Chapter Text
It was easy, maybe even convenient, for Stephen to find himself annoyed by Stark, with his bravado and cocky attitude. It would have been easier if he genuinely detested him, though. Later, Stephen would realize that his initial dislike of the man was nothing more than him resenting a mirror for reflecting his own flaws back at him: the use of a quick wit as a shield and sharp comments as a sword, exaggerated confidence as armor to cover up their insecurities.
He didn’t hate the man, though. He even found some of his comments amusing and enjoyed seeing the man affronted when he threw Stark a wink. But nevertheless, Stephen wasn’t here to make friends. He came here on a strictly professional basis, and his only priorities were to protect the Stone and then the world. Which is why harboring that initial dislike had important use to Stephen; it gave a justification for him to keep the Time Stone safe at all costs, even at the cost of two human lives — two things a doctor ought to protect. Any excuse to maintain a distance, Stephen welcomed.
“If it comes between saving your life, or the boy’s, or protecting the stone, I will choose the stone,” Stephen once told, or in the moment, tried to warn Tony. A choice between saving the lives of two people he hardly knew or following the demands his position as Sorcerer Supreme required of him gave Stephen little pause; he already said he’d choose the Stone every time.
Of course, things couldn’t ever be that easy. Reality, as he had come to learn during his time studying under the Ancient One, rarely ever worked in a way that seemed easy or convenient. It twisted and turned, always changing and branching out into new paths. The examination of those paths and the moments experienced in those timelines made his stance of Tony, who he could no longer keep labelled as just Stark in his mind, shift, so to say. After all, how could he after all that he saw?
Fourteen million possibilities. Millions of shared moments. Countless jumps back and forth in the desperate search of just one win. Such was par for the course for time-travel. The living of seemingly infinite lifetimes that would never come to pass. The cruelest were the cycles where everything almost goes well,where they almost beat Thanos only for something to go wrong right in the end. The most painful, though, were the ones where they all sacrificed something for the sake of a win that was just good enough; the ones where they all got to grow old and Stephen and Tony would slowly work through all their regrets, endless as they were, together. Wins only by name, so he’d immediately discount him, his own happiness not worth anything in the face of the tragedies they suffer in those realities. Realizing that he did somehow find happiness in those timelines startled him less than it should.
At the end of his search, Stephen Strange saw over fourteen million possibilities. Lived through hundreds (maybe even more? thousands ?) of years in the span of a short strategy meeting between Tony and the Guardians. And it changed him, and his stance on things. Awfully cruel of fate that Stephen should have to get to know him in a way Tony simply will never get to. Cruel in a way even Dormammu likely couldn’t think of. But he did, unfortunately, get to know and spend so much time with Tony. Naturally, his feelings for Tony changed, blossoming into something warmer as bittersweet affection took root in his heart.
Stephen would come to regret phrasing his thoughts in such a manner later. It felt too on the nose, and though he once worked as doctor and still held many doctorate degrees, he didn’t enjoy the sentimental prognosis he unwittingly gave himself. If he could give himself such a pin-point accurate prognosis, then Stephen should’ve recognized the symptoms earlier. In retrospect, he did recognize the symptoms. But he willfully ignored them.
He doesn’t know why he did. The truth would manifest itself in front of him in startling clarity despite his attempts at ignoring it. Despite his prior words, and somewhat ironically, when it finally came time for him to make that choice, he didn’t choose the stone. The one duty he swore to follow any cost, he abandoned. And though he, in fact, made his decision because he saw that the only way he knew they would win needed Tony alive, his feelings for Tony undeniably colored his decision to some extent. It made Stephen feel irresponsible, admittedly.
He would give the Time Stone, to move them on the right path and because he genuinely trusted what the timelines showed him: the world needed Tony alive to have a chance, and maybe so did Stephen, a little. Even if there were realities where they won without Tony, of which none existed, he doubted that he’d pursue one of those realities anyway.
He clearly held great importance to the world and its proper course, but somewhere along the way Tony became of great importance to Stephen as well. The question was when did it happen? When did the sorcerer fall in love with person most paradoxically like him and unlike him? Stephen knew his stay in this timeline would draw to an end soon, doomed like millions of others if he didn’t take action soon. But given that action meant setting the world on a course seemingly set up for absolute failure, Stephen at least wanted to find the answers to this personal problem before he faded away.
And so, later, before Stephen strikes his terrible bargain in order to lead them to the only victory he saw, in the moments leading up to his own final moments, he reflects, trying to decipher when Stark became Tony and when he became easy prey for a virus that fed on a resignation to heartbreak. Stephen coughs. The specks of blood from his own injuries sustained in the fight and a shower of sunflower petals tumble out of his mouth and into his hand. He clenches his fist around the display of red and gold, a macabre recreation of the color scheme of Tony’s suit, and slowly puts the pieces together in his mind.
The very first possibility Stephen looked at may have kickstarted the beginning of his fall, even if he didn’t contract the disease until a much later possibility. Stark, though Stephen still addressed him as Stark then and would for a while longer, took an attack meant for Stephen from Thanos. Stark was left with a blade embedded through his armor and not enough nanites to repair the damage. Stephen found himself speechless. While the Guardians and Spider-Man continued to fight Thanos and keep his attention occupied, Stephen bore witness to Stark’s last moments.
“Why?,” he asked, finally, as Stark staggered onto the ground, nearly tumbling forward. Stephen barely caught him before he fell. Stephen searched for answers in the bright blue eyes belonging to the dying man he caught in his arms. Nothing but his reflection answered him. Stark’s eyes became glassier by the second.
Stark laughed, because even in death he would get the last laugh in as it seemed. He weakly tried to clap a hand onto Strange’s shoulder, but instead ended up touching it for a fleeting moment before he no longer had the strength to hold it up. “Worried about me, Doc? Thought you’d be more preoccupied about the stone,” he said, probably aiming for sarcastic but his tone became blurred as he obviously struggled for breath.
Stephen slowly lowered him down so that Stark lay sitting on the ground. “The stone is fine, Stark. You’re the one who has a blade embedded in his chest.”
Stark smirks wryly. “Then I did my job. I still think we should destroy the damn thing but it’s safer in your hands than your corpse,” Stark responded, wincing a bit in pain. He took a few shaky breaths, each evidently harder to take than the last. “Hey, Dr. Wizard. Do me a favor would you and… take care of… the kid?”
Stephen nodded softly, not trusting his words for once. Stark gave him a grateful smile before his light goes out. He heard an agonized cry from the kid moments later, revealing that he had found them. Stephen regarded the kid sadly and closed Stark’s eyes, out of respect. The fact that the man would sacrifice himself for someone who had it made it clear that he would not do the same still shocked Stephen.
“I’m sorry,” Stephen said, unsure of who he addressed with his comment. The kid just looked at him numbly and went back to desperately trying to find a pulse somewhere, anywhere. Stephen’s heart clenched. Though they only knew each other for a few hours, a loss of an ally’s life was indubitably a loss, and watching someone lose what clearly appeared to be some kind of parental figure pained everyone to see.
He knew of one thing in confidence, though, and it was that he had misjudged Stark. Respect replaced his instinctual annoyance of the man. For all his bravado, he fought valiantly in that fight and even sacrificed himself for a mere stranger. Not to mention, he clearly must have other redeeming qualities if he had forged a strong enough bond with the boy that he would react so strongly at Stark’s corpse.
Stephen laid a shaky hand on the boy’s back. It felt uncharacteristic for him to try and comfort someone, but he knew this timeline, mere moments from failure, had little time left in it, so he figured he’d give it his best effort at consolation before leaving it. Stephen’s eyes were transfixed on the blade that dealt the killing blow. For all his genius he still couldn’t understand why . It turned out that Stark had more of a proclivity for self-sacrifice, particularly in the name of the greater good, than Stephen knew.
Despite himself, Stephen felt himself mourn a little, surprised at how quickly he began to genuinely respect Stark. He felt immense guilt too, at letting Stark lose his life in exchange for Stephen’s. As he planned his jump to a new reality, he resolved to try and prevent that incident from happening. He removed his hand from the boy’s back and said, “I’ll make sure this doesn’t come to pass.” That promise ended up being for both their sakes.
Later, Stephen hypothesized that served as the catalyst, that first spark of respect must have opened the way for his eventual soft spot for the man.
However, he doesn’t learn how to keep that promise for many realities. As a result, next couple thousand timelines he sifted through were more of the same. Like the cells of a table of experimental data, each point he analyzed only shared minimal differences with each other. Sometimes, Quill wouldn’t lose his temper, but Mantis’ hold on Thanos would weaken instead. Other times, Thanos would have every other Stone besides the Time Stone and the massive power difference would result in the whole team dead. There were at least a hundred timelines where Thanos would just use the reality stone to immobilize them all, leaving the Time Stone easy prey for him to pluck.
Whether one thing changed or a dozen, the differences never summed up to be enough for a victory. In large part because the universe needed Stark alive, and try as he did, Stephen could never prevent the man from dueling Thanos. Stephen tried, on occasion, to take Thanos on by himself, but for all his knowledge of magic and strategy the only one who could ever land a blow on Thanos was Stark, when they were on Titan. Perhaps, more than his knowledge of the mad leader, Stark’s ability to be the only one to draw blood from the titan cursed him.
Despite that, the duel would, in many timelines, end with Stark dying. Seeing the man fight so bravely and die so tragically over and over again deepened the respect Stephen had begun to harbor for Stark. His tenacity in battle was admirable.
Stephen resolved to start keeping his promise to the young superhero, who he began to see as Peter rather than “the kid” or any other epithet, one way or the other. Another domino piece knocked over in the chain of events that would lead to the disease, Stephen surmised. Peter and Stark were fiercely protective of each other, continually shocking Stephen with the knowledge that they weren’t actually related. Become close to one, and you can’t help but earn a fondness for the other. Which was why, in the next reality Stephen investigates, he picks an outlier from the data set, hoping that if enough events changed he could keep the promise he made to Peter in the first reality.
In the next reality, number 100,007 since Stephen kept track, Stark figured out how to pilot the odd spacecraft Thanos’ underlings captured Stephen in and set the trio on a course for home, meaning they never reached Titan at all. Frankly, it seemed like a miracle, considering how alien, literally, the ship’s mechanisms were.
“Impressive work, Stark,” Stephen admitted, raising his voice a little so he could be heard over the music Stark had his suit play. Though Stephen once pursued a degree in engineering, he quickly found that he had no flair for it, which led him to pursue medicine instead. But even if he continued his original studies, Stephen strongly doubted he’d be able to make sense of how the ship operated.
Stark shrugged. “Tech is tech, alien or not, and they already had coordinates for New York,” he said loudly, and then frowned. “Uh, Friday, lower the music a little.” The music’s volume dipped. “Right, anyway, I wouldn’t get your hopes up too much, Houdini. I may have figured out how to get us home but I don’t have a damn clue how to land this baby.” He looked in the corner, where the kid was inspecting the ship’s walls curiously. “Besides, he helped. The kid’s a genius, you know,” Stark added, a fond pride rendering his tone warm.
“High praise coming from you, I’d imagine,” Stephen responded, quirking a brow and smiling. “Remind me again, what is your relationship to him? A student?”
“Something like that. I prefer to think of myself as more of a… a model to avoid, rather than follow. Mentorship isn’t my style.” Stark rubbed his left wrist, distractedly. “You really think it’s weird for me to be praising him? Maybe I need to do it more…,” he asked, trailing off.
“Not exactly weird, per se. But I’ve heard of your work, you’ve got… an impressive résumé. I think you’ve got me beat by exactly one doctorate degree,” Stephen joked. He glanced at Stark’s hand and made a mental note to ask him about the pain at some point. “Anyway, ACDC, hm? I don’t really know what I expected,” he commented, attempting to change the topic.
“Don’t like it? Let me guess, the wizard hates rock. So what do you like then? Gregorian chants, Beethoven, that kind of boring shit?” Stark quipped.
Stephen frowned, though he was amused. “Real clever, Stark. I do like rock, I’ll have you know, I just don’t like hard rock. I prefer… Pink Floyd? The Beatles?”
Stark nodded sagely. “Oh, so you like old man music,” he stated, matter of factly.
Old man music? Why of all the… The nerve! Stephen scoffed, affronted. “Excuse me?”
Stark snorted, and Stephen glared at him. “Just saying the facts, Doc,” Stark said. “As long as you don’t listen to jazz, I guess it’s not too bad.” Stephen’s frown deepened. “You’re kidding, holy shit, that’s hilarious. Congrats, you’re like, at least a 65 year old man in spirit now.” He looked over at Peter. “C’mon, Pete, back me up.”
Peter came bouncing over, and Stark whispered to him conspiratorially. He giggled and quickly put a hand over his mouth to cover it. “Sorry Mr. Strange. You’ve got a terminal case of dad taste,” Peter said, finally, as Stark wheezed behind him.
Stephen sighed. “It’s Doctor Strange, thank you.” At some point, the song had changed, and the suit was now playing I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss. Now, loathe as Stephen was to admit it, that was a song he could appreciate. He tapped his foot to the tune, discreetly, as he continued discussing music with the other two. Stephen ended up humming along as the song hit the chorus, but he tried to keep it quiet.
“Anyway, if it makes you feel better, Mr. Stark also has dad taste in—” Peter began, before being cut off by Stark.
“I do not , how dare you, kiddo,” Stark interrupted, feigning a pout. A beat passed and he looked at Stephen for a moment, studying him. Then, he smiled smugly. “Are you... humming, Strange?”
Oh, shit. They could hear? Stephen cleared his throat, flustered. “I… don’t know what you mean,” he lied.
Stark grinned and barked out a laugh, face bright with joy. “Hah! And here you were dissing my tunes! Eat shit, Gandalf,” he exclaimed. If Stephen were to look up the definition of shit-eating grin, he’d bet money that Stark’s face in that moment would be right there as the picture to accompany the definition.
“It’s a good song, alright?,” Stephen conceded. “And enough with the nicknames, for Christ’s sake, Stark.”
Stark hummed noncommittally, still looking unreasonably pleased with himself. Stephen grumbled.
A beep from the ship interrupted their little moment, letting the trio know that they were about to approach the airspace above New York City. Peter and Stark managed to swing a crash landing that was decidedly more crash than landing, but nevertheless, they made it back to Earth in one piece, mostly. The ship stopped resembling a ship and looked more like a pile of lego bricks, but the passengers were alright, at least.
Unfortunately for them, it seemed another group of Thanos’ underlings, or his “children” as they referred to themselves as which was frankly disturbing to Strange, had beaten them to New York.
Stark turned to Peter and looked at him seriously. “Kid, you need to go home, right now,” he said, rather than asked. Peter tried to argue but Stark stopped him with an imperious glare. “I am not having this argument with you right now, you hear me? What you pulled on the spaceship was dangerous enough,” he continued.
“Are you kidding me? No offense, Mr. Stark, but look how many of them are there! Even if you call some suits over and get the other wizard to come help, we’re still super outnumbered. Let me help, please ,” Peter pleaded. “This is my neighborhood! H-how am I supposed to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if I can’t even fight here of all places?”
Stark pinched his brow, frustrated. “Are you really trying that line again?” Peter grinned sheepishly. “Fine. At least it makes sense this time. But hang back, alright?” He turned to look at Stephen, browns drawn together tightly. “Houdini, keep an eye on the kid. I don’t care if you’re going to choose the Time Stone later, keep him alive for now,” Stark commanded, stress sharpening his tone.
Ah, so he had already said that this timeline. He had jumped in at the event that changed this reality fundamentally, so he had little idea of what transferred before that jump. Though, he should’ve assumed it stayed the same as all other realities. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part. He had been trying to be more cordial as he went forward in the realities. Oh well.
“Alright,” Stephen said, placatingly. He nodded at Peter and mentally asked the Cloak to go over to him. It obliged, thankfully, and draped itself over his shoulder, giving Stephen what seemed to be an approving nod. Whatever that looked like for enchanted cloth anyway. Stephen looked at Stark. “Consider it done. After all, he’s got better music taste than you, of course I have to protect him,” Stephen deflected.
Stark relaxed, shoulders slackening almost imperceptibly. “I’m going to allow your sass... For the moment,” he conceded, referencing one of their conversations from earlier. With that, he suited up and began tearing through the crowd of monsters, that the two aliens brought with them, with his suits lasers and a near terrifying vigor. Then again, after seeing Stark battle Thanos, Stark’s battle prowess has ceased to surprise Stephen.
Stephen debated portaling to the New York Sanctum to fetch Wong, but decided against it, not wanting to risk even that slight dip in time, and followed after Stark, throwing spells out left and right. Peter followed quickly, zipping around the monsters, webbing them up, and slinging debris at them. A few times, one of the monsters nearly got to Peter but the Cloak swatted them away before he got hurt. Stephen smiled at the sight, glad that despite it not having chosen Peter it was still willing to protect him on Stephen’s behalf.
Lost in the repetitive motions of the fight, Stark seemed to have gotten careless. One of Thanos’ underlings lunged for him for behind, now that the monsters had so much of his attention. Stephen, having forgotten that the Cloak was taking care of Peter, portalled behind Stark, intercepting the blow himself, when normally the Cloak would’ve been able to stop the full force of the blow. The lance went through his chest, mortally wounding him, and Stephen just barely managed to slice the alien in half by opening a portal into their midsection before falling to the ground. Ah. At least he kept his promise to Peter this timeline.
Stark fired a blast into the crowd of monsters, disrupting them, and went to catch Stephen right before he fell. “The hell were you thinking?,” he asked, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Friday, run a scan for—”
Stephen shook his head. “..I’m pretty sure this,” he gestured at the gaping wound in his chest, “is pretty fatal, Stark. “Call it the doctoral instinct.”
“...Tony. I caught you humming Kiss, Stephen, we’re on a first name basis now. I think,” he said, pressing a hand to the wound as if it would help. Stark… No, Tony’s left hand trembled. Stephen felt odd not being the one with shaking hands, surprising him that it seemed like an uncomfortable change of pace in the moment. “Fuck. Why?,” Tony asked.
Stephen tried to laugh it off, and immediately regretted it, coughing up blood. “Shit.” He paused. What was he even supposed to say? That he made a promise to peter thousands of realities ago to keep Tony alive? That he, quite frankly, got tired of seeing Tony fall in battle, when he always fought so hard? Time felt slow, for some reason. Good, it gave Stephen room to think. “Well… I wanted to say it’s… what did you say to that alien? Professional courtesy?,” he said, struggling for breath.
“You always this damn wordy when you talk, Doc?,” Tony asked, exasperated, the worry not leaving his tone even a bit.
“Only when I’m dying,” Stephen replied, sarcastically. He weakly placed a hand on top of the one Tony had pressed into the wound. “Anyway, I suppose… If I’m to be honest, it’s because… you’re the only one here who has facial hair anywhere near as good as mine,” he joked, before fluttering his eyes shut, no longer having the strength to keep them open.
“Wiseass,” Tony said, softly. The two remained like that for a moment more, trembling hands laid on top of each other, until Stephen stopped breathing and jumped to the next reality.
Looking back on it, there was a joke to be made here about dying in Tony’s arms, after he finally moved from Stark to Tony in Stephen’s mind. It must’ve been something he said, Stephen thought with some humor.