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Chapter Text

   The stench of blood, familiar and heavy filled Stephen’s nose as he watched his hand twist the long blade currently deep inside Tony’s stomach, the sight finally quenching the raging fire inside him, the absolute fury that had overtaken his mind in a cloudy haze. He was only distantly aware of the hands pushing at his shoulders, the shocked, pained exclamations of his lover but he paid them no mind, unable to tear his gaze away from the thick red substance slipping out from where the knife had sunken deep.

   He blew out a relieved sigh, all the tension leaving his shoulders as he held Tony braced against the table, as he twisted again causing the man to cry out and his knees to weaken. Stephen allowed it, a slow smile stretching across his lips as he lowered them both to the ground, Tony’s hands scratching frantically at where Stephen’s usually weak hands held the knife steady.

   Finally, finally he dared to lift his eyes, took in the look of betrayal in those warm whiskey eyes, the disbelief that was almost comedic now, as if he knew nothing of the fact that Stephen had to do this to quench the fire.

   “Stephen, stop!” he gasped through trembling lips, the desperation mixed with his pale complexion painted the most exquisite picture.

   “Shh,” Stephen soothed, yanking the knife out in a swift movement. He watched wide-eyed as a gush of blood flowed down his shirt, so much more satisfying then the trickles from before. Tony cried out again, hands flying up to press hard against the wound.

   Stephen tutted in disapproval, carefully dragged his hands away despite the man’s best efforts, for now he was much stronger then him, “its alright Tony, shhh, just let go, let it happen love.”

   He yanked him bodily into his arms, one hand sliding through his hair in a steady rhythm just the way he liked, exactly how he would comfort him after a nightmare. While Tony struggled uselessly against his hold, Stephen watched over his head as his life slowly drained from him, watched at he weakened, watched as tears filled Tony’s eyes. He listened to his heavy breaths, to his quiet pleading, who knew he would be the one to make Ironman beg?

   All the while Stephen felt freedom, for the first time in so so long, he was happy, he was calm he was relaxed.

----

   Stephen jerked to wakefulness, already gagging on the nightmare, the feel of sticky blood coating his hands. He sucked in harsh breaths only to gag again, swearing he could taste the metallic liquid in the air, his eyes began stinging with the promise of tears if he didn’t get a hold of himself right fucking now. He didn’t think, he just acted, brought his scarred and trembling hands in front of them, and grasping the left in the right he began to squeeze, nail digging into the flesh while the pain streaked across his mind in a flash of awareness and presence.

   “Stephen?”

   His entire body recoiled at the all too familiar voice, exhausted and concerned coming from right next to him. Before he even realized what, he was doing, Stephen found himself clambering to get off of the bed, a cold sweat breaking out as the images of Tony, pale and dying flickered before his eyes. Within seconds he was across the room, standing back to the large framed window as Tony sat up in bed.

   The light clicked on, Tony blinking in the harsh light while Stephen couldn’t help but run his own eyes frantically over his lover, searching for signs of injury. His stomach twisted sickly when he realized he was fine and something in his brain hinted at disappointment.

   Stephen dug his hands desperately into the curtain behind him. Anything to keep himself from approaching the bed, afraid of just what was in control of his body in that moment. Because this wasn’t the first time he was torn from sleep thanks to nightmares of Tony’s death, nor even to his death at his own hands. In fact, they had been getting worse these past few weeks, but this one, this one had felt too fucking real.

   “Stephen?” tentative and clearly anxious. He wanted to cry.

   “I’m sorry.” Stephen croaked. He didn’t know if it was for waking him, scaring him, or killing him.

   Tony slid to the edge of the bed, and Stephen barely held back a shout for him to stay the hell away from him. “Don’t, please,” he begged instead, terrified of the rush of anger that went through him.

   Tony froze, body half twisted to look at him. A silent stand off stretched on for several minutes while Stephen held on for all he was worth to the curtains behind him. Finally, Tony’s legs pulled up and onto the bed, he rubbed at his eyes and settled facing him, assessing.

   “Ok,” he murmured. “How can I help love?”

   “Don’t.” Stephen said again, it hurt so bad.

   Tony’s face crumpled, and Stephen detested the way he could see his mind whirring as he tried to understand his reaction, Tony took a deep breath, tried again, “was it…was it Dormammu? Or Titan? Or the mission you just came back from?”

   Stephen barked out a harsh humorless laugh, ignored the way Tony flinched. Stephen would give almost anything for those familiar horrors to the dreams that had been haunting him. All at once, over powering in its rush, Stephen felt the urge to flee, to run from this place and disappear into some distant dimension never to be heard from again, where he could lose himself and his mind. The only impulse stronger then that one, however, was the thrumming in his veins, tempting him to lash out, the treacherous whispering in his head that said Tony didn’t actually want to know or give a damn.

   “Why do you even care?” Stephen snapped, leaving them both in startled silence, the words having slipped out without his conscious thought.

   Tony was staring at him wide-eyed and unsettled, he had never seen him like this of course, Stephen had never felt like this to be fair. But then, to what Stephen believes is to both of their surprise Tony’s back straightened and he levelled him with a harsh glare, “I don’t know, why do you care when I’m freaking out? Last I checked it was a requirement of being a good boyfriend so how about you stop being a dick and let me take care of you?”

   Just like that something in Stephen broke, shattering the dark, haunting rot that had been thickening in his aura, infecting his mind with the late hour and shadowed room. His hands were still digging into the curtain, holding him against this window but suddenly he was blinking rapidly, mind settling firmly into familiar, logical territory. It was just a nightmare, he would never hurt Tony. Realistically speaking, removing the sickening emotions of the dream, the scenario would never happen.

   Stephen wasn’t strong enough on his best day to subdue a child let alone a full-grown muscular man, perks of having broken hands and body. In the nightmare he hadn’t even used magic, and even more noticeable, he had never covered Tony’s mouth, all he would have had to do was call for his Ironman suit and the fight would have been over, stabbed or not. It was bullshit all of it, their frequency was just taxing his mind, that was all.

   He lifted his eyes back to Tony, who seemed to be waiting with an expression akin to exhausted impatience and so Stephen tried, a very small, weak smile gracing his still trembling lips. Even from this distance he could spot the relief that bloomed on his face, realized just how bad he had scared the man.

   Yet, Stephen found himself unable to move for all that, even as he felt the chill seeping into his bare feet from the cold hardwood, even as his fingers continued to squeeze and tug at the fabric behind him.

   “Come here love.”

   He wanted to, by God did he ever but Stephen could admit he was scared, didn’t know what would happen should he leave this quiet limbo, most certainly didn’t want to find out. He watched as Tony’s brows furrowed again, clearly debating how to get him back in bed. Then, quite literally from nowhere there was the swooping of something red twisting around Stephen’s middle making him flinch harshly, only to realize a moment later it was the Cloak.

   It tugged him toward the bed even as Stephen protested, one edge of the Cloak swatting at the hand clutching the curtains until he let go. Resigned, Stephen allowed himself to be dragged over until it was Tony’s hands replacing the strength of the fabric instead. Stephen’s eyes fluttered closed as he struggled to hold back the urge to cry as he was pulled into his lover’s arms, Tony’s fingers running through his hair gently, not so different to what he himself did to Tony in the dream.

   He shuddered, and Tony’s hands tightened around him, murmuring words that Stephen knew were meant to be soothing, but he was distracted, everything inside him hyper aware of the stone sitting in his stomach, the low thrum of irritation he couldn’t seem to control.

   “Stephen? Your hands,” he was pulled from is head abruptly, his lover’s voice strained and uneasy.

   He glanced down, saw twin streams of blood already crusting from the crescent shape cuts, where fingernails dug in a just a little too far. Stephen swallowed thickly, curled his fingers in gently again to hide the injuries from Tony’s eyes, “must have done it in my sleep.”

   There was a pause, the hand not running through his hair coming down to cover one of Stephen’s fists lightly. “Ok, its alright, it was just a nightmare. We don’t have to go to bed, we can stay up for a bit, its alright.”

   Meaningless words, all of it. Stephen bit his lip against the torrent of abuse seeking a way out and as he sat there staring into the dark, Tony’s heart thrumming at his ear he wondered, not for the first time this past week, what the fuck was wrong with him.

----

   Morning came to find Stephen seated in his familiar armchair, the Cloak wrapped tightly around him as though sensing his horrible unease. From this view Stephen was able to see the kitchen clearly, where Tony was puttering about, making breakfast, signing papers, speaking in hushed tones on his cellphone. It didn’t take a genius to know exactly what he as doing, by all rights Tony should have left twenty minutes ago, and while he was never very punctual the fact that he was still in pajamas was a dead give away that he had no intention of leaving.

   Stephen understood, really, he did. His behaviour last night was…concerning to say the least. Still, that didn’t stop his jaw from clenching, or the thrum of frustration inside him. He didn’t want Tony to stay, he didn’t want him walking around on eggshells and shooting him concerned looks every five minutes and he definitely did not want to be reminded about his dream every time he had to look at his lover’s face.

   Taking a stabilizing breath, Stephen pushed himself to his feet. He swept into the kitchen mindful of the way he needed to seem like he was in rush, plucked a muffin from the platter in the kitchen, reached for his tea which had been sitting there steeping for the past five minutes and shot Tony a unimpressed look. He blinked at him confusion, lowered the phone to press it against his shoulder.

   “Where are you going?” he asked, clearly confused.

   “I have a meeting in Kamar-Taj and I’m going to be late,” he pretended to glance at the clock on the microwave. “And by the looks of it you already are.”

   Tony frowned, a familiar stubborn look slipping into his expression and Stephen had to bite back a sigh, “I thought we might stay home today, catch up on some sleep.”

   “Sorcerers aren’t allowed to nap on the fate of the universe,” Stephen declared breezily, he motioned at the phone still clutched in his hand. “I’ll call you later, I don’t know how long this will take.” Without allowing his lover another word Stephen quickly made up a portal and stepped through.

   He didn’t go far, he appeared right into his room upstairs. Tony would leave soon, it hadn’t taken long to notice his lover’s discomfort with remaining in the Sanctuary by himself, as rare as that was. They had been together for nearly two years now, two long, tiring, and lovely years…until now. They were taking things slow, very slow not that Stephen minded, but right about now all he wanted was space, space to finally fucking breathe.

   He sensed, then, Tony’s presence leaving the Sanctuary. Stephen blew a sigh of relief, something he hadn’t known was tense inside him unclenching. It was easier to think these days when Tony wasn’t around. He stepped back through a portal and into the kitchen, sat down abruptly and began chewing on the muffin he had taken moments ago. He focused on each bite, taking his time, the feel of it moving, the feel of his throat bobbing with each swallow. It was dangerous to let his mind wander, didn’t want to face the images that would come before his eyes.

   “You look like absolute shit, Strange.”

   He didn’t need to look up to know Wong had just entered the Sanctuary, he stared resolutely ahead, “yeah, happens when you’ve only slept ten hours in five days.”

   Wong blew out his own tired sigh, “again?”

   Stephen just nodded, finally glanced over at where Wong was shaking his head. The librarian made his way over to the table and sat down heavily. He was the only one Stephen had confided in so far and the man had been taking it seriously, much to Stephen’s amusement. He, himself was fairly confident that he was just going crazy, simply snapping from the stress of it all.

   “Well I have good news.”

   Stephen raised an eyebrow, doubtful as ever.

   He rolled his own before reaching into one of his many hidden pockets and taking out a small bottle with a cork stopper. Stephen peered at it, noted the white substance inside that almost seemed to be glowing, “I got no clue what that is you know.”

   “Something to put you out like a light. It should stop the nightmares and dreams alike. A deep, undisturbed sleep.”

   Stephen was still having doubts, “how strong is it?”

   Wong set it on the table between them, “records show it having worked on everyone, other then that no clue,” his eyes turned piercing. “Why? What’s changed?”

   Stephen swallowed thickly, struggled not to lower his gaze from his inquisitive friend, “its…getting worse. Last night felt different, it didn’t feel like a nightmare, it felt real. It was like I was actually there, I-” He cut off, nausea rising up his throat. “I liked it. I twisted a knife in his gut and it afterwards I finally felt calm…I felt good.” He whispered.

   He couldn’t miss the troubled look that flashed across Wong’s face before it was carefully hidden behind his usual mask of stoicism. His fingers tapped on the table as though he were thinking something through and suddenly Stephen felt himself snap, sick to death of these conversations they had been having for the past eight days.

   “Just say it Wong. We both know what you are thinking. I’ve finally cracked, eight hundred years tortured by Dormammu, a hundred thousand futures in my head of the world dying,” Stephen laughed harshly, “I obviously can’t take it and this is my mind bending, better to just lock me up now before it breaks completely.”

   “Control,” Wong snapped, his voice hard and authoritative in a way that never failed to straighten Stephen’s spine.

   They glared harshly at one another across the table, until slowly Stephen slumped, hands coming up to cover his eyes in defeat. He was in a constant state of anger and irritation these days and since the moment he had told Wong about it the man had taken charge of mediating Stephen’s mood with reminders like that one.

   He heard Wong take a deep breath and Stephen idly wondered if the man was scared of him, “you are sleep deprived and emotional, both of which are not helping us figure out what is wrong with you. Stephen, you must not let it rule your head, control yourself or it will control you.”

   He still didn’t look up, Wong tried a different tact, “have you told Tony about this yet?”

   Stephen tensed, a wave of anger coming over him at Wong’s presumptuousness, he beat it back just barely, “no,” he grumbled.

   “Shouldn’t you?”

   No, Stephen didn’t think he should, “I think we both know he would just make a joke about how sometimes he wants to kill me too.”

   Wong said nothing, and Stephen finally lifted his head, saw indecision warring in his eyes and Stephen knew all of sudden exactly what he was thinking, “you’re worried I’m actually going to do something to him.”

   Wong pursed his lips, “aren’t you?”

   Stephen swallowed thickly, felt tears sting his eyes and by god he hated how erratic his emotions were right now, “right, yeah. I’m probably not the best person for him to be around right now.” The words felt like poison as they left his lips, but Wong was already shaking his head.

   “Stephen I only mean that until we figure this out…”

   “What if there isn’t anything to figure out Wong? What if there isn’t some grand explanation and all the research and experiments you have been doing are coming up with nothing because I’m actually just going crazy?”

   “You don’t believe that,” Wong said firmly. “And neither do I.”

   Problem was, that with each nightmare Stephen wasn’t sure that he agreed. Especially after last night. The Cloak tightened around him and Stephen knew exactly what it was trying to say, a promise to stop him if he ever tried to hurt Tony. He squeezed its hem in thanks.

   Wong stood, waved a hand at the vile still sitting between them, “alright enough wallowing. Drink that, go to bed and I’ll start the next tests.”

   Stephen sighed.

----

   Tony was anxious, and tired, and very annoyed right now. All of which were a terrible mixture to be sat in a two-hour long meeting while the official at the front of the room droned on in a monotone, all the while never lifting his head from the sheet of paper clasped in his hand. This middle-aged man was nervous, Tony knew that much from the slight tremor in his hands even as he read on resolutely, if Tony himself wasn’t so miserable right now he might feel bad for the man.

   He knew he was making it worse, having begun tapping his fingers twenty minutes ago, blatantly looking at his phone every five (perpetually disappointed not see Stephen’s name lighting up the screen) and sighing every ten. It was rude, obviously he knew that, he didn’t need the looks being shot his way by Rhodey and Bruce to tell him that. But he didn’t stop, because the sooner this pointless meeting ended the sooner, he could finally call Stephen, the urge to check in hounding him since he walked out the door.

   “Ok, I think we should take a ten-minute break.” Steve called suddenly from the front of the room. The man had been listening with rapt attention since the beginning and it seemed Tony’s plan had worked, anyone who knew him would not expect him to return after the break.

   He was up and out of the room in record time making a beeline for his office instead of the workshop. If Tony was honest, he was half tempted to pass out on the little couch there, even knowing how uncomfortable it was, but at least it would be something.

   He stepped through the doorway, swinging the door shut behind him, only the click never came. Tony turned on his heel to find Rhodey standing there with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, his friend had come a long way in expressing his attitude.

   “Want to tell me what all that was about?”

   Tony simply rolled his eyes, “you’ve known me how long? My patience level for idiots and boring meetings has only decreased with age, you know that sugarbear.”

   Rhodey shook his head and made his way to Tony’s couch before plopping down there and Tony wanted to groan in frustration, all he wanted was to call his boyfriend, was that too much to ask?

   “Yeah I got that, except I have known you a long time and I know that little display was you trying to get out of the meeting as fast as you could, which means something is up with you.”

   “And you what?” Tony asked with amusement. “Are you reverting to your role of babysitter all of a sudden?”

   He shrugged, “I only babysit you when you and your Sorcerer are having problems.”

   Tony frowned, leaned back against his desk and folded his arms, unable to help the defensiveness that creeped into his voice, “and what makes you think we’re having problems?”

   “Oh come off it Tones. Like I don’t recognize a pattern by now, you did the same thing with Pepper except now its less cute. You usually have the decency to turn off your phone during a meeting or hide it, but you were disappointed every time you looked at the screen, which means you are waiting for Stephen to call. You came straight here instead of the workshop which means you aren’t pissed at him, but you are worried he is pissed at you.” Rhodey leaned back against the couch as he went on. “You literally told me you were cancelling and staying home for the day only to show up almost thirty minutes late, and still didn’t pay attention and on at least eight different occasions already your eyes of drooped with sleepiness. Need I say more?”

   Tony blinked at his best friend, when the fuck did, he become so predictable? Still it wasn’t like the man was completely right, but he suddenly had the urge to talk to him, to explain why he was so worried. It wasn’t like it was unusual for them to talk about stuff like that but something about this seemed more personal, maybe because it was more about Stephen then himself.

   Yet, Tony found himself continuing anyway, “alright Sherlock great guess and all, but you are reading way too much into it. My beauty sleep was interrupted by a nightmare that’s all. I-”

   He cut himself off when Rhodey tensed, his gaze flickering to the alcohol cabinet in the corner of the office, rarely touched by Tony these days. He should probably be offended by that but instead it sort of warmed his heart a little. Ugh he was going soft in his old age.

   “Cut it out Rhodey, Stephen had a nightmare not me.”

   “Oh.” He relaxed instantly, and Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why are you acting like you had a fight then?”

   “I’m not-”

   “Were you a dick about it? We both know what an ass you can be when you get woken up suddenly.”

   “What the fuck Rhodey? I’ve had enough nightmares to not be a complete asshole when someone else had one, especially Stephen.”

   “You used to wake me up with loud noises when I was having a nightmare, that is pretty dickish.” He deadpanned.

   Tony waved it away, “yeah but you aren’t Stephen.”

   The man rolled his eyes and Tony grinned in satisfaction. Rhodey leaned forward a moment later levelling him with one of those sincere looks that Tony usually hated, “what’s the problem then? Is he alright?”

   And that pretty much hit the nail on the head, because no he was fairly certain his lover was anything but alright. He wasn’t as ignorant as Stephen would like to believe, he knew his Sorcerer had been waking up in the middle of the night for the past week even if last night was the first to involve screaming and something akin to a panic attack. He knew something was wrong with him, but when he tried to ask, Stephen would brush it off with a weak smile and silently begging eyes for him to stop.

   “I don’t know,” he hated saying the words, if anyone should know it was him.

   “You don’t know?”

   Tony shook his head, “he’s been hardly sleeping, he’s been irritable, annoyed. Past couple days he even seems to be avoiding me and I-” he cut off, swallowing thickly. “I’m not sure what to do about it.”

   Rhodey raised a skeptical eyebrow, “have you asked him?”

   Tony snorted, “he’s even more evasive then me, so what do you expect?”

   The man shook his head as though eternally burdened by Tony’s inability to express his feelings, which Tony could totally relate to, “you two were made for each other.” He muttered.

   “I know, anyway, I was going to call him so if you could.” He made a shooing motion with his hands.

   Rhodey stood with an unimpressed glare, “yeah yeah got it.” He turned to leave when he paused, hand on the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Have you asked Wong?”

   Tony frowned, “Wong?”

   “Yeah, if he talks to anyone about it, well it would be that guy, right? Or you could at least get some answers on what might have happened to be freaking him out.”

   “Noted, now get out.” Tony’s mind was already whirring with that idea. He ignored Rhodey’s grumbling and the clicking of the door as he walked over to his little couch, hand clutching his phone tightly as he began to devise a plan to catch Wong alone. After all, he almost never saw the librarian without Stephen being around.

----

   It shouldn’t feel this good, he knew that even as his heartbeat began to slow and his breath evened out. His back was pressed against the cool metal of Tony’s work table, a comforting feeling after the sweat he had just worked up.

   He dropped the wrench he hadn’t even realized he was holding, a ding ringing out in the hollow room as it clattered against the floor, dulled only by the sticky blood and familiar black hairs attached to it. It was gross, Stephen decided in a detached kind of way, but of course what would one expect when using a wrench to bash someone’s skull in? It was all much less satisfying then when he could open someone up surgically. Still, the job was done, the anger having left him the moment he slumped here, exhaustion coming over him in comforting sweeps, he’d finally be able to sleep now.

   He let his eyes run lazily over the scene it front of him, it was more merciful then the knife, he decided, much more efficient as well for all the strain. Tony hadn’t even heard him approaching, the music providing the perfect cover, he had even surprised himself when he picked up the hefty wrench, its cool metal stinging his sore hands.

   When he brought it down against his head the first time, Stephen had been worried it wouldn’t be hard enough, that all it would cause was a bad goose egg, maybe a minor concussion. But he needn’t have worried at all, Tony had crumpled to the floor instantly, a perfectly placed hit. After that it had been easy to reign down the long series of hit against his skull until it collapsed inwards and the familiar sight of a brain could be seen through the blood and bone.

   Yes, he hadn’t felt a thing. Far better then the kitchen knife.

----

   Stephen woke and abruptly threw himself to the side until he could lean over the bed and vomit onto the floor, his whole-body arching in disgust as the scene played over and over behind his eyes. He didn’t even register the hand running soothing circles on his back, too focused on the burning in his throat, the tears streaming down his face as he sobbed.

   “Wong,” he gasped.

   Already the vomit was being magicked away, a towel wiping across his mouth, another clean one trying to wipe away the cold sweat on his forehead. Distantly Stephen knew he was shaking uncontrollably, knew Wong was saying something in an urgent tone of voice but he couldn’t make it out, around the way it felt like he was spiralling, his whole body existing in a detached way that suggested it was no longer his own.

   “Stephen!” It broke through his haze just barely, a hand was gripping his wrist and yanking it hard out in front of him.

   That was when he saw it, he had been digging his nails in the scarred flesh of his palm, so much worse then the night before. He realized his other wrist was being held tightly by the Cloak, which itself seemed to be shaking in something like fear.

   Stephen stared up at Wong’s distraught face with tear-stained eyes, “it didn’t work, the bottle,” he gasped around sobs. “please, please help me, anything Wong please.” There was nothing to do but plead with the man, beg him to fix this because he couldn’t’ survive another night like this.

   “Its going to be ok,” Wong said, but his tone seemed full of doubt. “I’m bringing you to Kamar-Taj, we’ll make this better I promise.”

----

   An hour later Stephen was downstairs while Wong disappeared to Kamar-Taj where he would prepare some Masters and room for him. He was tucked into the couch, sinking into the cushions as far he could go, wrapped tightly once more in Cloak, whose corners seemed to have taken up residence around his hands, should he begin digging his nails in again.

   Stephen was desperately glaring into a lamp’s light, wishing he could burn the images from his mind, even as exhaustion beat a steady rhythm against his head. He wouldn’t sleep though, never again if he could help it. Things were not adding up, of course.

   This dream, in addition to feeling just as real, actually referenced the dream from the night before as though adjusting to Stephen’s rationalizations. This time around it didn’t matter if Stephen was physically weaker then Tony because he had knocked him down immediately, effectively making it impossible for him to call his suit as well. The one thing Stephen was clinging to at this point was the fact that he hadn’t used magic, there was no good reason why he wouldn’t have.

   There was the sudden loud bang from the front door, startling Stephen from his thoughts. His head snapped over only to find Peter walking into the room, backpack in hand, eyes roaming over the Sanctuary.

   “What are you doing here?” The words came out in an angry rush before Stephen could stop himself.

   Peter froze, turning to Stephen’s huddled form. His eyes widened almost comically as he stuttered through his sentence, “I…I…its Tuesday. I…always come on Tuesday right? Did I miss a text?” he fumbled for his phone and Stephen grit his teeth.

   He didn’t want to deal with this right now, everything inside him telling him to portal Peter to Siberia and be done with it. But just as his fingers twitched Stephen eyes flew open realizing what he had been about to do.

   Tears pricked his eyes again, but he wiped them quickly before Peter could see, “sorry Peter no. That…that was my mistake.”

   Peter immediately brightened, “oh its alright, but are you ok Dr. Strange? You don’t look so good.”

   “I-” Stephen paused, gathering himself and forced a little smile. “I’m actually not feeling too well Peter; do you think we could take a rain check today? I know I promised we’d go over astral-projection but I’m not up for it.”

   The boy, ever eager to please bobbed his head quickly, “right yeah of course. I get it, I can come back another day.” Peter swung his backpack up and shot Stephen worried glance. “Feel better Dr. Strange, Wong and Tony will take care of you right?”

   The kid’s concern should be heart warming, but as it was Stephen only found it grating on already frayed nerves, “of course, I’ll be just fine.” It felt like the biggest lie he ever told the kid as he watched his retreating back.

   Finally, alone Stephen returned his gaze to the lamp and didn’t even feel it when his phone began buzzing, didn’t react until the Cloak poked him hard in the shoulder. He blinked rapidly, eyeing his phone, which sat on the armrest. He spotted the caller ID and his heart he immediately began a thundering rhythm in his chest, Tony was calling.

   But this time it seemed his fear was overruling the ever-present anger because he grabbed the phone quickly shaking the Cloak’s grip loose. He wanted to hear his lover’s voice, needed to reassure himself that the man was fine, untouched by the horrors rotating in Stephen’s skull.

   He held it to his ear, “Tony?”

   “Hey yeah,” Stephen’s entire body seemed to go limp as he marginally felt himself relax at the sound of his lover’s warm voice. “Just wanted to call and see how things were.”

   Tony was checking up on him, obviously but for once Stephen felt like he actually needed it, “I’m home now just…” he cut off, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry Tony.”

   Stephen could practically feel Tony’s anxiety through the line, “Stephen, hey. Sorry about what? Tell me what’s wrong.”

   He took a shuddering breath, “I’m going to Kamar-Taj for a few days, I know its pretty shit timing, but some stuff came up.”

   Silence.

   Then, “no, stop it. Quit treating me like an idiot because we both know I am anything but. You’ve barely been sleeping for the past week, you keep looking at me like a kicked puppy and now you are ignoring me, so cut the bullshit and tell me what is up with you.”

   This had been a bad idea, he should have let the phone ring out, the treacherous rage beginning to simmer in his gut, “didn’t realize you were a doctor Tony or that you were so desperate for my attention. Since when am I not allowed to deal with my problems myself? You can’t fix everything Tony and I’m not just some toy for you to tinker with.”

   There was a sharp intake of breath from the across the line and a self-satisfied smile stretched across his lips even as he could hear Tony reeling himself up for a response.

   “What the fuck? This doesn’t sound like you at all Stephen, last, I remember you were going on about how we are a team and should work through things together. And since when have I ever claimed to treat you like a toy?”

   The righteous anger was almost like a balm, he deserved it after all. What kind of man suffered through dreams of murdering his loved one every night and then pretended everything was fine? Tony should be angry with him, he should be spitting insults and throwing him in the mud, he should be running in the other direction. Stephen’s eyes flickered shut with the sudden urge to just push, push, push until Tony was far enough away to be untouchable, to be safe.

   The words began to slide off his tongue, even as the Cloak seemed to tighten around his wrist in warning, it didn’t understand, no one could understand, “please Tony as if you’ve ever needed to say it. You were just happy to finally find someone more broken then yourself to play with, someone who you could fix and make you feel needed.”

  Heavy breathing sounded across the line, “you don’t believe that, and I don’t know what is wrong with you right now-”

   “Nothing Tony, maybe I’m just tired of being your plaything.” It was a shot to the gut as subtle as it was. The man was changed from his early years and one of his biggest insecurities toward their relationship was that Stephen wouldn’t know how much Tony loved him because he couldn’t express it just right, that Stephen would believe their interaction was superficial to him.

   “That’s enough,” Tony snapped, his tone harsh and unyielding. Stephen allowed himself a smile. “Don’t move from where you are, I’m on my way over.”

   “Don’t bother-”

   “What are you doing?”

   Stephen glanced up, startled to find Wong glaring down at him, hands on his hips and mouth pressed into a thin line. To say he seemed unimpressed was an understatement, the anger in his eyes almost on par with the rolling in his gut. From the phone came Tony’s voice, unexpectedly pleading, “stay there Stephen, I’m on my way. Just wait for me please, I’m coming.”

   Stephen hug up the phone.  

   “Nothing, saying goodbye.”

   Wong raised an eyebrow, “sounded more like you being a complete asshole.”

   “Well, it seemed conducive to keeping him away, just in case right?”

   The librarian shook his head harshly, “no Stephen, you aren’t going to hurt him. I promise you that.”

   Stephen shrugged, stood and moved past Wong, intent on them leaving before Tony showed up. A portal was swirling in the corner, where Wong had stepped through, he didn’t need to look at the other man to feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

   Still, he breezed ahead and through, not bothering to see of the man was following, well aware he would be. Predictably they stepped through the portal together, but the moment they did, Stephen froze, blinking in confusion at the sight around him.

   “Where are we?” he asked.

   His voice echoed down the stone hallway, just large enough for Stephen’s hair to brush the top. Glancing up and running his hand over the old cracked stones he recognized in the dim lighting of the torch held in Wong’s hand, hundreds of tiny little symbols and runes scratched in. He could also feel moisture and that was when the moldy stale air hit him, as if deep underground, a ready chill already seeping into his aching hands.

   “It is called Hānikāraka Jēla.”

   “Hmm, informative,” Stephen muttered as he slowly made his way forward, unable to see far as the darkness engulfed him rapidly.

   Wong followed and grabbed his shoulder, “wait a moment,” he turned to the wall and gently pressed the torch against it, the flame appearing to heat up the stone until it was shining red. Slowly, very slowly, the stones surrounding it began to light into a glowing red and continued down into the darkness, allowing some small measure of light. Wong, put out the torch, “follow me.”

   As they walked, Stephen carefully watching his step on the uneven stone floor, Wong continued to speak, “you’ve expressed a growing irritation and lack of control as a response to these dreams. Most of this can be accounted for by your exhaustion but I suspect something else is going on.”

   “Besides me finally snapping? Reaching my limit?”

   Wong threw a sharp look over his shoulder and Stephen had to bite back an eyeroll, “yes. I thought it best to do this…discreetly.”

   Stephen frowned, “you mean this isn’t Kamar-Taj?”

   Wong shook his head, “it is technically. We are currently in her underbelly, an area that has been abandoned for many years now, somewhere you can be monitored without the Masters of Kamar-Taj…interfering.”

   Stephen’s stomach twisted as his words, for the first time since this started, despite his own words, a wave of hopelessness washed through him. There was also something sad and heartbreaking about Wong’s insistence that he could be ok, that he was trying so hard to help Stephen.

   “I assume we don’t want the Masters interfering because you think they’ll agree with me. They’ll decide I’ve cracked and should be dismissed.” Stephen offered quietly.

   Wong didn’t even look back at him, “no, I simply don’t want anyone jumping to conclusions. Or knowing that the Sorcerer in charge of the Time Stone is out of commission. We have enough problems without opportunistic creatures and demons getting in the way.” He stated firmly.

   Stephen didn’t honor that with a reply, not that he needed to as Wong stopped suddenly as the glowing bricks expanded around a doorway. His breath caught when he realized what they were standing in front of. A small dark room with a cot in one corner, a sink, a rug and perhaps most importantly, an entryway blocked by bars.

   “A prison.”

   Wong, to his credit, didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed, “a place where you won’t need to worry about Tony and I can help you.”

   “Hmm, a place I can’t hurt anyone.” Stephen stated wryly as his fingers ghosted over the bars. They were a plain dull metal, but just like the stone around him, engraved with ancient runes. “It’s a wise idea.”

   Without preamble Stephen swung open the door to an ear-piercing squeal. A quick examination of the room revealed Wong had been considering this for quite some time. The cot had fresh sheets and every inch appeared to be scrubbed clean of mildew, while a meditation pillow had obviously been added. In the corner was a smaller enclaved room clearly for privacy should he need the washroom. To Stephen’s own surprise, the prospect of remaining here actually gave him relief.

   The nightmares could plague him all they wanted, but Tony would be safe, and whoever else his mind chose to conjure up. A low threatening hum in the back of his subconscious only made him relax further, ignoring the distant claustrophobia from the room that had him bending ever so slightly. He turned to Wong and offered a small smile, “thank you.”

   He didn’t miss, even in the dim light, the unease on Wong’s face. He didn’t want to leave him down here clearly, but he also saw no better option, “it won’t be for long. I’ve been researching and have a few leads.” He tried to assure.

   Stephen shrugged and sat on the bed, but not before shrugging off his Cloak who flitted around the room quickly getting familiar with it, “its alright Wong. Take your time, I might be down here a long time and I’d rather not get my hopes up.”

   “You will be alright, Stephen.”

   He just hummed as the door closed and a thin glow filled the keyhole, perhaps, perhaps not.

Chapter Text

   Tony was utterly incensed, not to mention worried.

   He stalked up the steps and threw open the Sanctuary doors, intent on finding his sorcerer and throwing tactfulness to the wind and demanding to know what the hell was going on and what was wrong with him. Stephen hadn’t sounded anything like himself on the phone, it had been as though he was speaking to an entirely different person and he knew the churning in his gut wouldn’t dissipate until he found his lover and saw him with his own two eyes.

   Unfortunately, this was beginning to seem less and less likely, as he stalked from room to room, only to find each and every one empty. Yet, he pressed on even as his heart began to hammer in his chest with each step. Stephen had said he was going to Kamar-Taj, but he wouldn’t have left yet? Would he?

   He felt sick as he finally entered their bedroom to find it empty, seemingly untouched from that morning, the sheets on their bed still in complete disarray. The Stephen on the phone had been aiming to hurt him, pulling out his dozens of issues from thin air and seemingly throwing them at him until one would stick. He didn’t for one second think Stephen believed any of the shit he just said about being a toy or Tony wanting to fix him, he would have a year ago maybe, but not anymore. Stephen had spent an extensive amount of time driving those delusions from his head…but that didn’t mean hearing those words coming from his lover’s mouth didn’t sting painfully.

   The only thing he could be completely sure of, was the that something was very very wrong. He bit his lip in consideration, casting his eyes about the room, looking for some kind of clue. If Stephen wouldn’t tell him and Wong was no where to be found, he would have to figure something out himself. His eyes drifted instinctively to Stephen’s bedside table, a small oak thing just big enough for the lamp and his alarm clock. He made his way around the bed and paused.

   He wasn’t fond of rifling through Stephen’s things, believed that everyone was entitled to their privacy but this was certainly an exception. He tugged open the single drawer in the table and ended up staring down at it blankly.

   It was practically empty, which wasn’t surprising. Stephen didn’t like to collect things, but what was there stole his breath and made his heart pound rapidly in his chest. He swallowed thickly and wiped at his eyes which were quickly watering. He picked up the tiny black box, hand trembling and with a practiced pinch of the thumb flipped open the lid.

   Nestled in a silky cushion, sat a ring.

----

   Stephen stared down at his lover, fast asleep and curled comfortably in the sheets of their bed. He was exhausted, had collapsed into the bed without a word and promptly curled up at his side, unaware he was still awake. He had been sitting next to him for nearly thirty minutes now, waiting with waning patience for his breath to even out and a deep sleep to come over him.

   His trembling fingers tapped anxiously on his knee while he waited, unable to help the way his breath was coming faster, his heart pounding with each tick of the clock. When Tony’s entire body finally went lax and his mouth fell open with steady intakes of breath, Stephen couldn’t help the grin that spread over his lips or the twist of excitement in his gut.

   He cast his eyes about the room, searching for the perfect instrument to give him relief. Behind the current of giddy excitement was his own exhaustion. He had been laying awake for hours and it was hateful to see Tony simply collapse and sleep, utterly unfair.

   Finding nothing, Stephen clenched his jaw. Their room was bare of weapons beyond Tony’s tech, which would be poetic if he had any hope of figuring out how to use it. His eyes skated across the fire poker and other iron utensils next to the fireplace, but he dismissed them, boring.

   He looked back down at him, running his gaze over his body only to pause as soon as they swept over his throat. Tony’s head was tilted to the side, almost inviting Stephen’s trembling hands to wrap around it and squeeze. Ah.

   He shifted onto his knees, entire body trembling with anticipation now. He looked at his hands, his long fingers perfect for wrapping around his throat, but frowned at the weak limbs. Tony was strong, could buck him off with ease should he have a mind too, though it was doubtful he even had enough strength in his hands to apply pressure for any extended period of time anyway.

   A thrum of anger moved through him, but this time directed at himself. He flexed the fingers, felt a familiar ache making his lips twist into snarl. They clenched into fists, the nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He didn’t stop, even when the nails bit into the skin and little trickles of blood flowed from the wounds, even when the muscle spasmed painfully, it wasn’t enough, it didn’t hurt enough.

   A small huff sounded from his lover and Stephen’s eyes darted to his sleeping form. He didn’t hesitate, bright ropes appearing around Tony’s long neck and squeezing in time with Stephen’s clenched hands. He watched on, breath coming fast with his wicked excitement once more as Tony’s body bucked.

    His eyes flew open, hands coming up automatically to grab at the ropes. His mouth opened in a wide oh as he tried to take in air, he bucked again, entire body twisting toward Stephen, wide-eyed and pleading through the choking sounds being pulled from his throat. Stephen watched silently, even as one of Tony’s hands landed on his wrist, he simply clenched the hand again and the ropes tightened, making his eyes bulge and tears leak from the corners. With each darker shade his face turned, Stephen felt himself relaxing, the surge of adrenalin receding in the face of Tony’s death. He gave up not long after, body going limp even as his legs twitched, the hand gripping his wrist slowly loosening until it slid off.

   Inhaling a shaky breath Stephen unclenched his hands, flexing the sore fingers. Disappointing, he wished he could have felt the tendons strain against his hands, his body trying to buck him off. Still, he was exhausted, let the ropes dissipate, and leaving the room in its gloom. Stephen sunk down slowly, until he was laying comfortably, and silently laid his head on Tony’s chest, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

----

   Stephen woke in a cold sweat and a scream dying in his throat.

   He tried to sit up only to falter as the image of Tony’s silent pleading to be rescued filled his eyes. He fell back, tears filling his eyes, he didn’t eve notice the ache in his hands as they clenched into fists until the Cloak was suddenly forcibly trying to unwrap them. He glared down at it, not uncurling the fingers, wanting the pain to clear his head, but it was relentless, shifting its shape to try and slid between the fingers.

   With a sigh he loosened them, stared down at their trembling, so much worse after the abuse, and distantly wished for disinfectant to clean the moon shaped cuts there. With a groan he forced himself to get up, swinging his legs over the side of the small cot. The Cloak hovered anxiously in front of him and he glared, not in the mood to deal with its mothering, “I’m fine, go hang yourself on something.”

   It stiffened and with an air of offense went to slump in a dark corner, he just rolled his eyes at its melodrama. He blinked in the dim light, flexing his hands absently as he looked around. It had been exactly three hours since Wong left him here, according to his watch, and he had spent the first hour thoroughly examining his cell.

   He had learned quickly the purpose of the symbols decorating every square inch, magic dampening. He was unable to even summon a small flame. It was smart, even if it made Stephen’s chest tighten with the feeling of helplessness and claustrophobia. The sling ring proved useless as well, no way of him jumping to Tony, or contacting anyone. There was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling that was prone to flicker at the intermittent breeze, which came screaming through the cells on occasion.

   He couldn’t find the source of it, deciding it was coming from outside his cell. Which was completely dark, the lit stones had faded the moment Wong had left leaving him in his own little circle and that was all. It was unnerving to have the darkened hallway out there and he was certain there were rodents running around in the dark, which he wilfully ignored. Despite the chill, though Wong had left him extra blankets, the dark, and the overall unpleasantness of being underground, he found himself relaxing. He didn’t have to be afraid of hurting anyone, even with the nightmare he just had he was secure in the knowledge that Tony was far away and safe.

   Still, there was a downside to his confinement. He slipped under the covers of the uncomfortable cot and pressed his back against the cold stone, eyes on the dark hallway, there was nothing to distract him from the gruesome images flickering through his head.

   When the nightmares had first began Stephen hadn’t paid them any mind, believing them to be the remnants of his gaze into the Time Stone, but it wasn’t long until they lost their dreamlike quality, becoming horrifically real. Yet, it wasn’t even that fact that put him on guard, it was what happened two days after the nightmares began.

   Tony had been cooking breakfast for once, a rare occasion despite Stephen’s mangled hands, and had been energetically describing a new project while standing at the stove. Stephen had been sitting at the small island, watching with barely contained amusement as the man stumbled his way around the kitchen, collecting ingredients for the basics of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns.

   He had been in the middle of explaining some complex aspect that went completely over Stephen’s head, when he had reached blindly behind him and before he could warn him, his hand brushed along the side of the searing pan. Stephen couldn’t understand for the life of him why Tony didn’t react like a normal person and pull his hand away, instead he paused, head snapping over to look at his hand before finally pulling it to safety with a hiss. Stephen had gotten up from his stool while loudly proclaiming him to be a complete idiot and guided his hand under the cold water of the faucet.

   Tony had been making his own comments which Stephen had completely tuned out as he kept his eyes on the burned hand, which was when he first felt it. This dark, slimy little tendril unfurling in his mind as he took in the blisters slowly reddening and coming to the surface of his skin. Almost as if there was a foreign voice whispering in his ear, Stephen had felt his eyes fixate on that injured palm and had the sudden urge to press down on it, just to hear Tony gasp in pain, to dig his nails in until blood swelled.

   Worse yet, when Tony had pulled his hand from Stephen, jokingly telling him he worried too much, an irrational flush of anger had gone through him, he had wanted to forcibly grab his lover’s hand and slam it back down on the stove where he was minding the pan, attempting to rescue the burning food.

   As quickly as it had come, a switch was flicked, and that uneasy, dark sensation in his mind disappeared. He was left with a sick feeling in his gut and Tony’s warm concerned eyes for the rest of the day. Since then, he was able to feel it coming and he suppressed it best he could, except, being here there was no reason to.

   Sitting there on the bed, with nothing to distract him, he felt it unfurl once more, breathing down his neck with dark intent. Stephen was tired, not just physically but emotionally, so he let it, for the first time he simply closed his eyes, leaned against the stone and stopped trying.

   He regretted it instantly.

   His mind filled with images, not only familiar ones from Dormammu and the Time Stone, but dozens of new ones, each more graphic then the next. His breathing became harsh as he saw himself killing Tony, his heart hammered when he saw himself gauge Wong’s eyes out and cried when he cut Peter’s throat. He leaned forward, fingers curling in his hair as he began to pull desperately, needing the sharp pain to make it stop, to make it go away.

   He was distantly aware of the Cloak wrapping around him and petting at the skin of his neck in a crude attempt at comfort, but his breathing only slowed, he only looked up when the pain made him come back to himself. When he looked around the room, blinking back tears, he felt something that hadn’t plagued him in a very long time, a persistent and soul-crushing loneliness.

----

   It had taken Tony nearly ten minutes to get himself together. He had sat on their bed staring down at the ring and forcing himself not to take it out and examine it. A maelstrom of emotions had thundered through him before he managed to return it to its place with a heavy breath, it hardly mattered if he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Stephen.

   Shaking his head and focusing on his task Tony had pulled out the only other thing in the small drawer. Lined up on the table were six little glass bottles, empty and corked but clearly having been filled at some point. He had tried smelling it, had even swiped the inside of one and tried to taste the remnants, unfortunately he wasn’t familiar with herbs or whatever the hell sorcerers used to mix. He was confident, however, that Wong was the one who provided the bottles and what was inside them, he recognized them from his brief visits to Kamar-Taj where he was acquainted with the man’s hobby.

   Still, it didn’t get him anywhere. He turned on his heel and left the small room, quickly making his way to the sitting room downstairs. As he entered, he made a beeline for the coffee table where there was a stack of unfamiliar books scattered along the surface. Tony couldn’t explain it but there was this odd sense of…urgency, like if he didn’t figure this out and find Stephen soon something catastrophic might happen. He wasn’t one for magic or premonitions, often laughed at Stephen whenever he claimed to just have a “feeling” about something, though it usually turned out, it was just luck. This, however, he wasn’t willing to risk it, already on edge.

   He had just been shuffling through the volumes, eyes catching on words like nightmares and murder when an orange glow came over the room. Tony’s head snapped up and he went to his feet, waiting with bated breath for Stephen.

  He was disappointed. Wong came through, arms filled to bursting with books only for him to freeze at the sight of Tony standing in the middle of the room. Unlike the librarian, Tony didn’t hesitate, his eyes narrowing has he pointed accusingly at Wong.

   “Where is Stephen?”

   Unsurprisingly, the man sighed, letting the books float over to the coffee table. Tony could see the exhaustion in the man’s eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders, the worry behind his stoic façade. All of which he had no sympathy for, instead it only served to frustrate him further, all the more eager to demand answers. But before he could begin his barrage of questions, the man put up a hand, stopping him cold.

   “I want to state first and foremost that I advocated for Stephen to tell you the truth from the start.”

   Tony’s heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, “noted,” he replied icily.

   Wong motioned at one of the armchairs, “have a seat.”

   “I’d rather stand.”

   Wong frowned before finally shrugging in a clear, ‘suit yourself’ manner. He made his way to the coffee table where the books were stacked, while Tony watched on, grinding his teeth with impatience.

   “Stephen has been unwell.”

   “I got that,” Tony interrupted tightly. “let’s get straight to the point.”

   Wong seemed to take a steadying breath before setting his unreadable gaze on Tony, “for the past week, Stephen had been suffering from horrific nightmares.”

   Tony rolled his eyes in irritation, “I noticed.”

   Wong’s eyes flashed, “shut up and listen Stark. If you want to keep interrupting, you can leave.”

   Chastised, Tony’s mouth snapped shut. He wanted answers and as maddening as it was not to have Wong spew everything at once, it was in his best interest to work with the man instead of against him. Stephen was right, he really needed to get better at working with others.

   “All these nightmares have one thing in common. You, specifically you’re death.”

   Tony opened his mouth to protest once more that this was hardly unusual. His lover couldn’t go a week without being haunted by the futures he saw in the Time Stone, despite Tony’s best efforts to reassure him. He was silenced, however, by Wong’s next statement.

   “More importantly, it is your death at his own hands.”

   Tony stared, struck dumb from shock and confusion. Wong was watching him wearily, attempting to anticipate his reaction, but Tony didn’t know what to think. The night before came to mind, it explained Stephen’s sudden departure from their bed, the panic in his voice when Tony tried to get closer. Usually when he dreamed about Tony’s death, he craved physical contact, clinging to him for the rest of the night. Dreaming that he had killed Tony, however, would explain the opposite reaction. He found himself shaking his head, that didn’t explain why he and Wong were freaking out, why Stephen had run off to Kamar-Taj. Shit happened, you couldn’t control what you dreamed and Tony himself had dreamed of killing Stephen once or twice, the subconscious did what it wanted.

   “So, what?” Tony tried, knew his expression was crumpled in confusion. “He had a few nightmares about killing me and panicked? I’ve done the same Wong, this isn’t a reason for him to run off. Unless he was worried of doing it in his sleep or something?”

   Wong groaned, “he said, you’d say that.”

   Tony shrugged, “I’m just saying, I see fanatic behaviour over something pretty minor.”

   The librarian picked up a book, seemingly at random and flipped it open. He turned it around to face Tony, revealing a page of text in a language he was unfamiliar with and on the other, a black and white drawing of man in robes surrounded by dead bodies, something dark and cloudy hovering over his head.

   “I thought the same when it started. But then his behaviour grew increasingly volatile, angry and irritated at the most minor of things. He hasn’t slept longer then a couple hours every night and sleeping draughts, which would knock out three elephants, did absolutely nothing,” he took a deep breath, his eyes turning troubled for the first time since he entered the room, tapped the drawing in the book. “We’re sorcerers Stark, and it is quite rare for something like this to be truly harmless. Especially with Stephen’s luck.”

   Tony felt like someone had delivered a hard punch to the gut. His mind was rebelling against the other man’s words, the description of things wrong, things that he should have noticed, had no excuse to ignore but hadn’t. He found himself sitting in the chair as Wong lowered the book and waited for him to say something, but what was there to say?

   Looking back, it explained a lot. Stephen had been distant, the nightmares were obvious, and he supposes his perpetually bad mood wasn’t just the lack of sleep. Fuck, he hated himself, he should have asked.

   He took three deep shuddering breaths. Eyes closed and hands gripping his hair miserably. When it was over, he sat up straight. Now was not the time for self-pity, there would be plenty of opportunity later. That being said, he did allow himself one question, “why didn’t he tell me?”

   Wong grimaced, obviously knew he wouldn’t like the answer, “he didn’t want to involve you more then necessary. He has been terrified of hurting you and thought it best we handle it quietly and quickly.”

   His jaw clenched, the conversation on the phone coming to him, “right.”

   Wong frowned, “Stark, I’m only going to say this once. He had been out of his mind with fear whether he wants to admit it or not. What he said on the phone, the way he had been pushing you away since the nightmares started, was all for you. You can be angry at him for not telling you, its fair enough, but don’t you dare be angry at him for protecting you. We all know you would have done the same, and worse if you were in this position.”

   A hand came up to cover his eyes, it was a lot, but it was all so much worse because he didn’t have Stephen standing here in front of him explaining it, wasn’t able to reassure him. He knew better then anyone how Stephen struggled with the demons in his head and the idea that he was facing them alone speared his heart.

   “What’s wrong with him then?” one thing at a time.

   “I don’t know.”

   He looked up at that, “say again?”

   Wong shook his head in frustration, “I don’t know. It’s what I’ve been researching and there is unfortunately a multitude of possibilities that fit his current symptoms.”

  It was a direction at least. Tony stood, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and looking at the complied books, “Alright, I’ll help you look. Friday can help translate some of the later texts.”

   Wong looked doubtful but relented after a harsh glare from Tony. Before they got started, however, Tony gripped Wong’s shoulder tightly and tried to keep the worry from his voice, “first, where is Stephen?”

---

   Something was wrong, very very wrong.

   It was creeping up on four hours since he had been left here and the sun was likely setting shortly. All the while, Stephen was acutely aware of a shifting, a subtle turn in the aura of the prison, the air becoming thicker with some unnamed and sinister pressure.

   The first time it happened, was forty minutes ago. The stones in the darkened hallway, decorating the far wall had flared to life, emanating a red glow not unlike the one that guided them here. At first Stephen had been excited, believing Wong had returned, but it was quickly dashed when they faded away several minutes later.

   Since then, random stones, in and outside of his prison had been flaring to life briefly as though fighting off some unseen magical attack. It was unsettling and leaving Stephen further on edge. He was tense and as time went on it got worse, but it was no longer just the cell, he could feel it all along his body.

   There was a prickling energy buzzing along his skin, leaving him itchy and unfocused. He had taken to pacing the length of his small prison obsessively, pausing only when a brick would flare to stare at it until it faded. The Cloak itself was hovering over the bed, watching anxiously while Stephen made his rounds, but he paid it no mind, entirely stuck on the shivers going up his spine at regular intervals, the chill invading his bones despite the relatively warm room.

   The worse part, however, came ten minutes ago. Stephen was just turning toward the door of the cell on his route when he froze, eyes caught on the image before him as terror stopped his heart cold. Just on the other side of the bars was Tony, yet not Tony, so much worse then his Tony.

   White shaking hands wrapped around the bars of his prison, the dim light exposed the bluish sickly colour of the skin, the yellow broken nails, barely clinging to the skin around them. Stephen backed up until he slammed against the wall, his head hitting painfully on the cold stone as he stared into the face before him.

   Tony’s face, though barely visible was disturbing beyond words. Pale as death, eyes sunken into loose hanging skin, lips pulled back in a sick imitation of a grin as yellowed teeth decorated the inside. It was evident to Stephen’s trained eye that he was rotting. Hair was missing in thick chunks, the skin sallow, while a putrid smell seeped into the cell and filled the corners.

   Stephen gagged, his entire body slumping forward with his hands on his knees. He didn’t miss the thin line around this Tony’s neck, a telltale sign that his throat had been cut, thought it was dried with blood and nothing but a gaping loose hole.

   Stephen was on the edge of a panic attack, his body was hot all over, his breath coming fast despite the sickening scent filling it, heart beating painfully as tears pricked his eyes. Just then, a voice, that was his but not his at the same time slithered into his mind.

   A shame, it would have been nice to watch the lovely red waterfall spill from his throat.

   “NO”

   He panicked, expected to wake up from this nightmare only to find it continuing as Tony’s hand reached into the cell, “no, no, no, no, no…”

   Think of how warm and sweet it would have looked on his bronze skin, that beautiful tang in the air, his whimpers.

   Something in Stephen purred in anticipation at the thought.

   He didn’t think, he didn’t hesitate, he simply acted.

   His eyes closed and he slammed his head back as hard as his fragile neck would allow, against the stone brick behind him, once, twice, three times. He crumpled uselessly to the floor, unaware of his Cloak’s frantic fluttering and attempting to cradle his now bleeding and cracked skull.

---

   Stephen drifted, his mind hazy and serene for the first time he could remember in a week. Distantly in some strange way he knew he was unconscious, something that should terrify him but instead was indescribably euphoric instead.

   It was dark and silent, almost as though he were meditating, and he wondered if maybe he really was. It wouldn’t have been the first time he slipped just a little too far from his body and mind. Regardless, it was nice, to rest, to be content.

   He wasn’t sure how long it had lasted when he began to feel familiar fingers running through his hair in comforting waves. He smiled and sighed into it, tilting his head up only to hear a low chuckle in response.

   Stephen smiled, feeling warm and relaxed.

   “Hello love, are you with me?”

   He hummed in response.

   Tony tsked above him and Stephen turned into his chest, realizing they were curled up in bed.

   “I need you to focus Stephen, we need to talk.”

   Stephen frowned, he didn’t want to talk, he wanted to sleep. He was so, so tired these days, surely Tony knew that?

   The fingers didn’t stop petting, but Tony’s voice was insistent in his ear, serious and prodding, “do you remember what you did to me the last time we were in bed?”

   Like the pressing of a button, a mirage of images floated up in front of his eyes. Golden ropes around Tony’s skin, his eyes bulging, flailing, silently pleading for help, Stephen falling asleep beside his still and rapidly cooling body.

   He tensed, prepared to bolt from the bed as they washed over him, but the moment he moved, Tony was wrapping his arms around him and shushing gently, “its alright love, its ok. It was just a nightmare, just a bad dream.”

   “I’m sorry,” Stephen gasped, unable to help clinging to his lover.

   “I know, I know, I forgive you. Its alright.”

   They stayed like that until Stephen had barely calmed enough for them to sit upright in bed. He placed his hands on either side of Stephen’s face and made him look into his whiskey eyes, stealing Stephen’s breath away. He missed him and didn’t know why, Tony was right in front of him, but he missed him so much.

   “I need you to listen to me now, can you do that?”

   He nodded, felt his heart swell at Tony’s happy grin as his thumbs wiped at Stephen tears.

   “That was a horrible nightmare you had and I’m so sorry you had to experience it.”

   Stephen waited, saw the way something unfamiliar glinted in his eyes.

   “But it won’t be one for long. One day soon you are going to hurt me.”

   Stephen yanked his head from Tony’s hand, shaking it frantically, “I wouldn’t Tony, I would never hurt you.”

   Disappointment slipped over his features and Stephen’s stomach twisted. Inexplicably he wanted to please this version of Tony, wanted him to smile, he felt like it had been ages and not a few seconds since he saw it.

   Tony tapped his fingers on his leg as he watched him, “come on now Stephen, don’t tell lies, why would you lie to me?”

   “I’m not, I wouldn’t-”

   “Then why did you let yourself get locked up? Why confine yourself to a prison if you are so harmless?”

   He blinked in confusion as new images rose, a small stone room, shining red stones, the Cloak hovering in the corner, rotting skin…

   A warm hand covered his and he looked up at Tony whose gaze had shifted to one of sympathy, “you know how dangerous you are. You’re a sorcerer and I’m a mere human, you will kill me Stephen and you’ll enjoy it.”

   Stephen began to shake, the feeling making him look down at where their hands were connected. He stared in confusion as his hands, the only thing not trembling, something was missing he knew, but he wasn’t sure what. They looked normal enough.

   “But you could save me.”

   His head snapped up, hands forgotten, “what?” he asked dumbly.

   Tony’s free hand ran over his mouth, the fingers brushing down the hairs of his goatee in consideration, before his expression crumpled and he turned sorrowful eyes on Stephen. The expression looked awful and Stephen squeezed the hand holding his, desperate to wipe it from his face.

   “What is it? What can I do?”

   “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

   “I don’t care, I’ll do anything.”

   Tony tugged him closer until they were only inches apart, and his free hand went back to petting his hair in the way he loved, that sad expression was still there, but Stephen waited, sensing the man would speak shortly.

   “The only way I can be safe…is if you aren’t there to hurt me.”

   Stephen tilted his head in confusion, “isn’t that why I’m in prison? So, I’m not around you?”

   Tony swallowed, looking pained as he continued, “that’s only a temporary measure. Besides, what if the bloodlust you’ve been feeling gets worse? You might decide to escape just so you can kill me.”

   “I wouldn’t-”

   “Remember when you bashed my skull in with a wrench? It felt really good didn’t it?”

   Stephen froze, reliving the memory and hating the excitement that stirred in his gut, the hot prickly feeling of anticipation after the first blow.

   “You were finally able to sleep. Or when you stabbed me? You loved the feeling of my blood pouring over your hand. What about the very first one? Do you remember that? Strung me upside down and watched the blood come to my head and overwhelm my brain before cutting all those lines over my face.”

   Stephen felt simultaneously sick and delighted.

   “You want to kill me and as much as you deny it, one day it will be too much, the temptation too strong.”

   Stephen’s head fell forward against his chest, rising and falling against his forehead, “what do I do?” he couldn’t help but plead for answers now.

   “Its you or me, love,” he whispered.

   Stephen tensed for a moment, though the hand in his hair didn’t falter, waiting for his reaction it seemed.

   The thought should be horrifying. He didn’t want to die, yet he couldn’t deny that right now oblivion was enticing. Not only would it keep Tony safe, but he could finally rest, no more fear or terrifying visions. No more wondering if he had gone mad or being stuck in a small prison forever wondering if he would break out one day. In many ways the thought of going mad was scarier then death.

   He pressed further in and tilted his head until he could press a kiss to Tony’s neck, felt his warmth and the pulse proving the beating of his heart inside this body, “I love you.”

   “I know.”

   “I don’t know if I can do it,” he really wasn’t sure. He would do anything to protect Tony, but the thought of holding a gun to his head or knife to his wrist was overwhelming even with the promise of peace on the other side.

   “Shhh,” he soothed again. “none of that gruesome stuff sweetheart, we’ll just pick a nice tall building. It will be over before you know it, one moment you’ll be flying and the next you’ll never have to worry about me again. I’ll be safe.”

   He didn’t think to question how he knew what he was thinking. Instead he let out a heavy breath, that wouldn’t be so bad. They would both be better off that way, Tony safe and sound and him forever floating in silent darkness.

   “Alright, can we just take a few more minutes?”

   Stephen’s head was still buried in the man’s chest, utterly unaware of the grin stretching across the man’s face, equal parts indulgent and victorious as his fingers slipped lower. They caressed Stephen’s neck and the small scar there, large and lumpy with the black, slimy, little parasite, dutifully fulfilling its singular purpose in life beneath the fragile skin.

Chapter Text

   It had taken Tony a solid ten minutes of arguing to convince Wong to bring him to Kamar-Taj. The man had been jittery and nervous since, eyeing Tony like he expected him to rip his head off, which he took as a pretty solid sign that whatever he was about walk into was going to piss him off.

   It turned out that assessment was correct.

   The moment he followed Wong through his spinning, golden portal he froze as horror swept through him. They were underground, or so it seemed, a chill already seeping into his skin as they stood side by side in this small stone hallway.

   He looked at Wong, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, “don’t tell me Stephen is here.”

   The man said nothing, picking up a torch and Tony’s hand was on his shoulder, forcibly turning the librarian toward him, “Wong?” He was agitated and no small part desperate to know that Stephen wasn’t sitting in this dank little hole all by himself.

   Wong shrugged him off, staring ahead, “Stephen agreed to it without hesitation.”

   Tony’s jaw clenched, “and do you think he was capable of making that decision?”

   “It doesn’t matter. This was the best option and downright merciful compared to what might have happened if I exposed him to the other masters,” he didn’t look back as he began making his way down the hall, the light of the torch quickly leaving Tony.

   He took a steadying breath, dread creeping up inside him as he followed in silence. He knew Wong, both from experience and from Stephen. He knew Stephen trusted him implicitly and he had seen first hand the unbelievable loyalty the librarian had for his lover. But for the first time as they made their way on a steady decline, shoes tapping against the cool stones, the walls lighting up with a soft glow, he wondered if it wasn’t too much. Wong was reasonable and wise and known to save Stephen from himself, yet sometimes they end up here, in situations that are anything but healthy in the name of that trust and loyalty.

   Wong had been just ahead of him, and despite the flickering light, Tony plowed right into him when the man stopped dead. Confused he turned to see what Wong was staring at, tilting his head around the man he spotted bars, metal bars like that of a prison and Tony felt something not so different to rage move over him.

   It was dark inside, not a single sign of life beyond the short distance that flame reached inside. Tony stepped up to the bars, hands automatically coming to curl around the chilly metal, his eyes straining in the darkness, all the while praying Stephen wasn’t in there. But then movement caught his eyes, he pressed his face against it, “Stephen?” he called gently.

   There was the sound of rustling clothing, then something was pressing against the bars and against Tony’s skin, making him yelp and jump back, startled by the sudden movement. Wong stepped forward simultaneously and Tony’s eyes widened at the sight of the Cloak of Levitation throwing itself against the bars, as though some unseen force was keeping it from slipping through.

   “Wong?” Tony asked. His heart was beating a hectic rhythm in his chest as his stomach turned horribly. “Where’s Stephen?”

   The Cloak stopped hitting the bars only to twirl in a distinctively anxious way, its collar flapping in a clear ‘come hither’ sort of way. Wong, however, didn’t speak, though his own expression was tightening with some unseen strain. He lowered the torch against the stones right next to the entry and slowly but surely they began to light in their strange way, seeping into the cell.

   Tony was back at the bars in a heartbeat. He watched as it was illuminated and as soon as the stones at the far end lit up, his entire body went cold with the sight before him. There was a form, distinctly human, crumpled against the wall, even worse Tony swore he saw something dark seeping out onto the floor.

   “Open it,” Tony demanded, panic underlying the command.

   When there was no movement Tony swung towards Wong, who was staring at the same heap in disbelief, even as the Cloak poked and prodded at the form, as if to prove it was helpless, “Wong, did I fucking stutter? Open the god damn door or I will fucking blast it.”

   Already a glove was materializing on his hand, creeping out of his watch as Wong stood there indecisively, “I’ll handle this, you should go,” the man finally managed to choke out.

   For the first time today, Tony felt a true calm come over him, the same one Stephen liked to point out when they went into battle together, the same one that made the other Avengers fall silent in anticipation, the same one that meant Tony was at his deadliest. His instincts screamed at him to simply tear open that door and scoop Stephen into his arms, fly him some where safe. His rage, simmering below the stoic expression, urged him to blast Wong right here, right now, for daring to leave Stephen in this place, for not telling him to begin with, for not jumping to attention at his command.

   But Tony also knew that was all irrational. Wong never did anything without reason, and no doubt there was one for this to, except this moment right now, with his lover possibly bleeding out on the floor, it really didn’t matter. Instead he got in the man’s space, levelled a glare on him to rival the Mad Titan himself, and said quietly but distinctly, “I am not going anywhere. Now open that door before your stupidity gets him killed.”

   There was hint of hesitation in those dark eyes, then just as quick, he was moving. He dropped the torch into the holder on the wall and waved a hand over the lock. There was a loud squealing groan as it swung open and then Tony was shoving past him to fall to his knees as Stephen’s side.

   The Cloak was still anxious, hovering over them as Wong dropped on the other side. Tony wanted to throw up at the sight which greeted him. How was it possible that just this morning, his lover had appeared to be in relatively good health? Now he was gaunt and pale in the dim light, his expression twisted into one of distress and pain.

   “Lift his head for me,” as if the confrontation of only seconds ago hadn’t happened, Tony did as he said without complaint, desperate to make sure he was alright.

   Sliding his hands beneath it, he gently raised his head, could feel the stickiness of blood on his fingers and tears began to prick his eyes, as Wong leaned forward, examining the damage. Instinctively, Tony’s other hand pressed against his neck, fingers prodding until they found Stephen’s pulse, rapid but strong. He breathed a sigh of relief, all but slumping to the ground where he sat.

   “Stark.”

   He looked at the librarian at the sound of his distressed tone, “what? Is he alright?”

   Wong nodded, looking oddly ill, “yes. He sustained a small gash and head wounds bleed far more then others. I’d even venture to say its not a proper concussion.” He waved a hand at the Cloak, who seemed audibly relieved to have a task, at it swirled itself into a cushion under Stephen’s head, which Tony lowered gently.

   “Then what happened?” Tony looked down at Stephen’s face, couldn’t stop himself from soothing the brow. “Did he fall or something?”

   “Stark,” he said again, and this time when Tony looked at him there was actual fear in his eyes, one that immediately made a shiver go up his spine. “look at the wall.”

   He didn’t want to. His instincts telling him he would regret it in a heartbeat, but then, when it came to Stephen there was little, he wouldn’t do. Slowly, he tilted his head up, squinting in the dimness and he froze. Horror washed through him, immense and unthinkable as he stared at the dark spot on the wall. Even from here, he could see dark hairs sticking to it, could see where the glow was impeded by blood.

   “He did it to himself,” The words were bitter and sickening on his tongue.

   Wong nodded slowly, then quietly, almost as though he was afraid to say the words, “Help me turn him over.”

   Tony stared at him, that earlier dread filling out his entire body, cramming into his mind. It made a stark contrast to the sudden surge of protective instinct that moved through him with one look at his defenceless body, “ok.” Was all he said.

   Together they rolled him, turning him horizontal to the wall, the Cloak protecting his injured head, until he was laying flat out. Tony willfully made himself ignore what suddenly felt like a small, thinner body. He should have noticed.

   “Alright, I’ll do this side, you do that one. Be thorough.”

   In silence, starting at Stephen’s head they began to search for more self-inflicted injuries. Tony did everything he could to focus on the task at hand, not the fear or the guilt, or the horror beating the back of his skull, just the feeling of smooth skin as it travelled downwards.

   Every inch he inspected that remained unblemished filled him with relief. He carefully examined his head, silently pointed out the reddened scalp not near the impact zone, suggesting he had pulled harshly at the strands at some point. Wong nodded in silence, expression crumpling as they worked.

   He slid his fingers down his face, down his neck, pausing to feel that pulse again. Untying a clever little sash, they were able to bare his chest, which immediately prickled, nipples hardening as the chill moved over the skin. As they inspected his chest, his sides, the Cloak, still in its place, grew obviously more agitated. Wong spoke in soothing tones to it, assuring it they were almost done, that they would cover him up in a moment. The librarian explained that it didn’t like the fact they were letting its master get chilled.

   Tony finished the chest before Wong, loosely laying the fabric for him to retie once his inspection was over. As he worked down the arm, Tony almost felt ashamed doing this to his lover, it felt like a strange violation of trust. Certainly, he had seen him naked plenty of times, had kissed and worshiped every inch of this pale skin, but it was completely different and foreign to do it with this intent.

   He got to the hand and paused. As carefully as possible, he tilted it from side to side, closely examining the scar tissue. They looked a wreak on the best of days, not that Tony minded, but it made it difficult to examine. They were red, which easily could have come from the fall or even the cold. Tony was just about to move on, when he spotted it, and he very nearly let out a sob.

   As it was, Tony simply bit his lip harshly, ran his fingers lightly over the moon shaped cuts, still crusted with blood. He couldn’t image the pain, the determination it would have taken to make those. It was true Stephen had enough nerve damage to severely inhibit his ability to feel with his hands, but cuts as deep as these, the force with which he would have had to clench those fingers, would have been absolute agony to the damaged limb.

   Tony cleared his throat roughly, Wong looked up the from the arm he was currently examining. He showed him the hand, was unable to speak and settled for pointing out the injuries. Wong’s eyes darkened with sorrow? Anger? He wasn’t sure, either way the man took up the other hand and after a couple minutes, nodded.

   In silence they returned to their task. It didn’t take long, and they found no further injuries, but by the end both men were slumped back, Stephen’s prone form between them, emotional exhaustion running through them. Tony hadn’t felt this helpless in a long time, it was killing him to not have any immediate answers.

   They sat there for a long two minutes, though by that time the Cloak was growing agitated again. One end coming up and motioning at Stephen in a clear message of ‘well? Do something!’ Finally, tentatively, Wong shifted on to his knees and levelled Tony with a determined look.

   “This is good actually.”

   He stared at the man blankly, “good? My boyfriend cutting into his hands, yanking his hair out, smashing his head against a wall is good?”

   Wong grimaced, but didn’t back down, “if we can determine whether these actions were a result of the nightmares and hallucinations or a symptom of whatever is wrong with him, it will narrow down the possibilities drastically. This might be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

   For a wild moment Tony wanted to laugh at the final statement, he hadn’t been waiting for anything, they hadn’t deemed him worthy enough to know his boyfriend was suffering to begin with. He stared down at Stephen, pale and unresponsive, so similar to death but for the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, that it made his heart tighten and crack painfully. That was an issue to be dealt with later, they would have a long frustrating argument about it when this was all over, and Stephen was awake and safe by his side.

   Tony took a steadying breath, didn’t look at Wong as he spoke, “fine. For now, we bring him home, keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself any more.”

   “That might not be-”

   “If you dare tell me to leave him here, I will fucking kill you,” he snapped.

   Wong’s eyes narrowed. The threat was a hollow one so far as bodily harm was concerned and the librarian knew it, but Tony couldn’t abide by the thought of abandoning him in this hole.

   “Stark, you are letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” Wong snapped his fingers when Tony looked away, making him listen. “If this thing has progressed, now more then ever you are in danger in his presence. I can use a spell to leave him immobile, so he doesn’t hurt himself, but this is truly the safest place for him to be for both of you.”

   Swallowing thickly Tony met his eyes, unrelenting, “If I’m wrong, I will deal with the consequences. I. Will. Not. Leave. Him. Here.”

   He pressed his lips together in a tight line, “very well.”

---

    He missed the feeling of the sheets and Tony’s warmth the moment it faded away. It had been peaceful, for the first time in ages. There was a dull throbbing in his head, but it was hazy just like all the other sensations coming to him. He was distantly aware of the chill in his limbs, the smooth, hard stones digging into his back, the sound of someone’s angry and almost frantic voice, grating on his ears. Ugh, he’d rather go back to sleep, perhaps he would get to see Tony one more time, maybe he could just live in that beautiful little bubble, get a bit more sleep.

   He could never be so lucky.

   The moment he let the darkness crowding his vision and overwhelm him, right when there was the distinct feeling of hands on him, he knew he wasn’t going back to his bed, or Tony’s warm hands. Yet, in some ways this was so so much better.

   “Hey love, is the soup almost ready?”

   Stephen glanced up with a smile, slowly stirring the murky liquid, as Tony reached up to kiss his cheek, “yes, just a couple more minutes. Everything else ready?”

   “Yup, Peter finished setting the table, Wong and Christine are arguing over the benefits of magic in medicine.”

   Stephen grimaced, “wonderful.”

   Tony laughed, eyes crinkling in the adorable way he loved, “I tell them to shut it in a minute.”

   Stephen turned to face him, ran his eyes over Tony’s face, memorizing every detail. He ran his trembling fingers through his hair, noting the grey flecked there, scratched his fingers through is goatee, only for Tony to catch his hand and press a kiss to the digits.

   “What’s wrong? You look tired.”

   “It’s alright,” he reassured. “Everything will be fine soon.”

   “Ok, just bring it out when you’re ready.”

   Tony walked away and Stephen watched him. A slow smile spread over his lips as he turned back to the soup, anticipation bubbling up inside him at the prospect of what was coming next, god he was tired. But he could sleep soon, really soon and then everything would be fine. He slipped his fingers into his pocket and tugged out a small glass bottle, corked and sloshing with a sickly, dark, purple liquid.

   He growled when he moved to uncork it, only for his spasming fingers to scrap useless against it. The disgusting fingers weren’t strong enough to even complete this simple task. He glared at it a moment, before shrugging. He lifted the pot carefully, fingers protesting the weight, and set it on the counter. He gripped the top of the bottle firmly then simply smashed it against the inner rim. He watched as it fell into the soup, glass and all, and disappear into it without a trace.

   He grinned in triumph, depositing the rest of the bottle in garbage, he went and stirred the soup. He had insisted they eat it first, only ensure everyone had a taste. He didn’t want to risk putting it with all the other food, only for someone not to grab any.

   Trying to contain his excitement, Stephen carried the pot out into the dining room, well…sitting room refurnished. Around the small oak table sat Tony, Peter, Wong, and Christine, speaking quietly and laughing in equal parts.

   He would miss them, to be sure. Especially Christine who he rarely got to see as it was, but it was better this way…for everyone. He placed it on the table and immediately began scooping the soup into bowls amongst protest that he didn’t need to. It was the least it he could do, however, considering it was their last.

   He sat, shooting a smile at Tony who was reached over and squeezed his hand. Wong and Christine seemed to be continuing their earlier conversation with intense gazes, which left Peter being the first to taste the soup.

   At first there was nothing remarkable about his reaction, but then after a moment and some obvious swishing in his mouth followed by a wince, Stephen had to stifle a wicked smirk. Still, the unsure expression on the boy didn’t fade as he swallowed. He had no doubt it was the glass Peter had noticed, luckily the poor thing was still to shy and polite to comment, simply eating it in silence, likely believing it was some special ingredient.

   He wouldn’t be wrong.

   Next in quick succession came Wong and Christine, eating between comments over their heated debate. Lucky break that one, they didn’t even pause to really taste, seemingly swallowing automatically, before pausing, heads tilting simultaneously.

   He was so distracted watching them that he hadn’t noticed Tony swallowing two mouthfuls himself. It was too fucking easy, and Stephen had the sudden urge to laugh, some of the smartest people in the room and they don’t even recognize the scrape of glass, or in Wong’s case, the bitterness of poison.

   It was messy, but then, he didn’t expect it to be anything else. They had panicked, which really, was just disappointing, the whole clutching of the throat, bulging eyes, were more annoying then satisfying. Luckily, it was fast acting, and now on the floor, draped in various positions of distress were his dinner guest.

   Stephen stood and carefully stepped over Wong and Christine, glanced over at Peter and Tony, and noted the white foam lazily seeping from their lips, the wide-opened eyes, the mouths open like gaping fish. Definitely dead.

   He made his way to the sitting and sat on the couch. He dragged the thick plaid throw off the back and laid down, draping the fabric over himself. With a content sigh he relaxed into the cushions and closed his eyes, now he could sleep.

---

   Tony leaned over Stephen, ignoring the way the Cloak swatted at him for getting too close. They had deposited him on the couch in the sitting room, and he was currently draped in the Cloak who had taken upon itself to swaddle its master up and get irritated at Tony and Wong. Apparently, the sentient fabric was distressed, and he shouldn’t take it personally, but he still glared at it.

   In better lighting, Tony was able to see that it really was a single gash, likely having caught the edge of a rough stone, causing a larger tear in the skin. He took a moment to adjust his lover, setting a pillow under his neck, carefully folding his hands on his lap. The Cloak tensed every time he moved and despite his irritation, he had to admit he was thankful for the expensive piece of outwear.

   “Stark.”

   He looked over from where he was kneeling next to the couch, to find Wong with a new stack of books, bringing the grand total to thirty-seven. Tony had to work hard to supress the feeling of helplessness that washed through him.

   “We need to get started,” he paused, deliberating then. “and might I suggest again-”

   “No,” Tony interrupted calmly, gently brushing Stephen’s hair off his forehead, grimacing at the stickiness. Wong wanted to put him in one of the rooms upstairs, which might be more comfortable, granted. But he also knew Stephen would be locked in, that he might wake up confused and disoriented, unsure of how he came to be there. Tony didn’t want that, knew him well enough to know he would panic, would assume he had broken out and possibly killed someone. No, better for him to remain here.

   “Fine,” Wong grumbled. “Get over here then.”

   Tony walked over to the coffee table, sat on the rough rug and waited patiently for the man to deposit some books in front of him, while Tony took out one of his new integrations for Friday. Simple set of glasses, with a thin wire connecting to a single ear piece. It allowed her to speak to him the same as the Ironman suit, though it was certainly subtler. Now she would be able to translate these texts for him.

   “What exactly are we looking for Wong?”

   The older man frowned, eyes squinting at his own text, “symptoms. Any reports that are similar to what is happening to him, including the self-harm. Also keep an eye out for these terms…” he shoved a paper towards Tony, all with strange outlandish names. He calibrated them into Friday immediately. “They are the dimensions he visited last week. If there are any creatures, plants, or alternate life forms that can do this, it will be a good place to start.”

   Tony nodded, thankful to have a task with which to focus his uneasy mind. It didn’t last long, however, before Wong cleared his throat, glancing up at him anxiously, and fuck Tony was so tired of this, “what?”

   His gaze shifted to Stephen, still fast asleep, “we might also have to consider the possibility that it is none of those things.”

   Tony swallowed thickly, eyes glued to the paper in front of him, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

   “Understood.”

   Silence fell between them, thick with a sense of urgency and fear. Tony didn’t dare look up once, mind spinning through the possibilities. It was possible…in theory that this wasn’t supernatural at all, that what he really had was…an infliction of the mind. He all but shuddered, his brain rejecting the possibility whole-heartedly.

   Tony knew nobody stronger, more resilient then Stephen Strange. The one laying silent and prone was the same man who had suffered through hundreds of realities in which he gave his life to Dormammu for their planet, the same man who gambled with the Mad Titan and won. Stephen, the same one, who after suffering a crash and the complete desolation of his future and his career that would destroy a lesser man, had come from the ashes anew. He was also the person who had single-handedly guided Tony through the minefield that was his own life and head in the Aftermath of Titan.

   He couldn’t imagine him being felled by his demons. In all their time together, he had seen the man bend so far that he was sure to see him crumple, he had heard silences so thick with grief and suffering that he thought he might go deaf from it, had felt, with his own two hands, every atrocious scar and rivet that was the battlefield of his body, had felt, in his mere presence, the ones that ran so deep, they would never see the light of day. Still, for all that, Tony had never once seen him break.

   Maybe this was it.

   His eyes seemed to go hazy with unshed tears, and Tony bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. Stephen, for all he had done, for all he had accomplished, was still just a man. It used to be a common phrase early on, when Tony would point out something magnificent, he had done, requested something, jokingly, outside his power.

   I am just a man Tony, that’s all. Don’t expect more from me.

   At first Tony had believed it was sarcastic, but then he got to know him better. He learned to read the darkness that slid into his eyes, the fear creeping in from the corners. Recognized the stiffness in his shoulders, the doubt in the downturn of his lips. Stephen Strange, was absolutely and completely afraid of not being human. Somewhere along the way, Tony suspected it began with Dormammu and came to a haunting conclusion in the aftermath of the snap, Stephen began to wonder if the very things that made him good, real, human, had been snatched away.

   There had been one instance, after a particularly bad a nightmare and an even worse travel to another dimension, that Tony still didn’t know about, it had come to a head. His lover had woken, pale and sweaty, hands frantically clawing at his chest. When Tony asked him what was wrong, the worlds sent a chill through him.

   My soul Tony, I can’t feel my soul.

   He hadn’t meant it literally, but for one terrifying moment, he thought he had. No, as he held him through the tears and the shudders weaving through him, he realized for the first time, to what extent his experiences had burdened him. Tony knew, deep down in an instinctual way, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against Dormammu, he also couldn’t confidently claim his mind would be intact after gazing into something like the Time Stone. That shit left scares, deep ugly gashes on the very thing that made you, you.

   It had terrified him, yet, when morning came, his lover was fine. Like nothing had ever happened, he might bend, he might crack, but breaking was for men who didn’t have the world on their shoulders.

   Tony looked at Stephen’s face, eyebrows drawn down in hard distress. It wasn’t a leap and by all rights it should be their first assumption, not pouring over ancient documents and scrolls in a vein attempt at salvation. Yet, Tony was a man who followed his heart and that indiscernible little thing that hovers over everybody in their day to day lives, the thing that whispers and tried to be heard and is so often ignored.

   It was telling him not to give up on his lover. That something wasn’t right, and a glance at Wong, thinking about what he has done so far to protect Stephen, flawed as it might be, said he felt it to. There was more here…and if by some extraordinary event or situation, his lover had finally been shattered by his burden…then Tony would do what he could to carry it, to lessen it until he got better.

Chapter Text

   Stephen came to awareness at a torturously glacial pace.

   His limbs felt leaden with weights, his mind floated in a frustrating haze, as though enticing him to return to the darkness, but he didn’t want to. He wanted out, right now, he could still hear the sounds of everyone’s choking as they died, the shattering of bowls as they were knocked off the table.

   He fought hard to be free of it, focusing on whatever he could grasp. The feeling of familiar fabric against his skin, the sounds of murmured voices, flipping of pages, the crackle and pop of a fireplace, using each of these as a foothold while he climbed to consciousness.

   When his eyes finally peeled back, he stared uncomprehendingly at the sight before him. If not for the Cloak’s tightening hug, he would have felt certain he drifted off once again. As it was, he found himself blinking harshly as he watched Wong and Tony murmur among themselves, pointing and passing books to one another.

   It felt surreal, so different from what he thought he remembered. Had he ever been in that cell? Or was it all in his head? Did he just wake up? How long had he been asleep and why did his head hurt so badly?

   He knew these were important questions, but they all paled in comparison to the onslaught of emotions that trampled through him. Fear and rage being the most prominent, leaving him nauseated and on the verge of tears. Tony couldn’t be here, the thought stood out starkly in his mind.

   He can’t be here, Stephen was dangerous and would get him killed. He struggled to sit up, despite the stab of pain that reverberated through his skull and the tightening of the Cloak. The movements made both heads swivel towards him.

   Suddenly they were both coming closer, eyes wide, tones soothing, and it was absolutely maddening.

   “Stephen, its ok-”

   “Strange, slowly-”

   “Stop!” he snapped.

   Both men froze, Wong standing silently to the side and Tony on his knees not three feet in front of him. Stephen was breathing hard, finally sitting up and willfully ignoring the petting of the Cloak on his side. He looked at the two men, Tony’s anxious eyes and Wong’s weary ones and fuck he just wanted to get away.

   He couldn’t bare to look at Tony, knew Wong must have told him, and it caused a little spark in his chest of anger, bubbling to the surface the longer he thought about it. The man knew better, should have done everything in his power to keep Tony away.

   He closed his eyes, tried to control it, push back the foreign thing that didn’t feel like him. But in the darkness, there was no help, only horrific flashes, serving to prove the point.

   “Stephen, love. Its’s ok, you’re in the Sanctum and we’re working on making you better.”

   His eyes opened, though he ignored Tony’s hopeful expression, instead focusing his attention on the librarian, looking at him helplessly, “Wong?” His flinch revealed he saw not only Stephen’s desperation, he saw the accusation burning in his eyes too.

   The man took a steadying breath, “I’m sorry.”

   “Oh, shove it, that’s bull.”

   The words slipped out acidic between the three them, even as Stephen blinked in shock at himself. His chest began to tighten with something akin to panic, he had no control over himself, this was bad, this was really bad.

   “Tony, you need to leave.”

   “Not chance love,” his tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

   Stephen groaned in frustration, “I could fucking kill you!”

   “So, I’ve heard,” Tony shrugged, even as he stood and moved closer.

   His hands were out in front of him as if calming a wild animal and it was so condescending that Stephen had the urge to reach out and snap on of his fingers, feel the satisfying crack of a broken bone.

   “Stark stop, take a step back.” Stephen’s hand twitched, ready to lash out…just one more step closer.

   “He won’t hurt me,” Tony argued, shooting a glare at Wong.

   Stephen’s hand lifted of its own violation, but as it did so it knocked against his knee enough for a sharp pain to go through him, with a gasp, the anticipation which had been building in his gut dissipating, only to be replaced by nausea, “Wong’s right. Stop, please step back.”

   Both men seemed startled by his almost calm tone, the sudden clarity in his eyes. Tony himself paused, then took a step back, twin pair of eyes heavy on him, “Strange?” Wong tried, coming only marginally closer. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

   He blinked, then, oh the pain in his head. Ignoring the question Stephen lifted his trembling hands and began to run the fingertips along his scalp, wincing at the blood caked strands of hair. He poked and prodded the area with the gash, determined it wasn’t serious then carefully ran a finger in front of his eyes, checked his ability to focus and yearned for a mini light to check his pupils, “I don’t have a concussion,” he concluded.

   “Good,” Tony sighed in relief, stepping forward again.

   Stephen glared and the man shook his head, “you won’t hurt me Stephen.”

   The confidence in that statement, the trust and sincerity in his eyes could be enough to tempt a saint, luckily Stephen wasn’t one, “what did Wong tell you?”

   “Everything, and it doesn’t matter.”

   “It does actually,” Stephen worked to keep his voice even, to hide the longing as images of Tony’s demise flickered across his vision. “When you came close earlier, I wanted to snap your fingers so bad that I couldn’t even control my hand.”

   “But you didn’t.”

   Both Stephen and Wong groaned in frustration at that. The librarian directed him with a glare, back towards the coffee table, “there is being stupid and there is being brave. Guess which one you are right now.”

   Reluctantly, Tony stepped back and took his previous seat on the floor, but he was still watching Stephen with a sad, helpless expression. That at least managed to get through to Stephen, who felt his stomach twist, he always hated when Tony looked like that.

   “I’m ok,” he tried to reassure, even though he really really wasn’t. “Just give me some space, both of you. Also explain what the hell happened.”

   Before Tony could speak, Wong rushed to explain, cutting another look at the man on the floor, “we went to go see you in the cell and we found you on the floor unconscious,” he paused there, turning his intense scrutinizing eyes on Stephen. “It appeared as though you slammed your head into the stone walls repeatedly.”

   Stephen blinked up at the man.

   “Stephen?” Tony was leaning forward, stealing his gaze with an earnest expression. “Do you remember what you saw? Any clues that might help us?”

   He didn’t answer, instead he found himself looking down at his hands, trembling in his lap. Slowly, almost afraid of what he might find, he turned them palm up and stared at the familiar moon shaped scars, crusted with blood, a few of them infected and yellowing. Stephen’s breathing began to speed up, that hazy panic one gets when they realize they’ve done something bad, something they don’t completely remember.

   But that wasn’t quite true.

   The trembling in his hands seemed to spread up his arms and into his frame as images flashed before his eyes. Indistinct like a dream, fuzzy along the corners, yet the emotion…sharp as a knife stabbing repeatedly in his gut. He was distantly aware of Tony’s worried voice, Wong’s stern one, the tightening of the Cloak around his wrist, but it all paled in comparison to the gore before him.

   Stephen watched like a highlight reel, saw Tony outside his cell, dead and decaying by his hand, his magic, squeezing the life out of his lover while he struggled and turned sickening shades. Instead of pulling away and fighting the horrific images as he usually would, however, Stephen kept searching. He was forgetting something, he was sure of it, there was that thick creeping presence wrapping around him in a suffocating blanket of dread, urging him to remember, promising salvation.

   Suddenly, hands were gripping his, tugging and pulling painfully, he must be clenching his fists again…don’t tell lies, why would you lie to me?

   Pleading, the pain was getting worse…you will kill me Stephen and you’ll enjoy it.

   Something was restricting his arms, he needed to know, needed to understand. With a cry of frustration, he shoved back at the figure before him, not opening his eyes and yanked at the fabric attempting to embrace him…but you could save me.

   Hands landed on either side of his face, a growling voice spitting at him, that annoying fabric tying his hands together, “Stephen, listen to me. Open. Your. God. Damn. Eyes.”

   That tone was painfully familiar, a man not to be reckoned with. Despite himself, Stephen found himself peeling his eyes open to stare into the scared, angry brown eyes of Tony Stark. The same man who had been whispering in his mind not moments before. Still…he found himself smiling, he solved the puzzle, they were all going to be ok…. its you or me love.

   The easiest choice he has had to make in a long time.

   “Strange?” Wong was standing behind Tony, hands twitching as though preparing to begin an incantation. He couldn’t understand for the life of him why he hadn’t already.

   “I’m fine,” he managed, despite the adrift feeling, pierced only by a growing urgency in his chest. It couldn’t be left to wait, he needed to go. “just let me lie back a minute please.”

   Tony removed his hands carefully, eyes searching, making Stephen look away. The man was far to perceptive and if he read what was in Stephen’s mind, he would surely stop him in a misguided attempt to help him.

   “Alright,” Wong decided. “Stark, give him some space to breathe.”

   His lover sat back on his heels reluctantly, “what happened?”

   “I…just got lost in my head,” it was hard to talk, he could see it so clearly now it wouldn’t take long.

   It was windy, almost distractingly cold, but then it was almost fall, it was to be expected. Stephen gazed out at the sprawling city of New York, found himself smiling at the orchestra of noise that was its life-blood.

   “You’re hesitating.”

   Stephen shuffled forward until the tips of his toes were hanging over the edge. He knew in some distant way that he should be scared, upset, maybe even sad but he wasn’t.

   “See? It isn’t so bad.”

   He didn’t look at the figure just behind him, knew he would see Tony there, yet was too entranced by the dizzying empty air before him. His stomach twisted with anticipation, not unlike the numerous visions in which he killed Tony. This would be easier…he would never be tired again and he would be safe.

   “Thank you, for saving me, love.”

   Stephen let the next gush of wind send him leaning forward…

   “He’s spacing out, there is no way of telling how lucid he truly is at this point,” Wong’s deep baritone was in his hear, hands poking and prodding at him, shaking him rudely from reverie.

   He wanted to snap at them, wanted to explain that he had a plan to solve everything. But their sentiment would stop them from seeing it his way. No, he needed to be alone, slip away unnoticed and finally end it. Everything would be ok then, everyone could sleep, no more stress or worry.

   Swallowing thickly, Stephen leaned away from the touch, met Tony’s furrowed gaze with his own, he was the easiest to manipulate after all, “I’m sorry,” he managed carefully. “I might have been wrong about that concussion after all.”

   The man nodded wearily, but Stephen noticed how he glanced at Wong, who was still next to him. He turned his attention to the librarian, struggled to plaster a look of confusion and honesty on his face, “really, you guys keep researching and I’ll stay right here. Give me a few minutes and I might be in better condition to answer your questions.”

   Suggesting he stay put seemed to have eased their fears some what, Tony nodded, “alright, yeah. You relax and let us know if you need anything.”

   Wong said nothing, but he noted how he maneuvered Tony to the other side of the coffee table, furthest from Stephen to continue researching. It was likely for the best. Next, was a far more difficult task. Twisting his hands back toward his wrist he stroked whatever bit of fabric he could reach of the Cloak, focused on emanating a calm aura, anything to make it loosen its grip.

   It took twenty minutes, twenty long minutes until it gently unwound and shifted to simply laying in his lap. He grinned in victory and ignored the watchful looks being sent toward him from Wong. He would have to sit a bit longer not to arouse suspicion, and Stephen found himself watching Tony.

   He was feeling everything through a thick piece of glass. He could see clearly, but sensations and emotions were numbed except for the determination to see his mission through. Still…he found himself wanting to say goodbye, wanting to apologize for dragging him into a relationship to begin with, considering his instability. He loved him, would do anything for him, which was what this was about.

   He knew that should he kill Tony, he would never forgive himself, how could he? This was a man who should never be touched by Stephen’s filthy hands and damning mind, and now for the past week his life had been a brutal plaything of his worst nightmares. A cycle that seemed as though it would never end, not since Titan. Killing himself to ensure his safety seemed like a pittance. But he still deserved a goodbye.

   Yet, when Stephen contemplated standing, pressing his lips to that disheveled hair, whispering I love you in his ear…it wasn’t what he saw.

   His hands descended onto his shoulders, squeezing lightly while he pressed a hard kiss to his head, leaned down further to whisper ‘I love you’ then as he slowly straightened back up, his hands tightened harshly on the skin there, getting a solid grip.

   With a hard yank and groan of effort, he pulled the man back, causing him to roll unbalanced for a second. Then Stephen was in front of him, quick as a whip and shoving him roughly, directly into the roaring fireplace behind him.

   There was a shower of sparks and ash to fill the room first, followed quickly by the sound of agonized screaming. Wong was up and trying to help, but it was too late. Tony’s body flailed and rolled out of the fireplace, but he was still alight, and Stephen couldn’t help the smile of satisfaction spreading over his lips as he saw blackened skin gracing what was once a beautiful shade of olive.

   No more time to waste then.

   Stephen’s fingers twitched delicately, the movements almost indistinguishable from their usual trembling. Moments later and the Cloak, which was still laying protectively in his lap, was immobilized. Carefully he set it aside, draping it in such a way that it simply appeared to be resting.

   He then cleared his throat, gaining Wong’s eyes, “I’m going to make some tea.”

   Tony’s head shot up, “I’ll get it for you.”

   Stephen grimaced, “I’d rather get it myself,” he looked at Wong. “I’m fine, I swear. A moment of clarity at least.”

   A silent battle reigned between them while Tony remained uncharacteristically quiet. After a long moment the man let out a sigh, the librarian was really and truly exhausted which only worked in his favour.

   “Fine.”

   Stephen stood without a word, careful to not sway or appear inhibited by the bashing of his skull. As he made his way to the kitchen, he could feel their eyes on the back of his neck, but he didn’t care. A wonderful sense of calm washed through him, having a purpose, knowing he would soon be free of his nightmares leaving him almost euphoric.

   As he rounded the corner, he was already rummaging in his pockets for his sling ring. There hadn’t been a reason for Wong to take if off him while he was in the cell since the runes blocked it same as everything else. He pulled it out and slipped it onto his aching fingers, closed his eyes and imagined the building from his vision before.

   Stark Tower seemed truly fitting.

   A shower of sparks erupted into its familiar spinning circle and Stephen finally felt like he could breathe easier. All the exhaustion of the past week, the emotional turmoil, the fear, and loneliness descended upon him in a never-ending cascade, pushing him to step through and into the open air of Tony’s tower.

   “Stephen?!”

   He looked over his shoulder to see Tony, still in the Sanctum staring at him wide-eyed and distressed, hand reaching toward him like if he just stretched far enough, he could pull Stephen back in.

   You’re hesitating.

   He closed the portal and quickly made his way to the edge that stretched out and away from the Tower, where Tony would remove his suit. He breathed the fresh air deeply, let the wind pierce his thin robes, stared down at the busy street below, only now beginning to slow as the sun began its descent. Stephen shuffled forward, felt his stomach twist as his toes hung in the open hair, even as fire seemed to spark in his veins. There was a strange pulsing on his neck, which Stephen credited to that pull people spoke of, the one that urged you to jump, this time he planned to listen to it.

   He leaned forward…its me or you…and couldn’t help but grin.

---

   Tony stared open mouthed as Stephen closed the swirling portal without a word, hand outstretched and numbly grasping at empty air.

   Yet.

   The portal didn’t disappear completely, there was a single bunch of sparks fizzing mid-air. Tony’s head snapped around to see Wong, his own hands outstretched, sling-ring on, and face contorted into one of concentration.

   Suddenly it sprang back to life, revealing a familiar New York skyline and something that made Tony’s blood run cold. Stephen, standing on the edge of the tower unmoving, “Stark, go!”

   He didn’t need to be told twice, he stepped through and creeped up slowly. He heard Wong come up behind him, and a glance back showed that the portal was still open. Since Stephen had woken earlier, Tony knew something was seriously wrong.

   He had hoped against reason, that it really was a concussion, misdiagnosed, but within minutes it became obvious. It was the first time since that morning Tony had seen Stephen awake…though certainly not coherent. It had been jarring in every way, how quickly he had disintegrated. There had been some kind of jittery, anxious energy coming off his lover, a hazy look in his eyes like he wasn’t sure he was really there, and this undercurrent of…frustration? Anger? The exact opposite of who and what he knew Stephen to be. His only moment of clarity had been when he demanded Tony leave, not that it would ever happen.

   All of that, the uncertainty and dissidence were nothing compared to the sheer horrific terror pounding through him now as he stared at Stephen’s lonely form on the edge of his building, swaying like a branch in the steady breeze.

   There was not a single doubt in his mind Stephen would do it and while the thought should have pushed him to call out, to start leading him away from that ledge, instead dread moved through him like poison when he realized his throat had tightened like a noose. He was utterly unequipped to talk someone from the ledge, didn’t know the words this strange version of his lover needed to hear, was a helpless fool to the very thing that might save his life.

   Wong was silent behind him and frustration welled inside. He knew he thought Tony would fix this, but he couldn’t. Even knowing if his lover stepped off this instant, he would never forgive himself and even see himself walking off after him…the words didn’t come. Only tears, stupid, selfish tears as his heart began to splinter.

   Yet…Tony was a man of action not words. He was also a certifiable genius and one of the most stubborn men alive. A glance around revealed the obvious, his own Tower, high above New York…his own Tower…the same one housing dozens of prototype suits that could save a man from falling to his death.

   Tony lifted his hand to his glasses, “Friday?”

   Immediately Stephen’s head whipped around, and Wong let out a cry of, “don’t!”

   Stephen jumped.

   Tony fell to his knees even as Wong rushed to the edge and Friday spoke in his ear about deploying the suit, having read the situation. A horrible sobbing cry was pulled from his throat because he knew…genius that he was…it wouldn’t fast enough.

   Horror raced up his spine as he heaved and gagged on his tears, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed to the smooth metal walkway. He thought he had more time…Stephen would hesitate…he calculated that much, and he never been wrong before. His mind was numb the words he knew were true but didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like reality, Stephen just killed himself…just jumped from my building and died.

Chapter Text

   Tony’s shock at what just happened, his immediate collapse at the prospect of losing the love of his life, meant he overlooked something, the one thing that could save Stephen, the one thing whose loyalty wouldn’t allow it to succumb to some cheap immobilization spell.

   A flash of red sped through the still open portal, hurling itself after its master with the speed and determination of one about to lose its very purpose of living. The Cloak, in all its infinite wisdom, had known from the start that this was how things might go. It had thousands upon thousands of years of experience and when its master woke from his self-imposed unconsciousness it had known he was anything but alright.

   The Cloak, after failing to protect his master from himself only an hour earlier, could not abide by another failure. When its master attempted to spell it, it played along happily and watched for when it might be needed. Like now.

   It fell after its master at lightening speed and found itself caught up before his stupid, miserable sorcerer had even fallen halfway down the building. It wound itself around his waist, the safest place to grip him and slowed at careful intervals until they were properly hovering. Yet, it wasn’t distracted enough not to be disturbed by the expression on his face, the one that had been blissful during the fall and was now twisted into something tortured and agonizingly desperate.

   It used its edges to tighten around his flailing limbs, to immobilize the hands trying to do another spell and began its flight back up, where hopefully the other men would be able to help…though at the rate they had been going, it had its doubts.

---

   “Stark!”

   The sound of Wong’s voice cut through his grief-filled haze, making Tony look up with reddened eyes and stare uncomprehendingly at the sight before him.

   Stephen was struggling, spit flying, lips twisted into a snarl, wrapped tightly in the embrace of Levi. Wong was in front of them and as he watched, heart beating a rapid rhythm and treacherous hope rising in his chest, the librarian reached over and got a solid handful of hair, which he used to twist Stephen’s head to the side while his other hand pressed firmly to his forehead. A moment later…his lover went limp.

   Tony couldn’t breathe, unable to comprehend what was right in front of him. Stephen had jumped and Levi had saved him. He was shaking, blinking rapidly in the dimming light of the sun, and completely incapable of dealing with the emotional whiplash happening in that moment.

   He took a steadying breath, heard Wong call out to him again, and focused.

  Stephen was alive, he was breathing, and he hadn’t abandoned him. Now it was time to help him, to stop breaking and start doing.

   Painfully he dragged himself to his feet. Once he was within three feet of the assembled group, however, something in Tony snapped and he was back on his knees, yanking Stephen’s body into his lap, ignoring the Cloak still restraining the limp form.

   He inhaled shakily, as he crushed him into his chest, pressed a hand to his throat feeling the unsteady heartbeat there, simply felt his presence that had nearly been taken from him in the span of seconds. He was infinitely grateful when Wong let him have that moment.

   Then, “Stark, I know what it is. I know what is wrong with him.”

---

   Stephen was laid out on his front, on one of the four poster beds of the Sanctuary. It was a random room, Wong having insisted that they shouldn’t do it in their room. Tony sat on the bed next to his lover, holding one of his hands while Wong flipped through a book.

   He was still struggling to keep his mind in the present, the image of Stephen jumping playing over and over in front of his eyes. He needed to focus, it couldn’t happen again and apparently it was a catalyst that got Wong figuring out what the hell was going on.

   “Alright,” he set the book down and summoned a wicked looking knife. “We need to check his back.”

   “His back?” Tony asked, as Wong used the knife to cut the fabric, making Tony wince with how close to the skin it was.

   Wong nodded, intent on his goal, “we didn’t check his back before, because there wasn’t a reasonable way for him to have injured it. But there was something else we should have been looking for.”

   The Cloak had moved to Stephen’s head, swirled on the pillow as though sensing its master really wasn’t going to be moving any time soon. Yet one edge remained curled around his wrist. Tony helped peel back the robes revealing his wide expanse of pale skin, dotted and marked with scars that was his back.

   Tony didn’t see anything, “which was?”

   Wong began pressing his hands along his skin, moving from one side then the other, eyes squinted in concentration while Tony watched on with growing nerves. The man began the same treatment on Stephen’s spine, but just as he began to reach the top, right where back became neck he paused.

   Wong looked up at him with eyes alight with success, “feel right here.”

   Tony replaced Wong’s hands and his brow furrowed, “that’s not-”

   “Exactly.”

   There was a mass, just below the skin impeding his fingers from feeling Stephen’s spine, it was squishy and pulsating, but deep enough to not be easily noticed at a glance.

    Bile rose in Tony’s mouth, “what is it and how do we get it the fuck out of him?”

   Wong’s expression faltered at that and Tony was so god damn tired. He was a string pulled taunt and on the verge of breaking. He needed Stephen to be back and alive and ok, he needed to sleep for a millennium, he needed to purge his mind of the image of Stephen walking off his building, and he needed Wong to tell him how to do it.

   Wong for his part, picked up the book he had been reading, skimmed the pages and Tony resorted to grinding his teeth as he waited.

   “It’s a parasite,” he said finally. “One he obviously contracted while in Eathair.”

   He flipped the book around to show Tony who grimaced at the grainy drawing on the page. It didn’t look so different to a leech, except for the long wiry limbs spreading from its center, at least half a dozen on each side, “its been doing all this?”

   Wong nodded, “it feeds off of negative energies, enhances a person’s worst thoughts and fears toward a specific goal.”

   “Which is?”

   “Suicide,” Wong stated grimly, and at Tony’s confused gaze he continued. “It was never about Stephen killing you. We both know it would take something absolutely explosive for him to do that. It was the self-harm that made me think of it, then the attempted suicide.” Tony’s expression twisted.

   Wong plowed ahead without mentioning it, which he was thankful for, “it’s a parasite that’s singular purpose is to kill its host, whether or not it survives itself. Everything Stephen was seeing, the emotions he was feeling…it was the parasite manipulating his brain toward his death.”

   “So, it showed him me?” Tony asked quietly, a sickening feeling moving through him.

   Wong nodded, “yes, and me and Peter once or twice. It was the perfect manipulation. Stephen doesn’t believe in killing, add his loved ones into the mix and his self-hatred will have grown enough to make him consider killing himself. His sacrificial nature is in his bloody DNA, plus making him think he’s losing his mind, it all came together perfectly.”

   “Right, perfectly,” Tony muttered, closing his eyes against the torrent of emotions. “Fine, how do we get it out?”

   Wong slumped at that.

   “We can get it out right?” Tony demanded.

   The man set the book down and came around to Stephen’s other side, looked down at Stephen’s prone form with a sadness that ate at Tony’s heart.

   “We can remove it…but there is risk involved.

   “Risk?” Tony spat. “you mean worse then him trying to kill himself?!”

   “Watch it Stark,” Wong warned. “I simply meant we should be well informed before hand.”

   Tony hated the man’s impeccable control of his emotions sometimes, “Fine, what are the risks?”

   He blew a heavy sigh, “We can remove it surgically, though it is extremely difficult. The arms you saw coming from the main organism seeps into the brain, heart, and nervous system. Each of those strands will have to be carefully removed without hurting it.”

   Tony shook his head, “why can’t we hurt it? I’d say fry the fucking thing and be done with it.”

   Wong glared, “because it will panic and kill Stephen itself in the process.”

   Tony squeezed the hand he had picked back up, he looked away from Wong and at Stephen’s expression. He seemed distressed and he wondered what horrors that bug was stuffing in his brain at the moment, “right, hurting the fucking thing hurts Stephen, what else?”

   “Stark look at me.”

   He did, the tone of Wong’s voice making him uneasy.

   “You recall stating that should this issue turn out not to be magical in nature…we will deal with it all the same?”

   Tony swallowed thickly and nodded.

   “It would be naïve of us to expect Stephen to come out of this unscathed.”

   Tony didn’t even want to consider it, but Wong was nothing if not a realist. Regardless, he would be there for Stephen just like he always had been for him, “understood.”

   The librarian nodded decisively, “then we shouldn’t waste anymore time.”

---

   It didn’t take long to prepare. Tony found himself on his knees next to Stephen’s head, running a hand through his hair soothingly, whispering small reassurances. He felt strangely calm as he did so, and he half wondered if it was just his lover’s presence. Tony could admit he didn’t see himself letting the man out of his sight in the near future.

   And there would be a future. He didn’t allow himself to even consider the possibility of failure, they would remove that fucking bug and Tony would remain by his side until he healed. They had an unspoken promise of forever after all.

   He reached into his pocket and drew out the ring box he had retrieved earlier, soundly ignoring Wong’s eyes watching him, he opened it and took out the ring, “I know I wasn’t supposed to find this,” he whispered. “But this is a promise, and don’t you dare break it love. You hear me? I need you to make it through this one, I need you to fight tooth and nail just like you always do. That bug doesn’t get to take you away from me, doesn’t get to steal our future.”

   There was no change in Stephen’s expression, but Tony didn’t mind. Stephen would know, in that eerie way he always seemed to, how he was feeling, what he wanted from him.

   Wong cleared his throat lightly, “we’re ready Stark.”

   He carefully replaced the ring and box back in his pocket, pressed a hard kiss to Stephen’s forehead and stood.

   They had their roles. The Cloak would ensure Stephen didn’t move, both with its own strength and a light spell that would restrict him a little. Wong and Tony would have to perform the surgery. The sorcerer had explained that the parasite was rare and most of their knowledge came from discoveries after the fact, so few had expertise of their own to provide. Regardless, Kamar-Taj wouldn’t want the parasite escaping and killing other sorcerers. They were on their own.

   Wong summoned a knife, and Tony had to crush the feeling of disgust and self-hatred that rose in him. This was necessary he tried to remind himself. Stephen had been given some pain relief, not enough to hide the pain completely but enough that it should feel a little numb, at least for awhile.

   They were both gloved, and Stephen’s back had been disinfected. It still didn’t stop the surge of panic when Wong lowered thin sharp knife to Stephen’s back and began to cut a line down his spine. He started midway down his neck, then continued, oh so gently over the parasite and down to the center of his shoulders. Blood seeped out quickly, and Tony had no clue how Stephen had done this for living.

   They had stripped his upper body completely and rivulets of blood fell over his pale skin and onto the white sheet beneath him. It filled Tony with a horrific sense of wrong, despite all the fail safe’s in place. Namely a spell that would control blood loss, the blood bag hooked along with other necessary fluids, next to the bed.

   “Stark!” Wong snapped.

   Tony was knocked from his head, forced himself not to think about the blood already staining Wong’s hands, or the fact that it was Stephen’s. He came closer and swallowed thickly as the sight in front of him, the thick metallic smell of blood seeping into the air.

   “Alright,” Wong stated, irritatingly calm. “I need you peel the skin back just a little so we can see it clearly.”

   Carefully, Tony pressed his gloved fingers into the cut, matching what Wong had already done on the other side and peeled as gently as possible. They didn’t need much, the cut was hardly an inch and the blood flow had slowed significantly enough, he knew Wong had performed the spell.

   Wong summoned a cloth, then rubbed with extreme care right where they knew the parasite was. It didn’t take long to reveal its undulating, black body, pressing tightly to the top of Stephen’s spine.

   Stephen shifted suddenly and both men froze, The Cloak, which was gripping Stephen’s arms visibly tensed, a low moan and Tony looked up at Wong. The librarian shook his head a little, “its alright, he isn’t waking but we need to be quick.”

   “What do I do?”

   “We’ll need to work in tandem, here,” he prodded at one edge of the creature, pointing out where one of the many strands on its body was disappearing into Stephen. “Starting from the bottom, we’ll need to coax outs its legs, tugging on it very very slowly. Once its out, we’ll tie them together so they can’t re-attach. It shouldn’t disturb the creature until we get to the heart and brain ones.”

   “Then what?” Tony asked tightly.

   “We’ll worry about that when we get there.”

   And so, it began. Tony was incredibly grateful in that moment for all the tactile skill being a mechanic had given him. He would grip the slimly little leg, barely three centimeters in diameter a far stiffer then he expected and started the tedious and anxiety ridden process of detaching it from his body.

   He learned to watch for the parasite’s reaction, its body stiffening when he tugged too hard, relaxing when he left it be for a minute. And the entire time, his other eye was on Stephen, who seemed to be growing paler by the minute, even as Wong kept up a steady mantra that he didn’t dare interrupt. Still, even he knew it something meant to keep Stephen alive.

   A solid eight minutes had passed, and, on each side, they had successfully tied back four of its stringy legs. Tony was sweating, his hands beginning to shake a little making him bite his lip harshly.

   “This is the hard part,” Wong said, carefully reaching for the blade again.

   “What are you doing?” Tony immediately asked. Some part of him was certain Stephen couldn’t take much more.

   “We need to remove the heart and brain strands at the same time, they are thicker and more sensitive then the others. In this case its going to be brute force, as quick as possible.”

   “Didn’t you say that could get Stephen killed?”

   Wong nodded, “but pulling at it slowly won’t work with these. The creature will panic instantly, since this where it feeds from. If we take longer then eight seconds, he’s dead either way.”

   “What?” Tony stared at the man in disbelief.

   Wong forged ahead, “I’m going to cut quickly along where the strands are so we can get a better grip. As soon as I’m done…start pulling.”

   Without letting Tony snap at the man or take a moment to prepare himself, hell even say goodbye to Stephen, Wong was using the knife to cut four deep quick lines, two on either side, resulting in sudden spray of blood and Stephen’s entire body jerking.

   One

   Tony gripped a strand in each hand, painfully peeling back the skin.

   Two…three.

   He pulled, hard, felt it slipping in his grip with a mix of blood and its natural slimy skin.

   Four… five.

   A sudden rough cry of pain came from Stephen’s lips, making a hard shiver go through Tony, even as he stayed focused.

   Six.

   His entire body jerked up, legs kicking out as though the spell had suddenly worn off, just as fresh blood poured over his sides. Tony wanted to scream

   Seven.

   His strands came loose with a sickening squelched, Wong looked up at him with his own strands in his hands.

   Eight.

   Wong suddenly dug his fingers into Stephen’s flesh around the creature and pulled.

   Nine.

   It came off with a slimy popping noise and was tossed into a jar, kept at the bedside.

   Ten.

   Stephen’s body was limp and when Tony looked at his face, it was ashen and trembling, blood seeping from his nose and the corners of his eyes.

   Ignoring the bloodied gloves, Tony pressed his fingers to Stephen’s neck, found a pulse low and sluggish, almost imperceptible, “Wong,” he tried, helplessly.

   “I know,” the man snapped.

   He was murmuring and moving his hands wickedly fast. The bleeding stopped and the flaps of skin seemed to suddenly pull themselves together, an invisible stitch sewing it together before Tony’s wide eyes.

   There was the smallest of groans and Tony’s head snapped back toward Stephen. Wong was still moving, incantations falling from his lips, hands poking and prodding along Stephen’s neck and back, but even he heard it.

   “Talk to him Stark.”

   Tony didn’t have to ask why. He knew his lover wasn’t coherent enough to know what he was saying, was horribly aware that he was teetering on death’s door even as Wong seemed to be feverishly trying to avoid it. No, he was telling Tony to say goodbye.

   So, he did.

   While Wong worked and the Cloak held on for dear life, Tony spoke. He talked about everything from meetings to how angry he was Stephen hadn’t told him. He begged him to live, told him it was ok to let go if it really hurt that bad. He reminded him about the ring and his promise, told him about how he would have said yes and what their wedding would look like. He said everything he could think of and more. All the while his hand stayed firmly against his pulse point, his eyes on the smallest of twitching in Stephen’s eyes.

Chapter Text

   The following hour passed in a fog of silence and fear. Every step, every breath, every move made with eyes drawn toward the bed, waiting with bated breath for proof of their success or failure.

   The bleeding from Stephen’s eyes and nose had stopped, though his face was still ashen and his breathing shallow. There was nothing, as Wong repeatedly stated, they could do but wait, and oh was it loathsome.

   Once Wong had finished his panicked incantations, they had all gone still, looking for some response. When none came, it took nearly ten minutes before they began to move. Wong had waved away the blood-soaked sheets, made sure the fluids were hooked up, checked the stitching along his back, carefully recited spells for healing, good health, and pain.

   Tony had stood on shaky legs, reluctantly pulling away from the only thing proving to him Stephen was alive. Silently, he made his way to the bathroom, gathered a large bucket, which he filled with hot water, and a large face cloth.

   Wong didn’t comment when he appeared back in the room. He didn’t need to, and Tony appreciated it more then he could ever express. It would take but a moment for Wong to wave away the blood and gore from his back, like he had for the sheets and Stephen’s pants. Yet, Tony wanted to be selfish right now, needed to do something to take care of his lover.

   He settled onto his knees by his bed, wet the rag and began the slow and hypnotic work of cleaning his pale skin. Tony watched in a haze as the water in the bucket grew increasingly pink, watched the way the water carefully removed the evidence of the horror this man had been through. He carefully, oh so gently, eyes on Stephen’s face, cleaned right up next to the stitched wound. He didn’t know if he was relieved or heart broke when his expression didn’t even twitch. Grabbing another, smaller face cloth, he began wiping at the thin streams of blood, painting a crimson streak from his eyes and nose, he only breathed easier when all traces of it was gone.

   Several minutes later and he was finished. A wide aching hole appeared in his chest at the realization. Helplessness, the emotion he could never stand for long and over the past day it was all he was feeling, he just wanted to be useful and now, having bathed his lover, there was nothing more he could do.

   The prospect made him want to sob.

   “Stark.”

   He looked up at Wong, the man looked haggard, the first time his exhaustion had really shone through this entire time. It was oddly comforting to see, heart-warming to know they were both suffering on the same level.

   “How about we move him?”

   Tony found himself looking around the room, taking it in properly for the first time. Stephen used to speak often of the aura of the Sanctuary and her individual rooms, before he realized how skeptical Tony was of all that. But right now, he could feel it.

   The room stunk of blood, sweat, pain, fear. It was swirling with their recent horrific experience and it felt draining, like just being there was a bad omen. He was filled with the urge to tell Stephen he felt it, that he finally understood, but he wouldn’t hear him anyway.

   Instead, Tony simply nodded.

   “Take a deep breath,” Wong directed. He snapped his fingers, Tony’s stomach twisted, then they were in a room identical to the one they had just been in, everyone in the same position, the blood-soaked rag was gone, the bucket, the knifes, and everything just felt infinitely lighter.

   One thing was different though, there were chairs pulled up to Stephen’s bedside. Tony got to his feet slowly, leaned over Stephen’s form. With gentle ease, he slipped a thin pillow beneath his head, not wanting to bed his neck too far and irritate the cut.

   While he did that, Wong started a fire in the fireplace, studiously poking and prodding at it. Tony was grateful, recognized the moment of privacy he was being given. Shaking slightly, he pressed a hard kiss to Stephen’s forehead, felt tears well in his eyes at the cool, clammy skin beneath his lips.

   When he did lean back, it was to see the Cloak shifting its shape into something bigger, wider. It slid over Stephen incredibly gently, covering his naked back and the scar that had been staring up at both men, inspiring guilt and nausea.

   “Stark,” Tony was getting really tired of Wong’s voice. He wanted silence, he wanted to wallow, he wanted Stephen.

   Still, he looked up at the sorcerer.

   The man offered a tight smile, “I think you should go take a shower, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

   He stared at him blankly, certain he heard him wrong.

   As if reading his mind, Wong gestured at him, “look at yourself Stark. If he wakes the last thing, he’ll want to see is you like that.”

   A deadly silence fell between them, Tony’s jaw clenched, “if?” he spat.

   Wong’s own eyes had gone a little wide. Yet, to Tony’s shock he shook his head a moment later, “don’t over react, it’s the last thing we need right now. My mistake.”

   Tony wanted to get angry, he wanted to yell and be stupid. He was reckless and impulsive, which was only worse when he was emotional. But he didn’t, standing in this room with his lover comatose and Wong, the only one who had experienced all of this with him, maintain his special kind of stoicism was…. humbling.

   Instead of letting his emotions run wild, Tony looked down at his shirt and pants, stained with blood, slowly becoming crusty and uncomfortable. It took everything he had in him, to tear his eyes away from Stephen and nod silently at Wong.

   He wanted to stay, he wanted to sit by Stephen’s side until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, they were successful, until he knew how much damage the bug had done to his lover. But he also felt suffocated and dead on his feet and so far from alive that he just wanted to run. A shower was a good in between, he decided.

   Tony left the room and the moment he stepped out a chill went through him, something cold and lonely hitting him hard in the chest. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to their shared bedroom, left exactly as it had been this morning. In silence he gathered clothing at random, sweats, one of Stephen’s T-shirts and made his way to the bathroom.

   It felt like he was functioning on autopilot, half of his brain on his movements and the other half back in the room with Stephen. He grimaced as he slid his shirt off, the fabric stiff from the blood and stinking of sweat. He left it on the floor. Next were the pants, he paused and pulled out the ring. He flipped open the box to reassure himself it was still there, then placed it gently on the side of the sink, perfectly in view from the shower.

   Then it was his cell phone. He found himself staring down at the screen vacantly. The screen was alight with messages from Peter, Rhodes, Pepper, hell even a government official or two, and the sight moved through him uneasily.

   In his hand was proof that these past hours, while he and Wong had been existing in their own little nightmare, desperately trying to bring Stephen back to them…. life was just continuing. Something about that realization made Tony’s eyes sting, that this thing, so monumental and painful was passing unnoticed by the masses, that they couldn’t sense the loss hanging over their heads.

   The first rule every child learns about heroes is that there are no thanks, there should be no expectation of reward for good behaviour, otherwise your actions are not pure, they aren’t heroic, they aren’t fundamentally and completely good. Yet, that hadn’t been Tony’s experience. The Avengers were known world wide and love them or hate them, there was always celebrations and thanks being exalted upon their presence every time they saved the world.

   Stephen, Wong, the entirety of Kamar-Taj didn’t have that. They were the definition of that childhood goodness before becoming corrupted by expectation and self-interest. Now, for the first time Tony realized just how horrible it all was. In the aftermath of Titan, Stephen refused to give an inch when Tony tried to share his role. He’d rather remain unknown and nothing seemed more lonely. Stephen had saved the world at the cost of his life and sanity twice now, and here he was at the end of his rope, without a soul besides himself and Wong to save him, to mourn him.

   The others knew him, of course they did. What Stephen might have hidden from the public couldn’t be hidden from the Avengers. But they wouldn’t understand, they couldn’t comprehend what his loss might mean.

   Tony leaned heavily against the counter, and stared into his own agonized eyes, noted his pale complexion, the sickly exhaustion written in every line of his face, born of grief and fear and worry. It was all too much to think about, he had no reason to feel bad for himself after everything Stephen had just gone through.

   With more effort then he cared to admit, Tony shut down his brain. He retreated into the deep recesses of his mind reserved for battles that had gone wrong, nightmares plaguing his nights, the worry that was ever present when Stephen disappeared on a mission. This place was dark, and numb, and safe. He didn’t have to feel everything at once, he didn’t allow his mind to overwork itself. Here he could just exist, at least until Stephen needed him again.

---

   When Tony re-entered the room, not fifteen minutes later, showered and changed it was to a disorienting scene. Stephen remained where he had been, the Cloak still wrapped closely around him, their chairs were in place, the fireplace roared with flames and heat. But Wong had clearly been at work.

   The man was at the bedside table, lighting candles to combat their darkened windows from nightfall. There were several dotted around the room, on the mantel piece, on the window sill, carefully away from the drapes, on the dressers and desk. From them came a scent Tony couldn’t identify, at least not clearly. It was earthy, yet fresh, almost like the beginnings of spring. And if that wasn’t enough to convince Tony they were enchanted, the steadiness of the flames would have been a dead giveaway, not even flickering as he walked past.

   But that wasn’t all, drawn on to the wall in a lightly shimmering orange was a series of runes, running from the top to the bottom at the head of Stephen’s bed, where it met the wall. Tony didn’t need to ask to know they were a mix of health and protection spells, he had been picking up a lot recently. He found himself grateful for it all anyway, leaving the room awash in the warm glow of fire, not as harsh as the artificial lights and surprisingly comforting.

   He made his way to the chair facing Stephen, who head was still tilted to the left. He hadn’t moved, that much was obvious, but he also thought it seemed more…serene? He stamped out the treacherous hope in his chest instantly, knew he wouldn’t be able to survive the possibility of it being crushed.

   “I’ll be back.”

   Tony didn’t acknowledge the words as Wong left the room. He found himself leaning forward and gently running his fingers through Stephen’s hair, pushing it back and petting lightly. He didn’t know if his lover could feel it, but Tony found it incredibly soothing.

   “Hey love, I know its been a really long day and you haven’t been sleeping good,” Tony murmured. “But do you think you might be able to wake up for me? Just for a minute?”

   There was nothing, not even a twitch and Tony found his eyes falling closed as his throat tightened with emotion, “alright, its alright, you take your time. We’ll be right here.”

   Something wrapped around his wrist and Tony’s eyes flew open, only to find a corner of the Cloak lightly clasping his hand. He stared at it, watched as one corner seemed to pet his skin in a show of comfort. That was nearly too much.

   Slowly, Tony turned his hand around to grasp it tightly. He and the Cloak had a tumultuous relationship, much to Stephen’s amusement. Usually it ignored Tony, occasionally it enjoyed slapping and harassing him, typically when Stephen was annoyed. Beyond that, however, he always got the sense that it simply had no interest in him, despite his attachment to its master.

   So, this, right now was breaking Tony’s heart all over again. His eyes stung, his chest tightened with emotion and he found himself holding on like a lifeline. Images flashed in his head, Stephen jumping, the loss and emptiness that sprang inside him, then Stephen right in front of him wrapped securely in the Cloak’s embrace.

   “Thank you,” Tony whispered through cracked lips and a croaking voice. “Thank you so fucking much.”

   He didn’t need to explain, the cloth simply squeezed his hand and he swore he could feel a presence in the back of his head, a voice light as the wind, always.

---

   Twenty minutes passed before the door creaked open and Wong entered, freshly dressed. Tony had released his hold on the Cloak and was leaning back in his chair, wilfully trying not to think about anything as he kept his gaze on Stephen’s face.

   “Stark,” he nearly snapped at the man to quit calling him that.

   A glance over, however, showed the man making his way over with a plate, lightly filled with what appeared to be a variety of fruits and some bland looking biscuits. The man held it out to him, and Tony just stared, how could he expect him to eat at a time like this?

   Apparently, Wong predicted that because he set down in his lap before Tony could protest, “you’ll eat it or so help me, I will immobilize you and shove it down your throat.”

   He shot the man a dirty look, which he duly ignored as he took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed.

   He looked down at the small plate, noting that it was all light stuff, easy to digest. It was oddly touching how conscientious he was of that fact Tony was nauseous just looking at the food. Though it was true he hadn’t eaten all day, not since breakfast.

   “Wong?” he started carefully.

   The man glanced up at him, expression oddly weary.

   Tony cleared his throat, kept one hand on the plate in his lap so it wouldn’t unbalance. He met the man’s gaze, “do you think he’ll be alright?”

   He watched the man’s face carefully. Wong was brutally honest in most things and while it seemed harsh at times, it was exactly what Tony needed right now.

   For his part, Wong’s eyes landed on Stephen’s form, watching the same subtle rise and fall of his back beneath the Cloak. He seemed to be considering his answer seriously and Tony felt the ball of anxiety in him expand fearfully.

   Finally, he took a heavy breath, “not really.”

   Tony swallowed thickly, could feel his entire body slump under the weight of those words.

   “But, Tony,” he looked up, startled by the use of his name. “That isn’t to say he won’t survive.”

   At Tony’s inquisitive eyes Wong continued, his brows furrowed with something like guilt, “he will live, he’ll even wake up soon, the man is too stubborn to sleep for long.”

   They shared a weak smile at that, which quickly faded, “however, we both know the hell Stephen had been through this past year, hell even since his crash. You don’t come out of that unscathed. I told you the parasite fed off of negative energy and enhanced a man’s fears toward his goal.”

   Tony found himself nodding in understanding, “he wasn’t alright even before all this happened.”

   “Exactly. He is one of the strongest men I have ever met, so much so that even with all my considerable experience, I never considered just how severe the burden on his shoulders was. Not until it threatened to break him.”

   Silence followed the statement. It would be too easy to blame Wong, the man who had been by Stephen’s side long before Tony himself. The man who had watched him defeat a massive inter-dimensional being and hadn’t considered what dying so many times would do to a man. So, so easy.

   Yet, Tony liked to think he knew better. All throughout this ordeal, Wong had been consistent with his concern for his lover’s safety. Even when they vehemently disagreed, like with the cell, he saw now exactly what Wong had been doing, what promise must have been made before Tony’s arrival.

   He hadn’t wanted to involve Tony, not because he thought it was a bad idea but because Stephen didn’t want him to. Then, as things began to unfold, he tried to deny him access to Stephen, both by at first refusing to take him to Kamar-Taj, then trying to make him leave Stephen in that cell, because he had obviously made a promise to look out for him, to protect him. He had suspected, and it became increasingly clear, as Wong maneuvered himself between the two of them in the sitting room, the anger and accusation in Stephen’s eyes when he realized Wong had involved him, that Wong was playing mediator.

   Once more instead of being angry, Tony found his heart swelling with something he had never experienced before. Inside this room, comprised of himself, Stephen, Wong, and the Cloak of Levitation was a love born of one of the most powerful things in the world, loyalty.

   So, instead of thanking Wong, instead of trying to pry from the man the details of his promise, instead of trying to understand his motivations and understand when he became worthy of that, he held his tongue. It didn’t need to be spoken and to dissect it would be to dishonor it. No, he let silence reign between them, as they continued their vigil over Stephen’s silent form, the one thing connecting all of them together it such an intricate way.

---

   When Stephen came to consciousness it was in a weary sort of haze. His eyes were closed, and he found himself unable to move, as though his body hadn’t caught up to his mind quite yet. Instead he found his mind spinning with thoughts and memories that left him both nauseous and uneasy.

   There was a part of him that wanted to panic, unable to process the torrent of images flashing through his brain accompanied by what felt like hot shots of pain, reverberating through his skull with each one. He instantly yearned for sleep, unconsciousness, anything to make it stop.

   But luckily, Stephen was stubborn and had years of experience. He wilfully ignored the buzzing in his brain of too much information, too many pictures and emotions and focused on his body, something that made a wonderful distraction most days.

   Usually he would start with his hands, but he instantly knew something was very very wrong. His stomach twisted as he realized how much pain he was in, all over his body, still, he forced himself to breath calmly and identify what he could.

   He started with his hands, familiar ground and fairly easy to diagnose. Sensation was typically numb except for a constant ache deep in the muscles. He did, however, identify a smaller, shaper sting in his palms. Taking a steady breath, he allowed himself to recall how it happened.

   The nightmares bombarded him, every sickening thought and emotion, the feeling of blood on his hands, the weight of the wrench, the struggling and gasping breaths. It would be enough to make him scream if he felt capable of it. He remembered. He remembered digging his fingers into his palm to distract himself from the horror, remembered doing so until they bled. It took all of his focus not to do it again then.

   Instead, Stephen shut it down once more. Made himself put his entire attention on the throbbing in his skull, the decidedly numb sort of pain, so different from the stinging in his hands. He thought about it until everything else faded away, tried to slowly remind himself, in increments how it came to be.

   He recalled…the cell. The one that was supposed to keep him safely away from Tony and anyone else he might hurt. He knew instinctually he was no longer there, carefully re-crafted the events until the image of Tony standing in the darkened hallway, decaying and grasping the bars, rose up in his mind. He had panicked at the sight, had hit his head repeatedly against the wall.

   That memory made him wince and swallow back the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to think about that anymore then he absolutely had to. Finally, Stephen allowed himself to turn his attention to his back.

   The pain there was sharp and hot, stretching from mid shoulders up onto the nape of his neck. It hurt a hell of a lot more then his other injuries but not distractedly so, he was used to it after all. Regardless, it didn’t help the fact he couldn’t remember how it came to be and that sent him spiralling again.

   He took another deep breath, clung to any and all thoughts of reason he could. He had a misplaced memory of cold air on his skin, a falling sensation, sadness and anticipation, but the events were frustratingly blurry. With his mind failing him, Stephen tried logistics. It was unlikely he had caused the injury to himself, the slightest of shifting with his head caused a familiar tugging sensation, which his mind supplied as stitches.

   A surgery of some kind.

   Feeling a sudden surge of energy go through him at the prospect and the disorientation of not knowing where he was, Stephen peeled his eyes back.

   They felt sticky and crusty as he did so, making him blink harshly in the room. The first thing he realized was that he was in the Sanctuary, laying face down in one of the many bedrooms. The next thing to pierce his hazy mind was Tony, curled up in an arm chair, fast asleep, expression drawn tight in distress.

   Stephen’s immediate reaction was to jerk back in surprise. The motion proved incredibly stupid as his entire body arched with the line of fire that went down his spine and cry of pain escaped his lips.

   There was a sudden flurry of action. Pressure on his back, guiding him against his will back down onto the bed, it took but a moment to recognize the soft caress of the Cloak. Tony’s eyes had flown open and was staring at him in shock, while somewhere behind him came Wong’s usual stern voice.

   “Strange, don’t move!”

   Neither of these soothed Stephen, not even when Tony was kneeling next to the bed, lips spread into a wide relived smile, “Stephen shh. You’re ok don’t move.”

   Stephen ignored him, he needed to get out of the room. All those deaths were playing at the speed of light and for fuck sake, Wong knew better, he couldn’t be trusted here. He tried to move again and there were hands on him, helping the Cloak hold him still and something primal woke in Stephen, the urge to flea and protect Tony strong enough to overcome the pain and confusion marching through his body.

   Then Wong was in front of him, forcibly pulling Tony back an inch much to the man’s obvious frustration, though it didn’t stop Stephen from feeling some semblance of relief. Wong face came close to his, hand tight on his shoulder and eyes seemingly looking into his soul as he spoke, captivating Stephen in a heartbeat.

   “Strange, listen to me.”

   His tone commanded him to do just that, it felt nice not to think for once.

   “You are not going to hurt Tony. You are not going to hurt me or anyone else. Think. Examine. What’s different about those memories?”

   Stephen didn’t understand, shook his head despite the tugging on his skin, the sharp stinging pain.

   “Think,” a hand was pressed to his head and Stephen was forced to relive it all again.

   Yet.

   It was different this time. Still horrifying and terrible, but he felt like he was watching and feeling through a thick wall.

   Think

   Dark, haunting rot that had been thickening in his aura, infecting his mind. This dark, slimy little tendril unfurling in his brain. A strange pulsing on his neck.

   Something new filtered into his mind, not images this time, by sounds and sensations, both filled to bursting with panic and agony;

   “We’re ready Stark.”

   “It’s alright, he isn’t waking but we need to be quick.”

   “We’ll need to coax outs its legs.”

   “What are you doing?!”

   Pain. So much pain. Like someone was sticking a hot poker in his back. He’s screaming, he knows that much. Why? It hurts. It hurts. Stop. Please.

   So many voices. Are those incantations? Is that Tony? Fuck why does it hurt?!

   “ It’s a parasite.”

   A parasite.

   Parasite.

   I’m not crazy.

   Stephen’s eyes flew open for the second time to Wong’s grim smile. He couldn’t feel it, that dark, angry sensation that had been hanging over his head all week. There was no urge to snap, there was no heightened emotions, there was nothing slinking into his mind with its slimy little tendrils.

   “Wong?” he croaked.

   “Welcome back Stephen,” the man squeezed his shoulder. “Now do us a favour and don’t move its been a really long day.”

   He shifted and Stephen’s eyes landed on Tony. He was sat back on his heels, watching in silence while his eyes filled to bursting with hope and Stephen felt his heart squeeze and beat a rapid rhythm in his chest. Despite himself his eyes began to water.

   “Tony?”

   He nodded, his own expression crumpling with a desperate kind of love that always felt like a punch to the gut, “yeah love.”

   For the first time in a week, Stephen wasn’t afraid when he reached his hand out toward Tony. For the first time in a week he didn’t feel a stirring of anger and irritation when he immediately latched onto it and crowded gently against him. For the first time in a week, when Tony pressed wet, joyful kisses to his forehead and lips, it wasn’t crowded out by images of his death. For the first time in a week, Stephen felt grateful to be alive.

   “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Tony murmured over and over.

   Stephen believed him and let himself go.