A/N - written for the IronStrange Big Bang 2021. Gorgeous artwork done by lantaniel can be found on their tumblr - seriously, you should go look it up. It's adorable and I love it!
The next time Wong insisted on taking his bi-annual vacation, Stephen was going to remind him of this incident.
The vacation itself wouldn't have been a problem – they were sorcerers, damn it; they had sling rings and the ability to portal anywhere in the world and back again in seconds – except Wong had decided that the best vacation spot was in another dimension. One that only allowed outside portals to form at very specific points and at very specific times.
Neither of which was here and now.
Thus, Doctor Stephen Strange was boxed in at the end of a very smelly alley, doing his best to not be overcome by half a dozen extremely inept alien teenagers who were apparently on their own vacation.
They looked, to Earth eyes, sort of like a Picasso painting, with edges and lines and flat surfaces that absolutely did not belong to living, breathing beings. It also meant that they had a greater chance of blindsiding Stephen with their own version of spells because to hide an arm from his view, all they had to do was turn sideways.
As though to prove his own point to himself, another barrage of strangely glittery balls flew at him. Stephen hastily conjured another set of mandalas to bounce them back, but one of them was just too far to the side and managed to ricochet itself around the shield, hitting him squarely in the bicep and instantly spreading all over him.
One of the aliens squawked in triumph, pointing at him. The other aliens made noises that Stephen assumed was laughter and catcalls. The glittery stuff didn't hurt, just tingled a bit as though his entire body suddenly had an attack of pins and needles, so whilst the aliens were distracted jeering at his misfortune, Stephen made his move.
A tornado swept towards the teens, whilst an energy whip in each hand forced them all to jump backwards – right into a portal that Stephen had opened up. The aliens dropped out of sight, high-pitched screeches of alarm making Stephen's ears ring. He closed the portal with a sense of smug satisfaction. Let them explain that to their parents! he thought, dismissing the rest of his spells.
He was just about to portal himself back to the Sanctum for a much-needed shower when the tingling feeling abruptly intensified. All of his joints locked up and his muscles simultaneously turned to liquid. Stephen collapsed to the floor, unable to catch himself. The tingling was getting sharper, now, as though somebody was sticking incredibly sharp needles in every single pore in his body. If he'd been able to unlock his jaw, Stephen would have screamed.
He'd never been so grateful to pass out.
He knew something was wrong the instant he snapped back to awareness. He'd been lying in a crumpled heap before, but despite still being on the ground – a much cleaner surface than it had been – the layout of his body felt wrong.
His senses didn't seem to be working correctly, either. His nose was overwhelmed by all the scents in the air, and his ears felt as if they were twitching, they were picking up so many sounds. Some of the noises sounded like they were right above him, which didn't seem right either.
With a low groan, Stephen forced his eyes open.
His vision wasn't right, either. Everything seemed… duller, and flatter, and there was something else wrong with the colours around him, although he couldn't have said what if his life depended on it. He seemed to have lost his far vision, too – everything past a certain point was blurry and indistinct.
With another groan that sounded far too close to a whine for his own comfort, Stephen went to lift a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
But what came into view was not his hand.
Stephen startled at the furry paw that appeared to be approaching his face and turned to look for the dog it belonged to.
He was alone.
Oh, no…
Stephen was – had been – a doctor. A top-notch neurosurgeon. Eidetic memory or not, he was an intelligent man in his own right, one capable of giving even Tony Stark a run for his money. It was, therefore, incredibly easy to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
The paw was his. The dog it belonged to was him.
When I get my hands on those aliens again—
With a huff, Stephen shook his head. The aliens were unfortunately beyond him at this point. Even if they were still at the point where he'd dropped them, he had no way of opening up another portal to get there. He had to get back to the Sanctum. Wong was away but there should be at least a couple of apprentices around that he could get help from.
He turned his head to take stock of himself. His clothing hadn't survived the transformation, but the Cloak of Levitation had. He blinked as it waved a corner of itself at him and then reached out the same corner to stroke his head. Stephen received the very strong impression that if the Cloak could speak, it would have been cooing Good boy! at him.
Can you understand me? he thought very hard at it, but the Cloak apparently couldn't as it merely continued to stroke him. To be honest, the sensation was quite nice, but Stephen didn't have time for it.
Huffing again, he rose to his feet – er, paws – and stretched, testing to see how this body worked. He'd never attempted personal transformations before, into anything, although every year Kamar-Taj had several students that tried it and got stuck. Thankfully, the alien's spell appeared to work the same way as the Mystic Arts' one did, as Stephen still had his own, human intelligence.
Of course, he realised as he went to take a step forward and almost faceplanted back onto the ground, that didn't help him any when it came to having to control four legs.
Anyone looking into the alley would no doubt have been very surprised at the sight that met their eyes, for a dog was walking in circles, jumping, pirouetting, chasing its own tail and bending down to examine its own paws, all while wearing a flowing red cape.
By the time Stephen thought he'd worked out how this canine body moved, he was sitting in the middle of the alley, panting hard. He desperately wanted a drink, and there were a couple of puddles close by that were calling his name, but he wasn't stupid enough – or that desperate – that he was willing to drink from a puddle in a New York alley.
Right, upwards and onwards. Sitting here isn't exactly relieving me of my new fur coat.
Standing up, Stephen gave himself a final, full-bodied shake and set off for the entrance to the alley. He still had to be careful about where he was putting his paws, but at least he didn't look like he was drunk anymore.
Emerging onto the bustling New York street, however, he wished he were drunk. That might at least have gone some way to explaining the fact that, yet again, something was not right.
It wasn't even his vision this time, although he'd finally worked out that the problem there was that he wasn't seeing the colour red anymore. Well, no, that wasn't true; it wasn't his vision itself but rather what he was seeing. Or not seeing.
Like the fact that nobody had a cell phone in their hands. Or the fact that the clothes people were wearing was different in some way. He didn't follow fashion much, but even he could tell that everything had a vague 'retro' air about it all. Not quite the wild and over the top disaster that had been fashion in the '80s, but close enough that suddenly the '80s didn't feel as far away as they should have done.
"What the hell?" Stephen wondered to himself, and startled as it came out as a grumbled growl. The Cloak, lying prone across his back, rippled comfortingly. Or warningly; it was a bit hard to tell. Whichever it was, it knocked Stephen out of his stunned paralysis, and he began trotting down the street in the direction of the Sanctum.
The journey did nothing to soothe the sense of dread that was settling into the pit of his stomach. There were buildings missing from the skyline, and others that he didn't recognise.
The worst shock, however, came when he turned a corner and his eyes fell on the World Trade Centre.
Forgetting absolutely everything else, Stephen came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk, uncaring of the pedestrians who cursed and stumbled over and around him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the towers that were stretching up into the sky.
Shit! he thought, wildly. Shit, shit, shit! Damn those aliens!
They'd thrown him back in time.
The Cloak had jolted him out of his panicked stupor by subtly tugging at his neck until he stumbled out of the flow of pedestrians and tourists and into a stairwell leading down to a restaurant. There, Stephen crouched on the stairs, his eyes level with the sidewalk, and shivered and panted in distress.
This was much, much worse than he'd originally thought. Given his thoughts about the fashion, and the fact that the Trade Towers were still standing, then he was somewhere in the '90s. A good thirty years out of his time and without the Time Stone to help him get back. He had no idea what the situation at the Sanctum had been thirty years ago. He didn't know if Master Drumm was here. He didn't even know if Drumm was a sorcerer yet, let alone a Master.
The Ancient One would still be around – obviously; although the thought of being able to see his mentor again made his chest squeeze with both dread and anticipation – but she spent her time in Kamar-Taj. Stephen would have to convince whoever was Master of the New York Sanctum to fetch her.
Thoughts of the Ancient One and the last time he'd seen her brought another thought. Was Mordo with the Order right now? Was Kaecilius? What if he could…?
The Cloak tightened around his throat and held it for several long seconds before letting go. Stephen couldn't help the whine that his canine body let out, but he recognised what the Cloak was trying to tell him – he absolutely could not interfere with the timelines. If Mordo and Kaecilius were in the Order, or even if they weren't right now, he couldn't beg the Ancient One to throw them out or deny them entrance.
He just hoped he didn't come across them, otherwise he might bite them.
Heaving a resigned sigh, Stephen pulled himself together and resumed his trek towards the Sanctum, only having to backtrack once when a shortcut that he'd taken thousands of times turned out not to have been created yet. When he reached Bleeker Street, however, he found himself frozen yet again.
The Sanctum was gone!
"What the hell?" Stephen demanded, which came out in a sharp yap. Why was the Sanctum gone? It had stood in New York – or what had passed for New York before New York existed – for centuries. It should be still right here! But no amount of looking, or sniffing, caused 177a Bleeker Street to appear before him.
Stymied, he sat himself down on the sidewalk at where the bottom of the steps should be. Is it because I'm a dog? he wondered. Or the fact that technically I'm not a sorcerer yet in this time?
Either way, it didn't matter. Stephen couldn't see the Sanctum, so he couldn't get in. He could maybe wait until the sorcerers had to come out to fight something, but he had no way of knowing when that would be, or even where. The odds of something mystical happening close enough for him to discover and get to were astronomical, and not in his favour.
"Aw, pretty boy!" a voice suddenly cooed from behind him, making Stephen startle. He hadn't noticed the pedestrian approaching him. "Such a gorgeous boy. Are you lost, fella?" Hands reached out to stroke around his neck, searching for a collar.
Shit! Stephen ducked away from the enquiring hands and took off running down the street. He needed somewhere to hide, somewhere to regroup and come up with a new plan, since the Order was clearly not going to be able to help him right now. He had no idea what the leash laws currently were in the city, but a dog in a cape was bound to draw all sorts of attention that he didn't want or need.
Which was naturally when he bowled somebody right over.
Both Stephen and the pedestrian went sprawling over the sidewalk, the former yelping and the latter spewing a string of curses as a cup of coffee met its demise.
"God damn it, I just got this suit back from the drycleaners," the young man complained as he glared down at himself. He looked up at Stephen, obviously about to scold the dog for running him over, but then paused and, slowly, began to frown in confusion instead. "What the hell…?" he asked.
Stephen stared back. Tony Stark. He had somehow managed to run into and knock over a young Tony Stark. Very young; the man didn't look older than mid-twenties at the very most. However, of all the people he was going to run into here in the past, if he couldn't have the Ancient One, then Tony Stark was probably a good close second. He concentrated hard and began wagging his tail, lowering his head to look up apologetically at Stark.
"What – the – fuck?" Stark said, flatly. "A dog wearing a cape. And I thought I'd seen all the weirdness New York had to offer already. Jesus, what the fuck was in that baggie."
Baggie? Oh… Stephen's tail drooped. That's right; Stark had gone slightly – okay, more than slightly – off the rails after his parents' deaths, hadn't he? Drugs, drinking and sleeping around had been the entirety of Stark's life at this point, except the odd occasion when he threw a new weapon into production.
Stephen heaved a sigh and rested his head on his paws, watching mournfully as Stark did some mournful staring of his own at the coffee he'd dropped. "And that was the last of the good beans, too," said Stark, sadly, to nobody in particular. The crowds gingerly stepping around both them and the puddle of coffee didn't even give them a second glance.
A loud piercing ring made both Stark and Stephen jump. Stephen couldn't help but stare as Stark reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an incredibly old phone that looked as though it was second cousin to the first Nokias. It looked more like something Stark would have set on fire rather than used, but then Stephen had to remind himself that he was in the '90s now – this was probably the absolute pinnacle of cell phone tech right now.
"Obie!" Stark said, relatively cheerfully. He didn't get a chance to say anything else, though, as the person on the other end of the phone immediately began speaking so loudly that even Stephen could hear it, although he couldn't make out the words. "No, I— No— Obie, ju— Yes— Yes, but— Bu—" Stark sighed and his expression fell. "Okay, Obie, I'll be right there," he muttered and hung up with a fierce press of the button.
That had been, Stephen had to admit, one of the best things about flip phones – the ability to really feel as though you were hanging up on someone.
Stark sighed again and clambered to his feet. Stephen scrambled up as well; he had to go with Stark. Stark was likely his best chance at getting in touch with the Sanctum, and it was possible that his drugged state would make things easier as he'd perhaps be less likely to question a dog and a Cloak communicating with him.
"'s okay," Stark assured Stephen, patting him rather roughly on the head. "It was nice running into you." He stepped around Stephen and began striding off in the direction he'd been heading before, his gait only a little off and only if you concentrated very hard. Stephen didn't like to think what it said about Stark's life that he was already a high-functioning drug user.
Trying to stay far back enough so that Stark wouldn't notice him yet close enough that people would think he belonged to Stark, Stephen began padding after him.
Today had not started off well for Tony, waking up with an epic hangover and comedown combined and barely enough of his 'magic powder' left to take the edge off, and now, with the loss of his coffee, it did not seem to be getting any better. Unfortunately, Obie was demanding his presence in the office for… something or other, so Tony couldn't even just give up on the day, go back to bed and try again tomorrow.
With his ears still ringing from Obie's scolding, and the need for a hit of caffeine – or something stronger – itching through his veins, Tony made his way in what he thought was the direction of the Stark Industries building. He tried not to spend too much time in New York, so he wasn't quite certain that he was heading the right way. But if he got lost enough, or late enough, then maybe Obie would just send a car for him.
Wait a sec, why don't I just call for a car…?
Tony abruptly came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk and smacked his forehead. Something else smacked into the back of his legs at the same moment, and Tony almost went sprawling on the sidewalk again. He staggered forward, pinwheeling his arms to stay upright, and turned to see what had almost toppled him over again.
It was the dog.
And not just a different dog, though that would have been unlikely enough, but the exact same dog, cape and all.
"Are you following me?" Tony demanded, scowling at it.
To his surprise, the dog sat down with a huff, and then actually nodded its head at him!
Tony gaped at the dog for what was probably far too long, wondering if perhaps that bit of powder he'd hoovered up this morning had been far more potent than he realised. "No," he said, finally, closing his eyes and shaking his head. This was not happening. Sure, maybe the dog was following him because it thought he had food of some kind for it, but there was absolutely no way that a literal dog was trying to communicate – and succeeding! – with him. "I'm hallucinating," Tony told the dog with relief. "That's all; you didn't actually nod at me, I just think you did. Good boy." He reached out and clumsily patted the dog on the head.
The dog let out a grumbling sound, and Tony had no idea what it actually did in the real world, but his hallucination of it rolled its eyes. He'd had no idea doggy eyes could do that – but, of course, that was the entire point of a hallucination. It couldn't do that.
"I've got to go now," he informed the dog, and started off again. Obie would kill him if he missed yet another presentation meeting with the Board of Directors. Not that he contributed much, or anything, but the Board were a bunch of old fogeys and appreciated the pageantry of having him there, even if all they did was complain and ignore him.
He just wished he'd been able to have his coffee to get him through the ordeal.
"Um, sir? Excuse me… Sir?"
Tony spun around at the tentative voice of the receptionist, and almost fell over the dog – again. He scowled at it this time and kicked out. It hastily backed up, ears and tail drooping, but remained firmly in his vicinity.
"What the hell?" Tony demanded. "Why are you following me? I don't have anything for you! Fuck off!" He gestured towards the doors leading to the street.
The dog planted its butt on the floor and cocked an ear at him.
"Security!" Tony yelled, glancing around. A security guard was already walking over to him, no doubt alerted by the receptionist. "Get this mutt out of here," Tony instructed him and turned for the elevator, intent on forgetting the dog.
Apparently, though, the dog was a wily creature. Tony didn't see what happened behind his back, but a sudden cacophony of barks and yips interspersed with human yells and screams caused him to turn back around.
The dog was gleefully jumping all over the reception area, cape flapping madly behind it. It was a very good jumper, because there were a couple of times it went high enough that Tony would have sworn it was actually flying.
Tony edged himself backwards into the elevator when it arrived, unwillingly fascinated by the fact that one, three, four security guards were all bumping into each other and falling over themselves whilst trying to catch this dog.
Just as the doors started to slide closed, the dog seemingly noticed that Tony was trying to escape, as its next leap was in his direction. Apparently an opportunistic gust of wind caught its cape, as it covered almost the entire distance in one go, slipping into the elevator car with him just as the doors closed entirely.
The dog sat down and cocked its head at him, looking entirely too smug.
"What on earth is happening?" Tony wondered.
Well, what now? Stephen wondered, panting a bit as the heat of his exertions caught up with him.
Stark was pressed up against a corner, staring down at Stephen as though he couldn't believe his eyes. From the muttering he was doing, he was halfway to convincing himself that it was just a hallucination. Unfortunately, he didn't seem ready to believe that hallucination, so any plans Stephen had to communicate with him like this were out the window. He was going to have to prove first that he wasn't a product of Stark's drug-addled mind.
And he had no idea how on earth he was going to do that.
The soft ding of the elevator announcing its arrival jerked Stephen out of his musings. Stark was edging carefully around him to get out. Stephen waited until Stark was halfway out before dashing around the other man's legs to make his own exit. He didn't want to risk being trapped in the elevator while Stark disappeared into the labyrinth of the building, nor did he want to risk getting the Cloak trapped in the closing doors and choking himself.
There was a reason that most people did not wear capes.
"Tony!" a voice boomed from down the hallway. Stephen's ears flattened against his head at the volume. Even just that one word let him know it was the person who'd been on the other end of Stark's phone call. "It's about time! Where have you been? The meeting's about to start!" Then they obviously caught sight of Stephen, because their stride down the hall came to an abrupt halt. "What is that? Tony, what are you doing now?"
"I'm not doing anything!" Stark protested, indignantly. He waved an arm wildly in Stephen's general direction. "I swear, Obie, this dog has been following me ever since your phone call."
"And you brought it up here?" Obie queried. "Why not just leave it outside, where it belongs?"
"Because security couldn't catch it, that's why," Stark snapped at him. "Four, Obie. Four of them! And none of them managed to get ahold of it. You think you can get rid of it, be my guest!"
If you think you're laying a hand on me… Stephen growled at the man, this Obie. Even if he didn't require Stark's help, he didn't think that it would go well for him if this man managed to touch him. To make his point even more clear, he sidled across the hall until he was half hidden behind Stark's legs.
Obie checked his watch and sighed. "We can't postpone the meeting anymore, so I guess it'll have to stay for now," he grumbled. "Just… put it in your office or something, Tony. We can deal with it afterwards."
Knowing that he'd pushed things as far as he could for the moment, Stephen reluctantly followed an equally reluctant Stark to the man's office, but he couldn't resist giving a quick little snap in Obie's direction as they went past the man. It was petty of him, he knew that, but the man really needed taking down a peg or two.
"Right then," said Stark, opening his office door for Stephen to trot through. "Make yourself at home – God knows it's not like I could stop you," he added in a mutter. Stephen paused in the doorway. "What?" Stark snapped at him. "What the hell is wrong with you now?"
It was fairly obvious that Stark had never had a dog in his life. Stephen sat himself down, looked up at Stark, and let his tongue roll out of his mouth as he began panting.
There was a beep from Stark's coat pocket, and he pulled out the cell phone and squinted at it. "I believe he needs water," he read. "Oh." He glanced down at Stephen. "Is Jarvis right? Wait, what am I saying? Jarvis is always right."
Jarvis? Stephen felt one of his ears perk up as he tilted his head at Stark, confused. Who on earth was Jarvis, and how did he know what Stephen wanted?
"Okay, Jarvis," Stark said, moving into his own office. "Where would I find something suitable for a dog to drink in this place?"
Oh! Jarvis must be one of Stark's AIs, Stephen realised. But… He frowned internally. He'd thought the AI Stark used the most was called Friday. Hmm, maybe this one just hadn't worked out for some reason.
There was a clattering noise, and Stephen looked up to see Stark tipping out what looked like a load of marbles from a small, wide and relatively flat bowl on his desk. Some of the marbles bounced and rolled off the desk. Stephen felt his canine body tense; it wanted to pounce after the marbles.
"Oh, no!" Stark exclaimed, making a hasty grab for the ones he could see. "No, no, no! You're not trying to play with those! You'll end up swallowing them, and then I'd have to either dig around in something extremely nasty to get them back or find the nearest vet and no doubt spend an absolute fortune on surgery to remove them. I mean," he continued, waving his hands in the air and almost spilling the bottle of water he'd just opened, "it's not like I don't have the fortune to spend, it's just that I'd rather not, you know? Especially on a dog that isn't even mine! I don't think your owner would be too happy with that. Wait…" Stark half-turned to squint at him. "Do you even have an owner?" he asked.
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I have an owner?" he asked, which came out as a series of grumbled yowling sounds.
Stark blinked at him. "Ookay," he said, slowly. "I guess not, then." Casting a wary glance at Stephen, he set the now empty bowl on the floor and tipped the water into it. By now almost desperate enough to actually go back and drink from a puddle on the street outside, Stephen practically fell on the bowl and all but inhaled the water in a couple of long slurps.
"Wow. Guess you really needed that, huh?" Stark went back to the mini bar that Stephen hadn't noticed before and pulled out another bottle of water. "Try to make this one last, okay?" he advised as he tipped it into the bowl. "Board meetings tend to go long; I don't think Obie will excuse me to take you out for walkies."
Wait, what? Stephen cringed at the mere thought. God no, he very definitely needed to convince Stark that he needed to contact the New York Sanctum as soon as possible. Even if they couldn't immediately turn him back – and put him back in his right time period – they could at least cast the necessary spells on him that meant he wouldn't have to completely act like a dog.
"Make yourself comfy on the couch." Stark gestured at said couch, then patted Stephen on the head before he swanned out of the office. Stephen glanced at the couch and sighed. A nap did sound good, but first he needed to find a way to communicate with Stark. Now, how to go about it…?
Writing anything was out, as he had no hands to grip a pen or pencil, and there was no paper even if he managed to hold something in his teeth. The computer was a laughably big and clunky thing that wasn't even plugged in, let alone switched on. Stephen couldn't even remember computers this far back; what kind of writing programme did they have, anyway?
Acting in a very un-dog-like manner was out, too, since, as far as Stephen could tell, Stark didn't have his AI in the building yet so it wouldn't be able to see what he was doing. He presumed. Hmm, that was a thought. The AI – Jarvis – had been able to see when Stephen had been panting before and had accurately deduced he wanted a drink. Did that mean that the AI could see him? Or was it bound to Stark's cell phone in some way? But… cell phones didn't have cameras yet, did they? So how could Jarvis have seen him?
Sitting in the exact middle of the office floor, Stephen tilted his head towards the ceiling and whuffed politely. He couldn't see any cameras in the ceiling or on the walls, but this was Stark – that didn't mean they weren't there.
Whether there were cameras or not, there was no reply from Jarvis.
Stephen lowered himself to the floor and rested his head on his paws. Now what? He shifted his head to glance backwards at the Cloak, hoping it'd sense his need and come up with an idea.
The Cloak perked up and began stroking his head.
Grumbling to himself, Stephen looked away again. As he did so, his gaze caught on a marble that had rolled underneath Stark's desk. "Now, there's an idea!" he enthused, in a sharp, excited bark. He bounced to his paws and trotted over to examine what he could of the top of the desk.
Stark, he discovered, hadn't put the marbles back into any sort of container, but had instead left them spread out all over the desk. Stephen felt his tail beginning to wag. He could work with this!
Nudging the chair out from the desk, he gingerly leapt up into it. Like most office chairs, it was on wheels, and he didn't want to risk sending it – and himself – flying. Once sitting in the chair, though, he realised he had a problem. To reach all of the marbles, and manoeuvre them into the right letters, he'd have to have at least his front paws actually on the desk while his hind legs remained on the chair. If he had to stretch too far, he could send the chair rolling backwards anyway and knock himself and the marbles flying.
And the desk, despite the size, wasn't quite big enough for him to stand on it and nudge the marbles into position with his nose.
There was only one real solution – the marbles needed to be on the floor.
Nudging a few marbles aside, Stephen carefully and precisely jumped up onto the desk. He briefly entertained the thought of just sweeping everything off with his tail, but then he couldn't guarantee that most of the marbles wouldn't end up out of his reach under the rest of the furniture.
So he equally as carefully and precisely knocked all the marbles onto the floor with the edge of his paw. Then he jumped down after them and set to work.
Tony hastened out of the Board meeting, hoping to avoid getting caught by any of the members who would say they wanted to 'talk' with him but, in reality, just wanted to blow their own horns for a while.
They'd certainly done enough of it during the meeting.
At least this time he had an honest excuse for them if anyone did try and stop him. There was a stray dog in his office, he could point out. One that had been there for the entirety of the meeting. It was probably desperate for walkies by now.
But when he opened his office door, the dog was lying calm as you please on the couch. That wasn't so odd, as he had recommended it before he left, although he hadn't expected the dog to actually take him up on it.
The odd thing was the marbles that had been safely on his desk and were now scattered over the floor in front of the couch.
Making up the words HELP ME.
Tony blinked, blinked again, rubbed his eyes and wondered if he was hallucinating again, and then blinked some more.
"JARVIS, am I seeing things?" he wondered out loud, then remembered that he wasn't in his workshop and JARVIS couldn't really see anything.
The dog had lifted its head and was staring expectantly between Tony and the marbles on the floor. It gave a soft whuff and pointedly gestured with its nose.
"I must be seeing things," Tony told it. "Things like this only happen in movies. And really bad sci-fi or fantasy movies at that. Nobody actually gets turned into a dog in real life! Wait…" The mention of sci-fi had sparked a thought. "Are you an alien?" he asked, not sure whether he should be suspicious or thrilled to possibly be meeting an alien.
The dog heaved a sigh and ducked its head down to cover its muzzle with a front paw.
"Well, excuse me!" said Tony, indignantly. "You've gotta admit, alien is a hell of a lot more likely than 'person actually turned into a dog'!" The dog actually glared at him this time, and Tony held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, you're not an alien," he agreed. "So how did you end up— Oh, wait, you can't actually answer me like that, can you?" he interrupted himself. Hmm, there was a conundrum. How was he supposed to communicate with a dog?
Not whilst they were here, Tony realised. He'd have to take the dog back to the mansion where he could do up some kind of flashcard or something.
He hurriedly scooped the marbles up from the floor and deposited them back on his desk alongside the bowl the dog had drunk from. He was, perhaps, a bit more hasty than careful, and several marbles just rolled straight off the desk again, but Tony didn't really care about that; the cleaning team could sort it out.
"Come on," he said to the dog. "I'll take you back to my place, then we can work on some sort of communication system." And what if, after this whole thing was done, he tweaked the system a bit so as to be able to put it on the market. Maybe it'd help with service dogs – they had to be trained in ways of communicating things to their owners, right? Or people, people who were mute or deaf for whatever reason. Yeah, they'd probably appreciate a way other than sign language, right?
An impatient woof jolted Tony back to the present, and the realisation that he was standing in the middle of his office, lost in thought. The dog had gotten up from the couch and was now waiting in front of the door.
"Sorry! Just had a bit of an idea," Tony apologised. Then he reminded himself that people might find it a bit strange if they caught him conversing with a dog as though he expected it to answer back.
The hallway back to the elevator was filled with secretaries and underlings darting here, there and everywhere as reactions to the meeting trickled down throughout the company. To be honest, Tony didn't remember there being much said that needed to be reacted to this much, but then again, he had been half asleep throughout the entire time. His missed dose of caffeine certainly hadn't helped.
It meant, though, that the elevator they got on to ride down to the parking garage was unusually full. Normally, everyone else would have given him space – or tried to – but with another creature to think about this time, Tony considerately squashed himself into a corner, with the dog huddled even further into the corner behind his legs. He could hear them all murmuring behind him.
"That's such a cute dog," someone finally squealed out loud, apparently unable to hold it in anymore. "Is it yours, sir?"
"Ah, no, not really," Tony admitted. "Seems very attached to me, though, huh? But nope; I'm just taking it, er, home."
The dog rolled its eyes upwards to look at him at his weird hesitation, and Tony nudged it in the side with a knee, pretending that he was just shifting his weight that way.
He'd just had a really weird moment when about to say he was taking the dog home and knowing that he meant his home, but his audience would think he meant the dog's home, and something about the dissonance had tripped him up for a second.
He shook the thought off as the secretary nearest him held out her hand invitingly for the dog to sniff. Tony had a panic-stricken moment where he thought the dog might bite her – and wouldn't that make for a fantastic lawsuit for SI? – and opened his mouth to warn her accordingly, when the dog merely sniffed at it politely, and then bumped its head up under her hand, apparently willing to be petted.
The woman cooed and obliged, and the dog tilted its head, eyes closing in bliss as her fingers scratched around the base of its ears. It actually looked disappointed when they reached the woman's floor and she had to exit the elevator. To be fair, the woman looked disappointed too, and kept casting longing looks over her shoulder until the doors had closed.
"Hmm, perhaps I should take you out with me one night," Tony suggested to the dog once they'd reached the privacy of the parking garage. "I know clubs don't usually let animals in, but I'm sure I could find a party somewhere that would. Just think of all the women you'd be able to get for me!"
The dog made a low, grumbly scoffing sound, and rolled its eyes again.
"Yeah, that's true," agreed Tony, nodding wisely. "It's not like I really need you anyway. God knows my name and fortune pulls enough of 'em in." He abruptly stopped as he realised that he had no idea where on earth he was going. "Oh! I need to call a driver!" he further realised, smacking himself on the forehead.
The dog sighed and lay down, resting its head on its paws. It looked as though it expected to be there for a while.
"Rude," Tony told it. "Very rude, and completely unnecessary. Just press a few buttons and—" The lights of a nearby car flashed at them. "See? Much easier with these new cell phones. Imagine having to trek all the way back upstairs to find a landline! And then waiting for the driver to leave wherever they were and get here." He shook his head. "So much time wasted," he mourned, and then realised the dog had vanished. "Wha—?"
A sharp bark brought his attention to the car. The dog was sitting beside the back door, while the driver had lowered the window and was peering out at it, warily. "Is that thing coming too, Mr Stark?" he asked, once Tony approached the vehicle. "Only, I don't think we're insured for animals on the upholstery…"
Tony snorted. "Trust me," he said, as he opened the back door for the dog to jump in first. "If you're insured for me, you're insured for anything."
It was a common cliché that dogs enjoyed riding in cars with their heads out of the window, ears and tongue flying in the wind. Stephen had always thought it rather undignified, although he was aware that dogs didn't really have a sense of dignity to lose.
But now that he was a dog…
Stark had lowered the window for him once they'd set off, and Stephen had made an ungainly scramble for it. Stark had yelped, squeaked, and slid hastily out of the way of stampeding paws. Stephen had barely noticed.
This is WONDERFUL!
The air rushing up and over his nose and head made him feel like he was flying, ruffling the fur on his ears as it went. Scents were brought neatly to him, so he didn't even have to turn his head to get a brief glimpse – or whiff – into everywhere they passed. There seemed to be a particular abundance of coffee shops, which perhaps wasn't surprising given their proximity to the Stark Industries headquarters. Stark alone probably managed to keep an entire block's worth of coffee shops in business.
Stephen was so immersed in the world rushing by outside that he didn't pay any attention to the inside of the car until Stark made a spitting sound. Stephen glanced round, and felt his mouth fall open in a doggy grin. He'd apparently been so excited that his tail had been – and still was – wagging hard enough to propel him into flight, and Stark kept getting a mouthful of fur.
Unfortunately for him, this wasn't a big car, so he didn't have anywhere else he could move to and had to make do with continuously pushing Stephen's tail aside. Thankfully, on the other hand, the trip to the Stark Mansion where he was apparently staying right now was a short one.
"Oh, thank God," Stark muttered as the car slowed to turn through the large security gates. Despite the fact that it wasn't as fun anymore now that they had all but slowed to a crawl, Stephen remained with his head out of the window.
He'd never seen the Starks' New York mansion before. He'd vaguely known that Stark had had one, but in all the time he'd known Stark, the other man had been residing at either Stark Tower – which obviously hadn't been built yet – or at the Avengers Compound upstate – which also obviously hadn't been built yet. He'd heard a lot about Stark's old Malibu mansion, and how it had ended up falling into the ocean when Stark had given his address to a terrorist live on national TV, but he'd never been there, either.
Stark leaned over to peer over Stephen's shoulder at the mansion as it came into view. "Home, sweet home," he said, but his tone was bitter, and he didn't sound in the least bit happy to be here.
Before he could stop himself, or consider the wisdom of it, Stephen licked Stark's cheek comfortingly.
"Urgh!" Stark spluttered, immediately springing back upright into his own space. "What the hell? The fuck was that for?!"
Stephen gave him a small, apologetic whine, but then shrugged awkwardly and wagged his tail again.
It was a good thing that at that precise moment the car drew to a halt outside of the front door, because Stark scrabbled for the door handle and practically fell out of the car, heedless of whether it was still moving or not.
Stephen awkwardly manoeuvred himself around on the seat, trying not to fall off, and peered out of the open door at where Stark was sprawled on the ground, scrubbing at his cheek with the back of his wrist. Stephen whuffed at him.
Stark looked up at him and glared. "You keep your tongue to yourself," he demanded. "I don't do bestiality, no matter what you might have read in the tabloids."
Well, that was comforting.
Stephen hopped out of the car and shook himself before giving Stark an expectant look. Hopefully explanations wouldn't take too long, and then Stark could contact the Sanctum and Stephen could get back to normal.
Stark shook his head as he got to his feet, muttering something that Stephen didn't bother trying to listen to. He had a feeling it wouldn't be complementary. "You know," Stark added, louder, as they began walking up the steps to the front door. "You're lucky that this place doesn't have a full-time housekeeper anymore, otherwise I doubt you'd be getting in the door."
Stephen gave him the look he deserved for that. Of course Stephen would have gotten in the door. Even if Stephen himself didn't manage it – and he was very charming when times called for it – then Stark could just override any objections; it was, after all, his house now.
Although it was very unwise to upset a really good housekeeper…
Stark pushed open the door and gestured for Stephen to enter first. Stephen hadn't even noticed Stark unlocking the door but stepping inside the mansion made him forget practically everything else.
He'd lived in some pretty swanky places himself, like the penthouse he'd had before he'd had his accident, but this was another level. Even knowing it was a mansion, the sheer opulence of just the foyer took his breath away.
Although… Stephen glanced around again. It was a very cold, very formal sort of opulence, which probably wasn't conducive to generating warm fuzziness in a child growing up here. Stark's penthouse in Stark Tower had the same sort of 'magazine spread' feel, but if Stephen had understood correctly, then Stark himself hadn't decorated that space, or even ordered it to be done. Miss Potts had done it all.
It suddenly made much more sense as to why Stark had ensured that the Avengers Compound was an inviting living space, even if hardly anybody lived there these days.
"Well, what do you think?" Stark asked, drawing Stephen out of his introspection. "Place fancy enough?"
Stephen snorted. As if anyone would say no to that question. Some might even say it was too fancy.
He padded silently along behind Stark as the other man strode determinedly towards what seemed to be the basement but turned out to be a gleaming workshop. Stephen glanced around as soon as he set paw inside, feeling himself relax. This was more like the Tony Stark he knew in the future. Maybe just a little bit more retro than he'd expect from the man who'd be dubbed The Futurist, but then again, technology was only just gaining steam and Stark's workshop still looked more advanced than it probably should be right now.
"Welcome home, sir," a voice said from overhead, and it was only Stephen's exposure to Friday that meant he didn't leap out of his skin. Instead, he cocked an ear upwards. Friday had a gentle Irish lilt, but this AI had a posh British accent. "And I see you still have company."
"Yeah. Jarvis, meet…" Stark trailed off, and frowned. "Huh," he said. "I have no idea what your name even is, do I? For that matter, I don't even know if you're a boy or a girl…"
Stephen promptly sat down. He didn't want Stark getting any ideas about taking a peek.
Stark snorted and waved a dismissive hand at him as he crossed the workshop towards a machine that Stephen couldn't make heads or tails of. "Oh, relax," he suggested. "I wasn't looking to look; I'm not that crass. Anyways, human-turned-dog, meet Jarvis, my AI."
"A pleasure to meet you," said Jarvis, and Stephen gave a soft woof towards the ceiling in his own greeting.
"Right. Jay, some holo-screens, if you please?" Stark asked, beckoning Stephen over. "We need to create some flash cards, single worded ones for now, big enough that our friend here can touch them with either nose or paw."
"Of course, sir. What kind of words do you want on the cards?" Jarvis asked as small rectangles began popping into existence in the air in front of Stark.
Stark rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his mouth. "The alphabet, for sure; yes, no and maybe. Numbers. Hmm." He cast his eyes sideways and down to Stephen. "You may have to do a lot of spelling things out until we figure out what other words you might need," he said, apologetically.
Stephen gave his awkward shrug again and watched as the 'cards' began filling up with letters and numbers.
"Okay then," said Stark once they were done. He sat down on a nearby stool and swivelled to face Stephen as the screens floated downwards until they were in front of Stephen. "First question – what's your name?"
It was a bit aggravating having to do each letter slowly, but Stephen painstakingly typed out his first proper communication to Stark.
my name is stephen strange im the sorcerer supreme and im from the future
Tony sat up straight as the dog – Stephen Strange – finished typing his sentence and then looked up at him.
"You're kidding me!" he exclaimed. "No, it's – this is a joke, right? You're a real dog that someone's trained and they're whispering commands or something to you somehow, right?"
Stephen growled at him. In a flash of hysterical childhood nostalgia, Tony was reminded of the old cartoon dog Muttley, and the exasperated growling he'd done at his master's scheming.
No im human and from the future i was dealing with some alien teenagers on vacation and one of their spells turned me into a dog and sent me back in time
If Tony hadn't already been sitting down, he would have sat down. Rather heavily, he expected. "Aliens," he repeated, flatly. "And not just aliens, but alien teenagers. On vacation?!"
aliens need holidays too, Stephen typed out.
"I think I need a drink," Tony murmured to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, then shook his head and looked up again. "Okay, so you were, what, trying to corral a bunch of teenagers and they turned you into a dog?" Stephen nodded. "So how do we, er, un-dog-ify you?"
This time, the rolling of Stephen's eyes was unmistakeable.
i need you to contact the new york sanctum for me its at 177a bleeker street i dont know who will be there but you have to convince them to send for the ancient one
"The ancient one? No, you know what, I don't want to know. Probably some crazy old dude with a beard down to his feet and a staff, right?" For some reason, that made Stephen snort with clear amusement. "Okay, so how do I contact this 'sanctum'? Do they have a phone?"
Stephen shook his head. No phones dont work in the sanctum due to the magic you have to go in person
Tony felt himself twitch as Stephen spelled out the word 'magic'. "Magic, really?" he groaned. He could already feel a headache coming on. "Aliens I can just about believe, because there's no way we're alone in this universe, but magic? Magic isn't real!"
Stephen gave him the most deadpan look a dog had ever given anyone.
"That's not magic!" Tony complained in response. "That's… that's… alien science!"
if it helps think of it as a computer programme, Stephen typed out, back to looking amused. i was am a doctor a neurosurgeon so i had trouble with it too
"You're a doctor?" Tony asked, surprised. "Wait, is that 'was' or 'am'?"
Stephen whined. was i was in a car accident and destroyed my hands almost beyond repair i can never go back to surgery
"Oh." Tony had no idea what to say to that. He couldn't imagine the agony of losing the use of his hands so that he couldn't build or tinker with anything ever again. "I'm sorry," he added, sincerely.
its okay i went for a cure and found the mystic arts and now im the sorcerer supreme will be The dog appeared to frown. if i ever manage to get back to both my time and myself that is
"Well, we can start work on that!" Tony assured him. "177a Bleeker Street, you said? JARVIS, how far away is that from here? Will we need a car?"
"If I may point out, sir, it is now past seven o'clock in the evening. Will the sanctum be open to visitors at this hour?" JARVIS replied.
Oh. Tony blinked and looked around the workshop for the digital clock that he had stashed somewhere. He hadn't realised it was getting that late. "Right, not everyone keeps the same hours as I do, huh?" he said out loud.
Stephen barked, drawing his attention back to the squares. time wont matter as dimensional problems dont pay attention to our earthly schedules so turning up this late wont be a problem what will be is that im unsure if youll be able to see the sanctum at all
"Oh, God," Tony groaned. "Let me guess – it's hidden by magic."
apparently so in this time ive already been there but couldnt see it no idea if that's because im a dog right now or because at this point in the timeline im not a sorcerer
"You're not?" asked Tony, surprised. "Oh, right, future," he realised. Then he frowned. "So… if we go on the assumption that you couldn't see it because you're not a sorcerer, how are you expecting me to be able to see it? I may be a technical wizard but, and you may not have noticed this, I'm not an actual wizard!"
but you have the ability to stand on the sidewalk and yell at them until someone comes out to get you without somebody calling a dog warden for nuisance barking Stephen pointed out.
Tony rolled his eyes. "No, they can just call the guys with white coats because I'll be standing there yelling at thin air," he pointed out in return. Then he paused and tilted his head. "No, wait, that sounds about right for me."
Stephen raised a paw into the air as though he were going to type something else, but then paused and lowered it again, obviously having second thoughts.
Deciding it was probably best not to follow that up, Tony instead began rooting around on the nearest table for a pen and whatever paper he could find. A paw on his knee made him look down; Stephen was sitting at his feet, head cocked enquiringly.
"Thought I'd make up some physical flashcards," Tony informed him. "Can't take JARVIS with us, after all. Well," he amended, "he'll be in the phone, as usual, but he's limited there, and he won't be able to project the cards like he is now."
Stephen took his paw back. JARVIS apparently anticipated him, because the holo screens floated across the room towards him. Stephen glanced upwards and gave a small whuff. you think well need the cards he asked, obviously a question by the way he glanced at Tony after.
Tony shrugged. "Maybe. But better safe than sorry," he said. "We could be five minutes outside your sanctum, or five hours. Better to make sure we have a way to communicate with us. Hmm." He tapped the pen he'd found against his mouth. "What words are we likely to need…?" he wondered, absently. "Yes, no, maybe, I, you, the, and, sanctum, magic—" He shuddered theatrically at those words, causing Stephen to huff in amusement. "Yell, there, them, time, sorcerer, dog…"
He continued scribbling words until he ran out of paper. "I just hope these are enough," he said, tossing the pen back onto the table. "C'mon, let's go and see the wizards. J, call a car, please. No driver."
There was a short pause. "Are you sure, sir?" JARVIS asked.
"What, about driving myself? Yes, I am," replied Tony. "That way there'll be at least one less person to watch me make an idiot of myself."
"Of course, sir," JARVIS agreed, after yet another pause that, even silently, sounded distinctly judgemental to Tony's ears.
"Hush, you," he ordered, waving a hand at JARVIS' nearest camera. "Just call the car already, will you?" He glanced down at Stephen as he stood up. "Come on," he said, tilting his head towards the workshop door. "Time to hit the road, even if it isn't a yellow brick one."
Stephen rolled his eyes.
Stark had the utter inability to be quiet for longer than two minutes, Stephen discovered. He also apparently didn't care whether he had an audience or not, because the man didn't stop talking during the entire journey from the Stark Mansion to Bleeker Street, despite the fact that Stephen, once again, had his head out of the window for the entire trip.
Unsurprisingly – to Stephen, at least – there was an empty space right outside the Sanctum, that was just the right size for Stark's car to fit into. Stark gave him a suspicious look once he'd parked but said nothing about it, instead just turning to face Stephen.
"So, what now?" he asked.
Stephen touched his nose to Stark's arm and then gestured out of Stark's window towards where the Sanctum should have been visible. Stark opened his door and went to exit the car but then paused and glanced back at Stephen again. "Would they come out if they saw me sitting here?" he wondered.
If he could have, Stephen would have raised both eyebrows. Perhaps Stark's high had finally worn off completely; from the tales he'd told in the future, at this age he shouldn't have cared what anyone thought of him – or anything he did.
Any querying of a therapeutic nature, however, would have to wait until he was human again, so Stephen just insistently gestured with his nose again.
Stark sighed and obediently exited the car, holding the door open long enough for Stephen to jump out too. He watched as Stephen went to sit at where the bottom of the steps should be, then firmly planted himself right in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Hey! Masters of the Mystic Arts!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to better direct the sound. "Yes, you there, in the Sanctum! I'm talking to you! One of your sorcerers is out here and needs a helping hand! So you might as well come out and talk to us, 'cause we can be here all night if necessary!"
The Cloak rippled itself out behind Stephen in its own version of shouting. Stephen hoped that whoever might look out of the Sanctum to see what was going on would recognise the Cloak. Or at least realise that a self-floating cape was not the normal attire for a dog.
"Woo-hoo!" Stark yodelled. "Hellooooo in there! We're after the ancient one! If someone could please fetch them, we'd appreciate it!"
Stephen added a bark of his own, just one carefully precise one. Passers-by might recognise him as 'with' Stark, but he wasn't wearing a leash, and they didn't need any trouble from Animal Control.
"Hopefully someone will be coming out here soon, otherwise I'm just going to keep yelling all your secrets out for the entire neighbourhood to hear!" Stark shouted. Stephen winced; hopefully the sorcerers inside wouldn't call his bluff – it wasn't as if Stephen had gone into detail about the Order and what it did.
Thankfully, Stark didn't have to make good on his threat. There was a sudden ripple in the air, like a heatwave shimmer, and the familiar façade of the New York Sanctum appeared in front of them. Stephen leapt to his feet, giving a joyful bark, and even the Cloak wriggled in delight.
Stark, when he glanced back at the man, was wearing a complicated expression, with too many emotions fighting for dominance for Stephen to reliably name them all. "Good choice!" he called up, flashing a thumbs up towards the building.
Bouncing towards Stark to tug at his pants' leg, Stephen then raced up the stairs towards the Sanctum's front door. He was going so fast that he couldn't stop and collided with the door when it remained closed. He thought he heard a stifled giggle from Stark behind him, but when he glanced back Stark was gazing intently at the building as though trying to memorise the position of every individual brick.
"So, I'm presuming we can't be seen or heard from the sidewalk now," said Stark as he reached the top of the steps. "But are they actually going to let us in, or just leave us out here until we get fed up and go home?"
Stephen reached up and pawed at the front door handle, whining. He hoped not. Surely whoever had heard them the first time had to realise that just leaving them out here wouldn't do any good. If Stark got exasperated enough, he could just retreat back to the sidewalk and stand somewhere outside of the Sanctum's protective radius and continue yelling.
Better make sure, though… Stephen threw back his head and howled.
Stark just about leapt out of his skin at the abrupt loud noise, then he glanced wildly around, obviously remembering Stephen's comment about noise disturbances. But, as he'd theorised, they were shielded by both sight and sound from the general public, and not one person walking by even flinched as Stephen continued to howl.
It took another twenty minutes before the Sanctum's door finally cracked open, and Stephen lowered his head with a sigh of relief. Dogs really weren't made for howling so long, and he'd been worried that if he had to continue for much longer, he was going to lose his voice.
Stark, who had retreated to the bottom of the steps to get as far away from the noise as possible, made his way back up, reaching Stephen just in time for the door to open fully. The Master standing there was a woman who looked to be in her early fifties, and she was staring at the two of them with a stern air that reminded Stephen of Dame Maggie Smith's portrayal of Professor McGonagall. Unfortunately, she wasn't somebody that Stephen recognised.
"I suppose, with all that racket you've been making, you'd better come in," she said, sounding as though she'd like nothing better than to throw them off the steps and away from the Sanctum altogether. She reluctantly stepped back to let them in.
As soon as Stephen set paw over the threshold, the Sanctum wards shivered over him in a warm, welcoming wave. He might be from the future, but the Sanctum recognised its Masters, whenever they were.
The current Master stiffened as she, too, felt the wards welcoming him. "You're a Master of this Sanctum," she said, disbelievingly. "But… how?"
"Well, I can explain that for him," said Stark, giving her a charming smile. "See, he's from the future, and, er, he's not actually a dog…"
"Seeing as the Sanctum has welcomed him, and as he wears the Cloak of Levitation, then I would think not," the Master said. The Cloak lifted a corner and waved at her. She frowned down at it. "Not least of which because our Cloak is still in its case upstairs in the Hall."
Stephen shrugged. Being a Master of the Mystic Arts, you had to get used to the unexpected and supposedly impossible happening very quickly; otherwise you didn't last long.
Stark shrugged as well. "Right, well, in that case, he said he needed the ancient one?"
The Master eyed him warily, but grudgingly closed the front door with Stark still on the inside of it. "Wait here," she ordered. "It might take a while. I believe the Ancient One was called out to deal with a dimensional rift this afternoon."
Stephen nodded. That was fair; it wasn't as if he'd expected the Ancient One to drop everything and come running to rescue him. And even if he had, that wasn't her style. She usually expected students to get themselves out of whatever trouble they'd landed in. The only problem this time was that Stephen had neither hands nor vocal cords to do so.
Stark watched as the Master disappeared up the main staircase, heading in the direction of the gateway to Kamar-Taj. "Cheery woman, isn't she?" he said, sotto voce, to Stephen.
Stephen gave a warning snap of his teeth, and Stark held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay…" he said. "Got it; no dissing the people who could dump me in some other dimension as easy as breathing…" He glanced around the foyer, then stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and began rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You think she'd mind if I took a closer look?" he asked.
Stephen gave him a pointed look and very deliberately sat down.
Stark sighed but did the same.
Tony was bored.
They'd been left waiting in this big foyer now for well over half an hour. The woman who'd let them in hadn't even come back to offer them tea or coffee, or even just a glass of water. Tony had no idea what was happening, and it was about to drive him up the wall.
"This is ridiculous," he complained to Stephen, who merely blinked at him. "You'd think a time-travelling dog would be a novelty even for sorcerers."
Stephen, who'd lowered himself to lie down on the floor twenty minutes ago, made an odd whuffling noise at him and wagged his tail, clearly trying to reassure Tony that they hadn't been forgotten.
Even if Tony thought they had.
The Cloak, too, had unfastened itself from around Stephen's neck and was casually floating around the foyer area, occasionally stopping as though to study something on the walls more carefully. Not that there was anything on the walls to study, and Tony had no idea how a cloak would be able to do that anyway, since it… didn't really have eyes to see with.
Had Tony mentioned that he was bored yet? Because he was.
"Okay, this is ridiculous," he said, again, and scrabbled in his jacket pocket for the flash cards and pen he'd brought with him. Turning a few over, he scribbled a few Xs and Os on the back, and then laid most of the rest out in a familiar grid. "Wanna play tic-tac-toe?" he asked Stephen.
Stephen cocked his head, glanced at the grid, then pushed himself upright, giving a small woof of agreement. It seemed his patience was running thin, too.
It was an odd experience playing with a dog, but they'd not even finished the first game – which Tony was exceedingly close to winning, no matter what Stephen thought – when another woman came sauntering down the main staircase. This one was dressed in bright yellow robes which, along with her bald head, would certainly cause her to stand out on the streets.
Stephen leapt to his feet when he saw her and bounced towards her, leaping up and barking happily, his tail wagging so hard Tony half expected him to propel himself into flight. Clearly this was someone he knew well in the future.
"My goodness," the woman said, laughing as Stephen tried to leap high enough to lick her cheek. "Whatever have you gotten yourself into, Master Strange?"
Tony blinked. How did she know his name? He hadn't told the woman who'd let them in – he hadn't said either of their names, although it wouldn't have surprised him if they'd recognised him.
"I have the ability to see into the future," the woman said, and Tony startled as he realised she was talking to him. "My apologies, Mr Stark. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm the Ancient One."
This was Stephen's ancient one? Tony felt his eyebrows shoot up. Well, this was… totally not what he'd expected. No wonder Stephen had been so amused at Tony's crack about an old man with a beard.
"If you would like to say goodbye to Master Strange now, then we'll make sure that we get him back to where he needs to be and wearing his proper form. Although—" She cast a sideways glance at Stephen. "This fur coat rather suits him, doesn't it?"
Stephen made a mock snap at her, even as she laughed. Tony couldn't help but smile, too, even though he abruptly felt the most absurd disappointment at her words. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to Stephen, he realised, and wondered just how the hell he'd become attached so god damn quickly in the space of, what, less than twelve hours? Jesus…
Stark men are made of iron, Howard's voice echoed in his head.
Stiffening his spine – figuratively, if not literally – Tony began gathering up the flash cards. "Sure," he said, in as careless a manner as he could. "Good to meet you, Strange. Hope you manage to get an easy fix." He gave a dismissive wave as he stood up and headed for the front door, hoping it wouldn't need one of the magicians to let him out.
It didn't, and not five minutes later, Tony was gunning the engine and roaring back towards the mansion, trying his best not to keep glancing over at the other – empty – seat every few minutes.
Spotting a very familiar figure lurking in the shadows on a street corner, Tony abruptly pulled over.
Perhaps a hit would help him forget.
Stephen stared in surprise as the door to the Sanctum swung shut behind Stark. He'd known objectively that Stark would have to leave soon – not least of which because Stephen himself would hopefully be returning to the future – but he hadn't expected it to go like that.
"I'm sorry Mr Stark felt that way," the Ancient One said, resting a hand on Stephen's head. "Perhaps you should go and see him when you return."
Wondering just what she'd seen, Stephen tilted his head to look up at her. The Ancient One merely smiled at him. To be honest, he would have been more surprised if she had explained. But it was certainly an excellent reason to go and see Stark when he got back to his normal time.
"Come along." The Ancient One turned to head back up the staircase. "You were lucky that the ones who did this were still young; it makes it much easier to undo."
Stephen shuddered at the thought. It hadn't been a great hardship being a dog so far, but that didn't mean that he wanted to spend a significant portion of his life as one.
Still, as promised, the spell was relatively easy to unravel, especially for the Ancient One, and barely fifteen minutes later she was carefully removing the Eye of Agamotto from its pedestal.
"Thank you," Stephen said to her as his Cloak settled back on his human shoulders.
"It was – will be – my pleasure," she replied, knowing as well as he did that he didn't just mean for transforming him back. "Good luck, and God speed, Master Strange."
The Eye irised open, spilling the bright green light of the Time Stone across the floor. The Ancient One made a few short, sharp hand gestures, and the light pulsed brighter, and brighter, and brighter…
And then Stephen was gone.
He reappeared back in his own Sanctum. The Cloak instantly leapt from his shoulders to swirl around madly in delight, even as the Sanctum wards rippled over him in welcome.
"You're back," came Wong's voice from the doorway.
Stephen blinked at his friend. Kamar-Taj must have somehow called him back from his vacation once they realised that he was missing.
"I am, yes," he said to Wong. "Are you back as well, or are you off again for the rest of your vacation?"
"My vacation was cut short," Wong informed him, as stoic as ever. "Considering what you got yourself into as soon as I was gone, I may have to think twice about taking it again."
Stephen spluttered at this but didn't bother to correct Wong as the other sorcerer disappeared back to his own pursuits. Wong likely wouldn't listen to him, anyway.
And besides, he really had to go and see a man about a dog.