it every day. This is different," Peter tries to excuse the other man, to justify his actions to Tony. "But, if you feel like you need to talk to him, I won't try to stop you or anything. I just don't think it'll help, is all."
Despite Peter's lack of confidence in Tony being able to help, the man decides he'll definitely be going to Strange's place tomorrow to have that talk. So they finish their meal, and tumble into bed soon after. They're both pretty tired, so the love making is slowly done, until they fall asleep in each other's arms, sated.
#
The next day, before work, Tony gets up early and gets ready to go to see Strange. He looks over at Peter who's managed to stay sleeping during Tony's morning routine, but doesn't wake him, just smiling a little to himself. The kid never sleeps enough. He won't wake him.
On the way out, he notices those keys on the bar counter still, and realizes… There must be keys on there to Strange's place. Frowning, and hell bent on testing that theory, Tony picks the keys up and takes them with him. He gets his driver, and off he goes, until he's getting out of the car outside the place on Bleecker. He goes through the keys, and after about the third one, finds the correct one for the front door. "Knew it," Tony grumbles, not sure how he feels about Strange just… giving Tony's husband keys to his place.
As soon as he steps inside, there's a small plaque with a spider emblem on it, and an arrow pointing to the stairs leading down to the basement. "Okay, what kind of freak shit do we have here?" Tony mutters to himself, curious, and heads down into the basement.
The first thing that stands out to him, as he flips on the lights, is the giant TV screen. Tony gives a low whistle, and scans the room further. No love swings. No bondage setups of any kind. No whips, gags, belts, nothing. Just a model of the Death Star made out of Legos in the corner, some gaming table in another corner, bookshelves filled with games and Blu Rays, various gaming systems, and a long bar along the side of the room.
"What a fucking nerd," Tony dismisses the room, though he has to admit, it's perfect for Peter. It's obvious that Strange spent the past six months thinking a lot about the younger man, and working to set up something to lure his friend back into his life. The thing is, Peter would have been in Strange's life, if Strange had just come around once in a while.
So back up the stairs Tony goes, finally calling out, "Hello, anyone home?"
He wanders the first floor, one room turning into another, to the point he knows there's some kind of magic going on, because the house isn't big enough for the labyrinth he's encountering. He goes through libraries and sitting rooms and even what looks like a dojo before he comes to a flight of stairs that leads up. He takes the stairs two at a time, calling out intermittently for Strange, but gets no answer. Maybe the sorcerer isn't actually home right now.
On the second floor, he finds himself in a room full of oddities, with everything from the skeleton of some animal he doesn't recognize to an onyx orb that floats a handspan above it's base. Reaching for the orb, with the intention of tossing it up in the air and catching it, like a baseball, he wraps long fingers around it, and then he begins to shake.
Long minutes pass that feel like an eternity, and he can feel his body stopping, cell by cell, starting with his toes. A cold flush spreads upward, leaving dead paralyzation in its wake, and still he can't let got of the orb.
Then, his eyes glaze over and Tony Stark knows no more, except the name 'Peter' echoing in the last moment his mind is able to produce thought.
#
Stephen steps through a portal and into the kitchen of his home, a smile on his face. Someone's been here. He can feel it.
"Peter?" the sorcerer calls out hopefully, immediately heading down the stairs and into the basement. There's no Peter to be found. Frowning, Stephen goes back up the stairs, and starts looking around. It's definitely not a being of the dark that's come inside, because he'd feel the difference.
"Peter, I told you not to wander around and touch anything!" Stephen says suddenly, beginning to rush through the Sanctum Sanctorum as a cold fear takes him. Something is wrong. His voice can carry throughout the house when he wants it to, and whoever is here isn't answering him. Because… they can't.
Horror crosses Stephen's face when he finds Tony, frozen in place and in time, arm outstretched with the black orb in his hand. There's some measure of relief in knowing that it isn't Peter, but this is almost as terrible, because Tony Stark is Peter's everything. With a grim expression, Stephen knows what he has to do. He reaches forward, and grabs the orb, giving it a hard pull, intent on taking Tony's place.
Except… Nothing happens. The orb seems to be part of Tony's hand now, cold and immobile. Realizing he'd been holding his breath, Stephen lets it out sharply, then curses, letting the orb go. He's going to have to tell Peter about this. He's going to have to let him know that Tony's in frozen in time.
Stepping back and to the side, Stephen throws a portal into the air, then steps through it, into the R&D lab Peter's currently working in. He tries to keep his face carefully neutral. "Peter…" he says softly.
"Ah!" Peter spins, dropping into a defensive stance. It's hard for enemies to sneak up on him, with his spider sense, but drop a well-meaning friend into his midst, and it's a major blind spot.
Almost as soon as he recognizes his friend, he gives a relieved smile and straightens. "Doc! What are you doing in R&D? I'm really glad to see you, but you've never come to see me in my office before," he babbles a little, a happy grin on his face, because his friend didn't stay gone for six months this time.
Oh God. Peter's just so happy and it's to see him. Stephen swallows, and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Peter in a sudden, tight hug. Peter's had to go through so much, and he's so scared this will be that thing that finally breaks his best friend. "Peter, I have something to tell you," he croaks, his voice thick with emotion.
Peter's in shock when Strange throws his arms around him and hugs him tightly. Enough that it takes a second for his arms to tighten around his best friend. There's only one thing that Peter can imagine would provoke such a response from the older man, and that's something that will cause Peter pain. And there's only one thing that would cause Peter the kind of pain that's written on his friend's face now. "What happened? Where is he?" he says hoarsely. He was going to go see Doc this morning, to try and convince him not to disappear again. "Was it a car accident?" How stupid, for Iron Man to go by something so asinine as a car wreck.
"He's in my home. He's not dead, or injured, but…" Stephen takes a deep, shaky breath, then lets it out with more words. "He's frozen in time, for the next hundred years."
Not dead, but close enough to. The next time Tony opens his eyes, it'll be to a world that has long since ceased to have Peter in it. And Peter's never going to... "So, how do we fix it?" he asks, managing to keep his voice steady. "How do we get him back? There's always a way to get him back. He's Tony fucking Stark."
Stephen slowly releases Peter from the hug, now that he's certain the younger man isn't going to faint from the news. "I'm not sure how to get him back, yet, but I'm going to figure something out, I swear it, Peter," he says vehemently, multicolored eyes boring into Peter's. Now he sees what the Ancient One meant when she said Peter would need him again. It's funny though. If he'd never gotten so close to Peter that he'd given him keys to his place, Tony would almost certainly not be in stasis right now.
"Can I see him?" Peter asks, his face blank to cover the bereftness he feels. It feels like steel shutters sliding down over his soul, because it's happened again. Just like some sick part of him always knew it would. A hundred years. That's practically never. Even if he uses Tony's trick of pushing time through himself to keep himself alive for a hundred years, he'd be unrecognizable to his husband, when he woke up.
Stephen nods, his heart aching for Peter, and moves to throw up a portal. A hand takes Peter's wrist, and he walks him through, before the portal closes behind them. Before them, Tony stands just as the sorcerer left him, paralysed in place by the black orb in his outstretched hand.
"I… tried taking it away from him, when I found him like this, but the orb is not moveable by any normal means. I think I might be able to find something to move it, however. Some sort of spell. There must be. It's just a matter of doing the research," Stephen says in a steady voice, wanting, no needing to feed into Peter's hope that there's something that can be done about this.
Except looking at Tony has taken away any hope Peter might have had. Tony's just... not there. He doesn't know how to explain it, but he's looking at a cold, empty vessel. He reaches out a hand to touch softly at his husband's hand, but the flesh is as cold as the ring on his hand. He pulls his hand back and turns away from Used-to-be-Tony. "Take me home," he says in a voice so low it's barely audible to the sorcerer. "I have to figure out what this means for Stark Industries. I want it to still exist, when he wakes up in a hundred years." It's all he can do for him, now. Leave him something that will occupy his time and hopefully give him peace when he awakens.
Stephen doesn't argue with him. There's no use in trying to give the young man hope if he won't have it. The only thing the sorcerer can do is help him through this difficult time, and find a solution for him that gets him his Tony back. "Alright," he says, throwing a portal up into the air, taking Peter by the wrist, and pulling him through. They're in the penthouse living area, instead of Peter's office, just in case Peter needs to break down.
Peter looks around, taking in the familiar interior of the penthouse, until dark eyes light on the bar. He walks over to it with a determined stride and pours himself a tall measure of Tony's Scotch, tossing it back with a grimace. His mind works furiously, until it comes up with a plan of action.
"FRIDAY," he calls out. "Call Pepper. Use Tony's number. She won't pick it up, if I call," he says, his voice hard. FRIDAY chirps out an affirmative, and the number begins to ring.
"I'm not coming back, Tony," Pepper says by way of greeting, when she picks up the phone.
"It's Peter," he says to her in that same hard voice. "Pepper, there's been an accident..." Forget hard, his voice cracks on that last word. He clears his throat to continue. "He's not dead," he starts, and Pepper breathes an audible sigh of relief. "But, he's not coming back. Not for a very, very long time. I need somebody to teach me how to run the company, so it's still around when he wakes up."
"Wakes up? Is he in some kind of coma?" Pepper asks, confused. "I know doctors. The best doctors on the planet. They'll come out for Tony Stark."
"It's not a coma, Pepper. It's... magic," there's a sneer in his voice when he says the word, as if it's the most hated thing in his world, and maybe it is, now. "He'll wake up in a hundred years, and he'll need to have something to wake up to." His voice comes softer and softer as he speaks, like he's losing the wind out of his sails.
"Jesus, Peter. I... I don't know what to say," Pepper tells him, her voice carrying genuine sympathy.
"Say you'll stop working on your tan and help us," Peter implores her. "Just one more time."
"I'll be there Monday," she promises, after a long moment's pause. "Take care until then."
She ends the call, leaving Peter with a bowed head, breathing rapidly through his nostrils. He's not going to lose his shit. He's not.
Stephen hadn't missed the way Peter had sneered out the word magic. He hates magic, now, doesn't he? And Stephen is the sorcerer that brought about the worst magic in the world for his best friend. Shame weighs down on the older man's soul, to the point that he doesn't feel like he even has the right to try to comfort Peter in this moment that he's clearly needed.
But not having the right has never stopped Stephen before, when it comes to Peter.
"I'm sorry," Stephen says hoarsely, swallowing hard. "I'm going to get you your husband back. I'm going to find a way."
"You're sorry," Peter says flatly, raising eyes that blaze to take in the sorcerer's face. "You got me sent back in time two years, and now this. But, you're sorry." His voice rises to near hysteria. "I don't need you to be sorry, Stephen. I need you to be better."
Peter so rarely says Stephen's given name, and now he's said it in a voice that's breaking, and the sorcerer knows it's him that's taking the sledgehammer to this younger man's soul. He wants to flinch away from the anger he sees, no, feels radiating off of Peter, but as much as he knows he deserves it, Peter deserves someone strong enough to take it even more.
"I'll do better. I'll be better, Peter," Stephen says quietly.
Before Strange can even finish speaking, Peter's hit his breaking point. A hand flashes out, knocking the crystal low ball glass from the bar with a tinkling shatter, and then he's falling back, onto the floor with his knees pulled to his chest so he can sob brokenly against his arms. Tony's gone. He falls onto his side, still curled in up in that ball with his hands over his head, like he can protect himself from the reality of it.
Booted feet approach the sobbing young man, and then Stephen is moving to scoop him up into his arms. He settles down onto the floor with him, and just holds him, a distant look on his face as he stares forward, multicolored eyes going through possible scenarios from what little information he knows about the black orb, dismissing some as he plays them through his mind, and cataloging others to try later, when the end result he hypothesizes is inconclusive. It's not quite as good as actually experimenting, but it's a start that he can do now, even as he holds Peter.
Peter sobs, clinging to Doc's shoulders, and Stephen holds him in silence. Eventually, the younger man quiets in his arms, his head lolling to the side against Stephen's shoulder as exhaustion and sleep overcome him.
Stephen stands, still holding him, and stares at the master bedroom, hesitating. Perhaps waking up amid his husband's scent isn't the kindest thing he can do for his friend. So, instead, he lays him on the sofa, and goes to the guest room to fetch a blanket, wrapping it around his friend. Then he leaves to begin the work of undoing the spell that holds Tony captive.
#
Stephen and Peter are back to sharing breakfast and dinner together, with lunch taken separately, given their work schedules. It's kind of like Mexico, all over again, except Peter is less animated, less alive than he was, even then. He listens to Strange talk about his latest experiments without hope or agenda, rising dutifully at the end of each meal, shaking his hand, and returning to meet Pepper after, so he can learn to take over the company.
After the first week of both men working nearly non stop, Stephen shakes Peter's hand after dinner, then keeps gripping it when the man goes to let go and get back to work. "Wait," he says gently, searching Peter's eyes. "You're going to run yourself into the ground, at this rate. We've got to take breaks sometimes. Okay?"
"What did you have in mind?" Peter asks cautiously, carefully pulling his hand back and folding them behind his back. He's wearing a suit that would have made Tony proud, and maybe a little jealous, but that's just his uniform now.
"The beach. Rico with his saintly behavior. The mechanical bull. Or, hell, you could come to the lair I built for you that you still haven't seen. We could do anything, Peter," Stephen tries to coax him. "Please consider something. Anything. I'm open to whatever suggestions you might make."
"I don't have time for a Mexican vacation," Peter dismisses. He thinks about the so called lair that Stephen built for him, but then he thinks about its proximity to Used-to-be-Tony. He hasn't been able to bear going back since the day Tony was put into that stasis. Swallowing hard, he puts forth another option. "You could help me find a place to live," he says finally. It's a break inasmuch as it's not work, at least.
"I can do that," Stephen says after a moment of silence. "Whatever you need, Peter." Peter wanting to live somewhere else is a sure sign that the younger man has given up on ever seeing Tony again. But… Stephen will take any distraction at this point to give Peter some relief. Besides, maybe living somewhere else while they work on their respective tasks will help both men relax more. It's not as if Peter can't simply move back into the penthouse, once Stephen's gotten Tony back for him. Then life can go back to normal.
"I just can't keep seeing his stuff every day," Peter says, as if the older man had questioned his decision to find another place to live. "And, I can't bear to get rid of it. Which is stupid. In a hundred years, it'll all look like an anachronism. But, maybe if the penthouse is exactly the way he remembers it, it'll help him when he wakes up." From the sound of things, Peter's planning to close the penthouse entirely.
"I don't think it's stupid at all," Stephen says quietly. "I think you're doing the best you can with this situation." He clears his throat, then asks, "Would you like to get started now, with finding a new place for you to live?"
Peter hesitates. There are a dozen things he'd planned to get done tonight, but Pepper isn't actually waiting on him to finish, so he could do something different. "Sure," he says after a long moment's thought. "It's a little bit late to talk to a real estate agent tonight, but we can look up some places on my laptop. Get a feel for what's available."
"I think that sounds like an excellent start," Stephen tells him, giving him a slight smile. He follows Peter to the laptop, then to the couch, where Peter sits and he settles down beside him as the younger man boots up his computer with it on the coffee table. He slouches heavily against the couch, exhausted, but welcoming this distraction, and the extra time it affords him to spend with his friend.
Peter's just as tired, and within half an hour of looking at apartments near Stark Tower, he finds himself dozing off, his head falling back against the sofa, then lolling over to rest against Doc's shoulder. It's obvious that he's still sleeping on the couch every night, with the blanket and his pillow shoved to one end of the seat.
Stephen lets his eyes close once Peter's fallen asleep. He doesn't want to move, so he simply stays where he's at, and lets sleep take him as well. Slowly, his head tips to the side, and rests against Peter's, the men resting there as the hours pass.
#
Three weeks later, Peter's closed on an apartment that isn't as nice as the penthouse. It isn't even the nicest place he and Doc looked at, but it's closer to the Tower than the nicer places, and that means more to Peter than the extra bedrooms or the view. He hires a decorator to come in and make it look like a functional home, because the only thing Peter's ever actually decorated was a dorm room. Even the penthouse had been decorated by Pepper, long before Peter got there.
It takes the decorator another two weeks to work her magic, and then Peter's confronted with his first night in a bed that he didn't share with his husband. It's a little hard to wrap his head around living alone, because he's never actually done it, so he invites Doc to have a housewarming party with him. He has every intention of getting the man too drunk to open a portal and making him sleep in a guest room. At least for the first night.
"I brought pie," Stephen says, stepping out of the portal and holding up the cherry pie he clearly bought and didn't bake himself, judging by the box it's in. "Since, well, it's a housewarming party, and I think you're supposed to bring gifts to those." He glances around, even if it's not the first time he's seen the inside of this place, before his gaze settles on Peter.
"It's not much of a party, but thanks for the pie," Peter grunts, going to the bar to get the other man a beer. "Hey, did you ever hear that really old song, 'Cherry Pie?' HOMER," he calls out to one of the Stark AIs that he commandeered for his own. "Play Cherry Pie."
"I love this song," Stephen murmurs, chuckling quietly over Peter calling it really old. He takes the pie to the kitchen and sets it on the counter, then comes back in time to take the beer from Peter. "Thank you," he says, having a sip, and settling on the couch. "Did you feel like teaching me some moves on one of your fighting games, or doing something else?"
"I don't have anything planned," Peter says sheepishly, moving to the television and the gaming console to turn them on and insert the game disc. Then, he moves to the couch, next to Doc and drops down, handing the other man his controller. "Okay," he says as the game loads. "Pick your character, and I'll teach you some of the moves. I doubt you'll play enough to memorize moves for all the characters, but you can at least have a few go-to characters to play."
Stephen picks a character and listens avidly as Peter begins telling him the combos he needs to learn as they play. At some points, the older man just laughs and spams the kick button, but mostly he's sincerely trying to get things right. He plays until his beer is gone, and then gives the empty bottle a shake, the lime inside rattling around.
"Want to drink some tequila next, Peter?" Stephen asks the younger man.
"Always," Peter says, climbing off the sofa to go and set up the shots at the small bar he'd had installed. It's not as impressive as the full bar in the penthouse, but he's working with a lot less space here. Remembering that Doc likes the lime and salt part of shots, he gets them ready, then waits for the other man to join him.
Stephen grins at that reply, and goes into the kitchen with his empty beer bottle to rinse it and drop it in the glass recycling. Then he joins Peter at the bar, sitting on one of the stools in front of him. "The decorator really did a fantastic job with this place," he murmurs, before licking his own hand and sprinkling the salt on the damp skin, then passing the salt shaker to Peter.
"Yeah, well, I paid a small fortune for the package where they didn't fuck it up," Peter says dismissively, without looking around. He could care less about this apartment, except that it doesn't have the ghost of Tony hanging over it. "How are things on Bleecker?" He asks carefully, wondering if Tony's still standing there like a statue or if he's been moved, but unable to actually ask the question.
"Things are as quiet as you might expect. I made Tony comfortable. Laid him down in a bed in a guest room, put a pillow under his head, and a blanket pulled up to his arms," Stephen says softly, not picking up his shot quite yet, waiting to see how Peter takes the mention of Tony.
"He'll appreciate that, when he wakes up," Peter says quietly, fingers toying with the rim of his glass. "I appreciate that. Thank you, Stephen," He stares down at his glass for a moment that seems like it might last forever, then downs the shots and makes his way to the window, to stare out at the view he doesn't really have anymore. He wonders idly, if somebody will think to keep Tony dusted, like the rest of the furniture in the room, and he feels sick for thinking of it.
"You're welcome." Stephen. He called him Stephen. It makes the sorcerer's heart skip a beat, and then he's downing his shot as well. Huh. He'd forgotten about the salt and lime. Dusting the salt off his hand, he watches as Peter makes his way to the window, multicolored eyes focusing on the ones in the reflection. They look so sad, and Peter looks so pale.
"I planned to get you drunk enough to sleep over," Peter says suddenly, his voice subdued. "I thought I couldn't stand being alone here tonight, but now I wonder if inflicting my company on anybody is the right thing to do." He's become so cold, since Tony's been gone, the animation of his face and voice all but gone, traded for something very hard, almost steely.
Stephen stands up from the bar stool, and makes his way over to Peter, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't need to be drunk to sleep over. I'm your friend," he explains to Peter, looking out the window with him now. "Your company isn't an infliction. It's something I look forward to." Something he craves. Oh, but Stephen doesn't dare say that. He hasn't had nearly enough tequila for confessions.
Peter nods once, to show he's heard, but otherwise is still, his mind churning over the idea of Tony as an object. Forever at rest, until somebody moves him. Collecting dust, but not creating any of his own.
He needs another drink, if he's going to get through the night without losing his shit.
"Hope hurts too much, doesn't it? It's just easier to decide there isn't any," Stephen says slowly. Sure, he's about to open a festering wound here, but it needs to be done. It needs to be drained, and medicated, and healed. He might not be able to do that in a night, but he can at least try to give the other man some relief from his pain by talking it out.
"There's nothing to hope for, anymore," Peter says coolly, going back to the bar. "I'm going to have a glass of Scotch. Would you like one?" He slides behind the bar and grabs the crystal decanter, pouring a measure into a glass for himself and another for Doc without waiting for an answer.
"You didn't have time to heal, after Mexico, before this happened. And now this…" Stephen shakes his head, and wanders back to the bar, taking up the glass of Scotch Peter pours and having a drink. It goes down smooth, and he stares at the glass after, his voice a little thicker, his drawl a little slower. "There is hope, Peter. I'm the Sorcerer Supreme. If anyone can get your husband out of that stasis, it's me."
"I believe that if anybody could do it, you could," he says finally, after a few swallows of the Scotch. "I just don't believe it can be done. Tony and I were never meant to grow old together. We tried to cheat Time and Time didn't like it. So, she fought back. And when we beat her, she fought back harder. We're not meant to win against Time, Stephen. None of us are."
"Maybe it's not about fighting Time, Peter," Stephen says slowly, setting his Scotch down. He untucks the Eye of Agamotto from his button down shirt, and lets it hang heavily over the front of the material. Hands shift and spread in front of the pendant, and it opens, the Time Stone floating out of the container between his hands. Multicolored eyes don't leave Peter's for a long moment, then they're just staring in the direction of the other man's eyes, unseeing, as his brain races through possibilities.
Peter watches with narrowed eyes as Doc starts doing something that doesn't seem to be happening inside this room. His expression is blank, but Peter can be patient while he does whatever he needs to with the Time Stone. Besides, he has a practically full glass of Scotch to get through while he waits.
"Fourteen," Stephen says slowly, before his eyes focus on Peter, and he floats the Time Stone back into safe keeping. "There are fourteen possibilities in which Tony returns to you. I can't see how to execute each one, but they're there, waiting to be discovered." He steps closer to Peter, and plucks his own glass of Scotch from the bar counter, having a drink.
Fourteen out of what, millions? Peter concentrates on the millions to keep hope from rearing its awful head.
But, that's not what Doc wants from him, is it? He closes his eyes and bows his head, as if trying to wrap his head around that proclamation, and maybe he still is, in a way. Certainly he hadn't expected the number to be as high as that. "Thank you," he says, letting his voice come out thick. "Maybe we'll get lucky, then. Maybe he'll come back."
"I'm a sorcerer of the mystical arts, Peter. I can see through someone bullshitting me, but I do appreciate the thought behind the effort," Stephen says mildly, having more of his Scotch. "How about this: You keep being the poetry that you are, and I'll keep being Mary Sunshine of the Hopeful."
"Maybe I used to be poetry. Now, I'm a statement. There's nothing hopeful or pretty about me. I'm just a mission; to keep the world and the company going for Tony to wake up to. Which he will do, in ninety nine years, ten months, and two weeks." Peter drops the hopeful act and looks down at his glass of Scotch.
Stephen clears his throat, and begins to recite a poem he's read before:
"Poetry,
I feel is made up of three things
Love
Lost love
And despair."
He pauses to take another taste of his Scotch, then murmurs, "If that isn't you, Peter, I don't know what is."
"Fine, I'm a fucking poem," Peter mutters down into his drink. "All pitiable and morose because my husband just keeps being taken away from me." He shakes his head, and takes another drink. "Go ahead and see me however you want. I know the truth."
"I don't pity you, Peter Stark," Stephen says quietly. No, he loves the man. But no one wants to hear that, least of all Peter. And considering the hell he's put Peter through, the younger man deserves better than his love.
"Good," Peter lets out a harsh breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "I hate being pitied. Even Pepper pities me. It's the whole reason she took the job; so she can see how miserable I am, every day. Only, she doesn't get what she wants, because fuck her," he snarls out.
The harsh breath and snarling captures Stephen's attention, and has him setting his glass back down on the bar. Peter's gone feral in his grief, and maybe it's because, in part, Stephen has been too insecure or too much of a coward to give him what he needs. So the sorcerer coaxes quietly, "Come here, Peter."
"I'm fine where I am," he says dismissively, leaning against the bar. His mind is still on Pepper. On everybody who wants to see him lay down and die in his grief. On everybody afraid to act happy in his presence. On everybody waiting for him to fail or fall apart. Fuck them all.
"Come here, Peter," Stephen repeats, a low growl in his voice. It's very faint, but it's there, even if there's no anger behind the words. Instead, they're simply firmer, and the sorcerer's stare at the younger man is steady as he watches him contemplate all the reasons he has to be filled with hate.
"Or what?" Peter asks, glaring at him in return. "Are you going to bend me over your knee and spank me, Stephen? Fight me? What will you do, if I simply stay right here with my glass of Scotch?" Fury races through the younger man's veins, now that he's let himself get on that track.
"Do you want to be spanked, Peter?" Stephen asks the man, his blood spiking hot with the visual, especially combined with the man saying his given name.
"No, but I'm itching for a fight," Peter bites out the words before he tosses back the rest of his Scotch.
"One of those is had more easily than the other," Stephen says, going about rolling up the sleeves of his button down just a little bit more. "It wouldn't be so much fighting me, as just another form of a spanking."
"You cocky motherfucker," Peter hisses out the words. Fuck suits and weapons. He's going to enjoy this little brawl.
The Eye of Agamotto is tucked back into his shirt, and Stephen moves his hands in rapid succession after that, forming raw energy between his palms. Usually they're used to make a weapon or shield of some kind, but instead of that, he just barely shapes a section of it with his right hand, before throwing it at Peter. It chases the man, even as Peter goes to dodge it, wraps around his neck, and sends him slamming against the wall near the bar, pressing tight against his throat to hold him in place there.
Another quick series of motions of his hand send up more bindings, stepping closer as he does so, until arms and legs are pinned to the wall as well, and Stephen dismisses the rest of the energy between his hands to return to the Source. He stops close to Peter, his brows lifting. "Saying I'm cocky would suggest I don't have the skill to back up my words, Peter."
"Yeah, you're a regular badass, when you're taking on an unarmed man," Peter hisses out. "But, if I'd had my web shooters, you never would have made the first energy bolt." He'd hoped for a fight, something skin on skin, and gotten more fucking magic.
"Is that what you need, Peter?" Stephen asks, pulling the energy binding away from Peter's throat first, and dismissing it with a flick of long, elegant fingers. "To cover me in webbing?" Fingers itch to touch, but they keep their movements perfuntionary, pulling the other four bindings from Peter's body all at once with a few motions, then dismissing them as well.
"If I needed that, I would have web shooters on," Peter bites out, red in the face over how easily he'd been defeated. Iron Man would have lasted longer. Team Stark has definitely been left with the inferior Mr. Stark to lead them. So has Stark Industries. "I wish I could take his place," Peter says, surprising himself when he does. The anger dissipates, leaving him with a crushing emptiness. "The world needs him. And, I'm just a cheap substitute."
"The world needs Tony Stark," Stephen agrees with the younger man. "The whole world." As he breathes out the words, he stares at Peter's face in a reverent sort of way, because he's looking at his whole world in that moment. "You're not the cheap substitute for Tony Stark, Peter. I am. If anyone needs to take his place, it's me."
And maybe that's what was missing this whole time, after the initial attempt to take the orb from Tony. Stephen hasn't been looking into possible solutions that include sacrificing himself for the other man. It's so simple. He'd thought of it, then forgotten it. But that's it. That has to be the key.
"That's not funny, Stephen," Peter says sharply, the color draining from his face. Because he's about to find himself without his husband and his best friend and there won't be anything good left of him, if that happens.
"I love you, Peter," Stephen breathes out, fear coursing through his system. He's about to leave, and step into a world that has no Peter Stark. It's terrifying, but a quiet sort of acceptance fills him. "I know the spell, now. I know how to get you your husband back."
"No," Peter says with a kind of desperation. "You don't. You know how to lose yourself, trying to get him back. I'll be alone."
"I didn't say I know a way to try to get your husband back, Peter. I said I know the spell. I know how. If there is no sacrifice, there is no end result. That's how the spell works." Then, he thinks of the thing to say that will hopefully calm Peter's fears. "If I'm wrong, it'll just be another experiment that doesn't work, and we're left with what we have now." He smiles slightly.
"I don't want you to go. I can't ask that of you," Peter's voice becomes more desperate, and tears threaten. "There has to be another way."
Stephen reaches carefully, and cups the back of Peter's head, before bowing his own to press a kiss to his brow. "This is it. This is the way."
Peter is silent, his throat too full of tears to make words as he presses into that brow kiss and nods softly. He'll live with this guilt for a long time, letting Stephen sacrifice himself to bring Tony back.
But, he can deal with the guilt, if Tony's here to help him.
"When?" he manages to choke out the word, fear and dread filling him, because he knows these are his last few minutes with his best friend.
"It's just a few words, and the only component necessary is myself. I could do it at any time," Stephen murmurs, straightening, letting his fingers whisper through Peter's hair, before that hand falls down at his side.
"It's not fair," Peter says hoarsely. "It should be me, not you. It'll have less impact on the world, if it's me."
"If anyone could do it, I'd pick a nice, lovely forces of evil type of guy to throw in Tony's place," Stephen points out logically. Then he's gritting his teeth, and staring steadily at Peter. "If you're so unimportant, then why are all these very important men falling at your feet?"
"You got me there, Doc. I never could figure that one out," Peter says, trying for a joke, but falling short of actually laughing.
"I have a small request," Stephen says softly in the next moment. "I would like to hear you say my given name, just one more time. Please."
Tears fill Peter's eyes, then, acceptance finally settling over his face. He steps forward to wrap strong arms around his best friend and whispers thickly. "Thank you, Stephen. I love you, and I want you to know that when you wake up, not a day will have gone by that I didn't say your name."
"I love you, Peter Stark," Stephen says quietly, long arms wrapping around his best friend in return as peace fills him with the other man's words. The fear simply melts away. This is right. This is what needs to be done.
Long seconds pass in which Stephen soaks in the other man's embrace, and then he reaches for Peter's wrist, curling fingers around it as he turns to stand beside him instead. His other hand comes up, and throws a portal up into the air, leading to the guest room where Tony resides. He steps through it, and tugs Peter along, letting go after they've passed through.
Careful hands pull back the covers on Tony, and then he picks the man up, his body as stiff as a statue. He lays the man down on the floor, then kneels beside him, as if he's about to meditate. "Step back until it's finished, Peter," Stephen tells the younger man, multicolored eyes lifted to take in Peter just one more time.
Peter steps forward to let his fingers ruffle through Stephen's hair, then bends at the waist to kiss the crown of his head, the same way Aunt May always did for him, when he was small and scared. There doesn't seem to be any fear on Doc's face, but Peter's plenty scared, and Aunt May isn't around to do the honors. Then, he steps back, until his shoulders brush the wall and nods at the man.
Stephen's eyes close a moment with the affection, and then open again as Peter steps back, focusing on the orb. He reaches out with his right hand, and begins reciting words in some long dead language, too soft to be clearly audible. He doesn't think Peter can take his place if he tried at some point later, but just in case, he's not going to hand the younger man the spell to do it. A warm glow overtakes Stephen's body, the brightest point at his hand, and he keeps whispering as he gently removes the orb from Tony's palm. He brings the orb to his lap, so his hands fold beneath it, cupping it, and with the final word, he lets his eyes close.
It seems like an eternity, and he can feel his body stopping, cell by cell, starting with his toes. A cold flush spreads up Stephen's body, leaving dead paralyzation in its wake, and still he won't let got of the orb.
Then, Stephen Strange knows no more, except the name 'Peter' echoing in the last moment his mind is able to produce thought.
