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He looks around the once again busy Hong Kong street, the destruction and looming apocalypse nothing but a distant memory.
What is even Stephen’s life right now?
Few months ago he thought his everything was pretty much over, lost in each spin of the car, in every failed surgery, in every tremor of his ruined hands.
Then the Ancient One punched his desperate soul through a couple thousands of dimensions and here he is now, recently cast out of the Dark Dimension after dying thousands of times and eventually striking a successful bargain with Dormammu to protect Earth from its sleazy demon fingers.
Kaecilius and his lot gone, Dormammu gone…the Ancient One gone. His life as a neurosurgeon gone.
He is a Master of the Mystic arts now.
Or this had all been some alcohol and drugs induced hallucination and he’s actually laying on the floor of his empty apartment in New York, still just a hopeless, broken man.
“We did it,” Wong breathes out.
“Yes. Yes we did it,” Mordo repeats, with a lot less enthusiasm – not that Wong was showing any. “By also violating the natural law.”
Disappointment. That’s what he hears.
“Look around you…it’s over,” he tries persuading him.
“You still think there will be no consequences, Strange? No price to pay? We broke our rules…just like her. The bill. Comes. Due. Always,” Mordo hisses. “A reckoning. I will follow this path no longer,” he adds, staring at them in determination for a while before turning around and melting into the crowd.
Another teacher abandons him.
He glances at Wong, afraid he might take off as well, leaving him alone to deal with this…new life. But he just shrugs, nodding towards the Sanctum.
“Let’s go.”
Stephen returns the nod and follows him, letting the Cloak dust off his robes on the way before straightening itself on his frame…a comforting weight.
They don’t make it far before a whirring sounds splits through the roaring street, catching the attention of most – if not all of the shoppers, shop owners and passersby. He looks up just in time to see a hovering form of the Iron Man armor near the spot where the rift to the Dark Dimension had been moments ago above the Sanctum.
What in the…
The armor looks around some more and then descends, landing slowly in front of them.
“Anybody wanna explain what the hell happened in here?!” a distorted voice asks the stunned civilians, the steely emotionless gaze of the Iron Man helmet zeroing in on him and Wong. “You two look like you might…what are you, Tolkien cosplayers?”
Stephen finds his brain unable to communicate a single sentence to his tongue so he just stands there, staring at a tin can full of a man he once met…well, twice. The first time hardly counts, he didn’t even recognize Stark.
The tables seemed to have turned. Not that he could blame him for not recognizing Stephen…he doesn’t even recognize himself lately. And why would Stark bother remembering the asshole doctor who never called.
“Mr. Stark. Everything is back in order now. Nothing to see here,” Wong does the answering, making Stephen turn to him with a frown. He was expecting Wong to be rude…as usual. Maybe even portal the armor out of the way to Antarctica or somewhere, but nope. He is being polite.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies, the faceplate sliding off to reveal one very unamused face of Tony Stark beneath it. “Nothing to see here…there was a lot to see here not ten minutes ago! And now there’s a big nothing to see…care to explain that Master Shifu?” he talks to Wong, ignoring Stephen altogether.
Not that he minds in his current state of speechlessness.
“The situation had been handled by the Order of the Mystic Arts, Mr. Stark. You can return back to New York now,” Wong waves him off, his savage side finally showing a little bit.
Good. He was worried for a second that Wong enjoyed being an ass just to him. Then again, Wong probably shouldn’t want to start anything with Stark, because…
“I don’t care if it was handled by the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters, you better explain why there was a gigantic hole in space in the middle of Hong Kong and now it’s gone!”
“It’s Order of the Mystic Arts, douchebag!” Stephen snaps back into action before Stark gets to verbally destroy his new friend.
“Oh I’m sorry, did I fucking stut - ” he moves his glare to Stephen only to pause. He shakes his head, does a quick once over and widens his eyes a little.
“Stutter? Now you did. Anyway, as Wong was saying and as you have confirmed yourself, there is nothing to see here anymore and therefore doesn’t need further scrutiny from the Avengers, us or the Death Eaters.”
He smirks at the gaping superhero and nudges Wong with his elbow, resuming their walk towards the Sanctum.
Stark however reboots just as fast as he did and blocks their part, finger raised in a stopping gesture. “Thank you for your input, asshole, but I wasn’t talking to you,” he turns to Wong, but his gaze flickers back to Stephen. “I suspected you’d be into some kinky role-play stuff, but this medieval get-up is a bit…unexpected. Is that cape moving? Why is the cape moving?”
The Cloak drapes tighter around his shoulders, its collar curling up in what Stephen would translate as…a frown. A glare to match Stark’s own. “This is the Cloak of Levitation, not a cape. And yes, it moves and levitates, as the name suggests. It’s imbued with ancient magic that allo - ”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll leave you to your trip, doc. I’m really sick of random wormholes forming in the sky, so one of you better explain what the hell just happened here. Now!”
Instead of answering, Wong glances at Stephen with a look of pure wonder in his eyes. “You know Tony Stark? Why do you know Tony Stark?” he stares at him. “Do you know Beyoncé too?”
“No,” he rolls his eyes.
“I do. She jumped out of my fortieth birthday cake singing Crazy in Love,” Stark smirks earning Wong’s look of pure admiration.
“No way,” Wong breathes out and Stephen’s just about had enough.
The Cloak – being as intuitive as ever – slaps the other sorcerer across his bicep, snapping him out of his daze.
“Hey…uhm…ehrm,” he clears his throat and is back to his neutral Wong face. “As I said, the matter was handled, Mr. Stark. That is all you need to know.”
“Don’t tell me what I need or don’t need to know, Shifu! The last time there was a gaping hole in the sky, an alien army swarmed New York! I don’t remember your Order handling that situation back then! So start talkin’!”
Stephen grimaces, Stark’s voice ringing in his ears. “Could you not?” he grits his teeth. “Your annoying crescendo isn’t really helping this raging headache, Stark. I could use a cup of tea. Wong? Tea? Let’s go,” he ushers them both into the doors, avoiding Stark’s inquisitive stare.
“Yeah, good luck finding tea in here,” Stark comments after entering, squinting at the trashed room. “What is this, your drug den?”
“Welcome to the Hong Kong Sanctum Santorum,” Wong does the proper welcoming – what a kiss-ass – and walks up the stairs. “I’ll get the tea.”
“Not for me, thanks, Shifu. I’ll settle for a double-dose of information. FRIDAY?”
Suddenly, the man is out of the armor, taking a few steps around the hall before approaching Stephen. He’s dressed in something similar to what he had the first time Stephen’s met him in the hospital – some kind of an undersuit? Just a lot less torn and bloody.
“Know what date it is?” he asks and it actually takes Stephen an entire moment to realize why he’s asking that. He glares at the engineer, expecting a smirk or maybe a sneer, but Stark looks dead serious. “Name? Whereabouts? Wait, your ninja friend gave up a major hint about that so…never mind. I’d ask you to name six figures in pi but who the hell would bother remembering that?!”
“You?”
“I was sputtering some random numbers…it’s not like you could tell the difference.”
“Uhhh no you weren’t.”
“Yes. I was. Those were all r - ”
“Pi figures, exactly as they go from start to…how many did you get? Twenty? And I could actually tell the difference so don’t bother lying to me, Stark. I’m more than a little tired at the moment so why don’t we skip the whole state of mind check and move onto the report you are so keen on receiving?”
Stark’s serious expression doesn’t crack a bit. “Well, they do say doctors are the worst patients. Okay. What happened, Doctor Crazy?”
“A bunch of rogue sorcerers opened up a portal to the Dark Dimension and tried serving Earth on a silver platter to Dormammu. I stopped them and bargained with Dormammu to fuck off from Earth and never return. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity? Will you be able to sleep at night? Do you want it printed out or sent by an email? How about in comic book form? That would be nice and colorful and very detailed.”
“Yeah, sure. And how about the politically and most importantly – scientifically accurate version? You know…without the sorcerers, other dimensions and Origamu.”
“Dormammu.”
“Your mammu?”
Stephen groans, collapsing into a nearby sofa. “I told you what happened. If you don’t believe it, that’s not my problem. Bye,” he closes his eyes, breathing out. Doesn’t a guy deserve some peace and quiet after saving the world?
“Not in my experience, no.”
And he said that out loud, didn’t he? Perfect. As if dealing with inter-dimensional demons wasn’t enough, he still has to deal with Tony Stark.
“I understand that life changing situations tend to throw people into all sorts of…places. Afghani caves, nuclear experiments, Midgard…but Hogwarts? Now that’s a first.”
He cracks his eyes open just to glare at the man. Usually he would love to spar with words and finally beat Stark at his own game…but he’s tired. So tired.
Not just from the fight. From everything. The accident flipping his life over. His hands betraying him. His journey to Nepal. The training. The magic. His teachers leaving him to deal with it alone…
…Stark’s weirdly concerned eyes looking at him without the expected disbelief and sneer.
“The truth is,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again. “I’m a sorcerer.”
Stark scoffs, stifling something that sounds almost like a laugh. “Does that make me Hagrid? Am I here to tell you you’re a wizard, Strange?”
“Someone else already did that and it’s sorcerer, not a wizard.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“And the cape is like what? A flying carpet?”
“It’s a Cloak! Of Levitation!” he argues despite wanting nothing more than to go to sleep for the next hundred years at least.
“Same thing.”
“Can you just…!” he snaps, laying down on the sofa in a dramatic manner. “Shut up or leave? Or both at the same time? Thank you.”
The silence that follows nearly makes him think that the engineer really did as asked…as if.
“Are you okay?” Stark asks in quiet, soothing voice that’s way too near for Stephen’s liking.
“No! I’m not okay! My life is upside down! The only person who could make sense of it is dead! The other one left! And I’ve just spent thousands of time-loops engaged in a battle of wills with a demon, dying thousands of different ways until it got bored and let me win! So no! I’m not okay!” he bursts out, spitting the words like venom straight into the other man’s face that’s now down on his level, crouching in front of the sofa.
Maybe it’s not too late to reopen that rift and get lost in the Dark Dimension, never to return. What’s he even doing?! What’s he going to do?!
“Hey…calm down, okay? Shit…my bedside manner sucks. If Bruce was here…shit,” Stark mutters, looking down and only then does Stephen focus on his face enough to notice the dark circles under his eyes and the overall lack of the usual press-worthy smirk.
Stephen’s tired…he feels tired but damn. Stark looks downright exhausted.
The last time he saw this face up close, Stark was all smiles and cheek, laughing, flirting, coy…even though he had a gun aimed at his head minutes prior.
Whatever put that absolutely horrid…beaten expression on Stark’s face must have been something really, really bad. Like…Dormammu killing him over and over and over kinda bad. Hell, probably worse.
If he’s learnt anything at all in the past one year, it’s that pain isn’t a competition.
“Are you okay?” he turns the tables, making Stark look up again.
“Yeah. Sure,” Stark shrugs, nodding. “As okay as you are.”
Figures.
Stephen sighs, shifting on the sofa so he’s staring at the cracking ceiling instead of the two gentle eyes. “You don’t have to worry about what happened here tonight. There won’t be any aliens or demons coming through any portals anytime soon.”
Stark hums, standing up. “Maybe not soon…but eventually they will.”
That doesn’t sound ominous at all. He studies his troubled, distant expression and wonders what sort of nightmare haunts this man.
Having a mind of its own, the Cloak decides to sneak up its hem and wrap it around Stark’s limp hand. What a weirdo.
The engineer flinches, first widening his eyes in surprise before leveling Stephen with a glare.
“Don’t look at me. The thing does what it wants!”
Despite the glare, Stephen notices the man squeezing the hem, running curious fingers across its texture. And the Cloak lets him.
Huh.
“You sure you don’t want to stay for the tea?” Wong emerges from upstairs, a tea set in hand. “At least I hope it’s tea…it was the only stuff in the cupboard I could find.”
Stark jerks back, letting go of the Cloak and Stephen has a front row seat to the How Haunted and Exhausted turns into Fake Smiley drama that plays out on his face. “Nope. I’m good. I’ll need something stronger than your…weed tea after tonight. Speaking of tonight, I still have questions,” he looks down at Stephen. “That can be discussed later, somewhere less dusty and with more drinks.”
“Stop by the New York Sanctum Sanctorum sometime, Mr. Stark.”
Stephen’s eyes fly towards Wong, brows raised. “What?”
“You telling me there’s one of these sanctimonious buildings in New York too? Christ…Hogwarts are expanding all over the place! Okay. I’ll stop by. There better be drinks. Other than weed tea.”
“As a Master and protector of the New York Sanctum I don’t appreciate you inviting random people there, Wong!” he hisses at the now smirking sorcerer.
He had seriously misread this guy.
“Tony Stark is hardly a random person.”
“Exactly! I’m the least random person in the world. Thank you for the invitation, Wong. It was a pleasure to meet you,” he all but dances to Wong, shaking hands with him. “And thank you for handling the thing with the demon or whatever, Doctor Strange Wizard,” he talks to him, while climbing back into his armor.
“Doctor Strange is enough and I’m not a wiz - ”
“Dude, you’re an even stranger wizard than you are a doctor so don’t even,” he winks before fully disappearing in the crimson and gold metal. “Send me an address to that New York den of yours. You still got my number, right? Of course you do.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Stephen bounces his head back into the cushions, groaning as the headache comes back full force again. The tea oughta help. “Why don’t you stop by the New York Sanctum, Mister Stark? Would you like me to carry you there, Mister Stark? How about a cookie to go along with the tea, Mister Stark…why don’t you invite him all the way to Kamar-Taj?! Who are you?!” he glares at Wong, who’s back to wordlessly gaping at him.
“You have Tony Stark’s phone number?!”
He flails a little, letting his hands fall limp on his stomach and closes his eyes again. “You’re the worst. Leave the tea here and leave me alone,” he barks at him with the most annoyed voice he can muster.
The clink of porcelain on the nearby wooden table suggests Wong does exactly that. “I’ll be upstairs. Call me when you’re ready to go back. Or if you need anything,” he adds, the sizzle of a portal opening and closing disrupting the silence.
Stephen is left alone in the dark entry hall…only not really. Every now and then, he can hear Wong shuffling upstairs. A remainder that he’s right there if needed…just like he said. And there’s the Cloak, curled up against him like a blanket, its collar brushing against his cut cheeks in a soothing way.
And then there’s Stark. In his own…Stark way. Crossing his path in the most unexpected times.
Stephen has chosen to ignore…whatever it was the two of them set in motion. Never picking up the phone and calling. Never daring to think…hope that it would lead anywhere.
A worthy adversary is not what’s Stephen’s looking for. Not anymore.
Here he is, thrown into a world of the unknown full of new responsibilities and many things to learn still and nobody to help him on the way.
He could settle for a friend for once. Friends to be specific.
It’s a novelty in his dictionary, for sure. But something tells him Stark of all people would understand better than anyone else. What it’s like to be him, right now.
Not the Master of the Mystic Arts part perhaps. But the rest? Sounds like something Iron Man would have a disturbing amount of experience with.
Back to New York it is then.
~