Chapter Text
Being trapped within the Soul Stone was nothing short of weird. There was really no other way to explain it. The people here didn't need to eat or drink or use the bathroom or even sleep. They just... were. Sometimes it seemed as though time was barely moving, and seconds could drag by impossibly long. But then, time would seem to speed up and whole days could pass in the span of a few blinks. There was no rhyme or reason to it, though Stephen knew for a fact that many scientists were trying to figure it out.
They wouldn't. Magic never followed the conventional rules of science, and the magic of the infinity stones were a rule unto themselves.
In the distance came the renewed sound of someone weeping. There had been a lot of that in the beginning. Pain, anger, sadness. Stephen hadn't experienced any of them. He'd known this was going to happen: this had been the outcome in three-quarters of the futures he'd glimpsed, with the remaining quarter being a future where, instead of being transported into the Soul Stone, the souls that Thanos chose to destroy merely ceased to exist. All things considered, Stephen vastly preferred where they were. At least this way, he had some idea of what was happening in the real world.
As though summoned by his thoughts, the clear pool of water beside him suddenly blurred. He turned his head, alert, lowering his gaze to the water. Being able to see into the real world was something that happened at random; so far, he hadn't discovered any way to control it. Based on what other people had told him, as well as his own experiences, the souls trapped here were always shown the lives of those they'd been physically closest to when they were snapped out of existence. In Stephen's case, that meant he had an up close and personal view of Tony Stark's life on occasion.
"I don't know, Nebula. That just doesn't sound feasible."
Tony's voice rose from the pool and Stephen breathed out through the twist in his gut, turning to better see. He'd lost track of how long they'd been trapped here, and sometimes watching Tony was the only thing that broke up the monotony.
"You're just not being creative enough, Stark."
"Excuse you, I'm only trying to obey the laws of science -"
"Earth laws of science, I have to point out."
"- and magic! Science is science, but magic is a whole other thing. What you're asking for... it just can't be done."
"Nebula always was stubborn."
Stephen looked up, unsurprised to see Peter Quill and Gamora. Quill was bound to Nebula, and Gamora was always eager to see her sister. Tony and Nebula seemed to spend a lot of time together, which meant that Stephen saw a lot of Quill and Gamora. He shifted aside so that Gamora could crouch down beside him. Quill lingered beside her, trying and failing to pretend that he wasn't just as interested in watching what was happening.
"I think you're just scared," Nebula said. She pointed at Tony. "You could learn magic if you wanted to."
Tony threw his hands up. "For the love of - I am not a sorcerer, okay, stop trying to make it sound like I could just walk into the sanctum and pick up a book and start making freaky things happen!"
"Couldn't you?" Nebula said. "Would they stop you? Especially now that you know -"
"That's not the point,” Tony said, cutting her off.
"I disagree."
"Well then why don't you make magic happen!" Tony yelled.
Nebula's expression screamed superiority as she gestured to herself. "Cyborg. Magic and machines don't mix. Human." She pointed again at Tony. "Humans and magic mix just fine."
"Ugh, I am not having this conversation again."
The pool went fizzy around thee dges. Stephen stared, unblinking, hoping for more, but when the water cleared there was nothing to be seen. He tried not to sigh too loudly. Sometimes he got to see whole days, even whole weeks, but sometimes it could be like this too. Limited to just a tantalizing glimpse of what was clearly part of an on-going conversation. It was incredibly frustrating, like only getting to read the occasional page of a book instead of being able to read the whole thing. It made it hard to grasp the context and subtext of any conversations he happened to see.
Especially since he couldn't always be certain that what he saw was happening in any sort of chronological order. The last thing he saw was Tony eating breakfast with May Parker. Did that happen before or after Tony's conversation with Nebula? It was often impossible to tell.
"Did I miss one?" Peter asked, jogging up behind Quill and Gamora. "I felt that weird pull again, but it's gone now."
"It wasn't anything important," Stephen said. Peter was bound to Tony as well, and seemed to take both delight and comfort in watching his mentor, particularly when Tony was around May.
"No closer to getting us out of here, huh?" Peter said glumly, crouching down to stick his fingers in the pool.
"How would you even be able to tell?" Quill asked, cocking his head to the side. "I don't know about you two, but whatever I see of Nebula rarely makes any sense."
"Same," Peter said, pouting. "But I'd hoped. I'm going to be so far behind by the time I get out of here."
"Half the world is here. I'm sure your teachers won't hold it against you," Stephen said reassuringly. He actually couldn't be sure of that at all, but after spending god knows how long in Peter's company, he'd come to care for the boy almost against his will. He wasn't made of stone; he could only watch Peter cry for his aunt and Tony so many times without softening.
Quill doubled over suddenly, clutching at his midsection. "Shit! I feel it again."
"So soon?" Gamora said, frowning. She grabbed Quill's arm to steady him and led him away with barely a nod to Stephen and Peter. Stephen watched them go, unsurprised to see them heading for Drax, Groot and Mantis. The visions of the real world, as they'd come to be known, were almost always the longest when everyone who was bonded to that living person were gathered near. Nebula had a lot of people watching over her, whether she knew it or not.
"Was it about magic?" Peter asked, drawing Stephen's attention back to him.
"How did you guess?" Stephen said, curious.
"I saw a vision last week where Tony was talking to Wong."
Stephen frowned. "You didn't tell me that."
"It didn't seem like it was important, honestly. I figured Tony was just doing some research. He was asking about you and the stones."
"Was he?" Stephen murmured, frown deepening. Some time ago - he couldn't have said how long - he and Peter had watched a long conversation between Tony and Christine Palmer. Tony had been pressing her for information about Stephen. He couldn't decide if he was annoyed that she had told Tony everything she knew. Christine wasn't the kind of person to share intimate details like that without a reason, so Stephen assumed there was more to the conversation than what he'd been shown.
That was another frustrating thing about the visions: sometimes they began during what was clearly mid-conversation, making it even more impossible to understand. Sometimes he thought that watching the visions was the way to madness, but what else could they do? When one formed, the painful tugging in your gut was hard to ignore. And the urge to know even scraps of information about the real world was too much to pass up. The visions were the only connection they had to life outside the Soul Stone: the only proof they all had that they hadn't been forgotten.
Peter shrugged. "Yeah, but I only got to see a few minutes before it faded." He blew out a frustrated breath, running his hands through his hair. "And next time I saw him, it was that time he was having a fight with Rogers."
Ah, yes. Stephen allowed himself a smile at the memory. He hadn't been surprised that the Rogues had been invited back to the United States following the Snap, because chances were high that Earth was barely holding it together. But anyone who watched Tony for even five minutes knew that Tony wasn't happy about their presence. Stephen couldn't blame him; both he and Peter had been witnesses to the nightmares that Tony had, wherein Tony woke up screaming and flailing in an effort to protect himself against an invisible attacker - one that was often named Steve.
Bucky Barnes had been there for that one too, because he was bound to Rogers. All three of them had watched in silence as Tony yelled himself hoarse at Rogers, accusing Rogers of caring more about being a hero than caring about the people who were gone, culminating in Tony throwing a bottle of wine at Rogers' head and storming out of the room. Rogers had just stood there without saying a word. Stephen wasn't sure what that meant, but the way Barnes how frowned while watching told him it wasn't necessarily a good thing. He doubted that Rogers had taken in a single world that Tony had said. Of that, Stephen was positive.
Whatever Tony was doing to rescue them, he was doing it without the help of the Rogues.
"He's my soulmate," Barnes had said with a deeply weary look. "But that doesn't mean he's got anyone's best interests at heart, even mine."
"I feel bad for him," Peter went on. "Tony is trying to do something, but he keeps running into red tape and people who want to stop him. Don't they want us back?" He looked up at Stephen imploringly.
Stephen sighed. "Of course they do, Peter," he said, resting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "But they don't even fully understand what happened. Not even we do, and we're the ones who are in here!" He cast an arm out to indicate the realm. "They're... scared. Scared of making things worse. Of losing more people. Some of them probably don't believe that we can be saved."
Peter bit his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. "So... do you think that means we'll be stuck here forever?"
"I don't know," Stephen admitted. "But I do think that Tony will never give up on trying to save us. Especially you. He really cares about you, Peter."
"Yeah," Peter said quietly, half-turning away. He was looking at the Guardians, who were still gathered a short distance away. Whatever they were watching had captured their attention completely, to the point where not even Mantis reacted to being watched.
They both felt it at the same time, a tug in their guts that was impossible to ignore. Stephen had tried once, out of pure curiosity, and found that ignoring the vision quickly grew unbelievably painful. He'd been left on the ground, gasping from the pain that was radiating through him. Curiosity wasn't the only thing that kept them watching. He and Peter obediently turned, looking back down at the pool of water.
It was immediately obvious that some time had passed. Tony was alone now, sitting in a corner of his bedroom. A bottle of whiskey was sitting beside him. He picked it up and took a long swig, then lowered the bottle and wiped the back of his mouth with his arm. Stephen caught a glimpse of black writing on Tony's arm and felt his stomach turn over. He hadn't known that Tony had found his soul mate (there was so much he hadn't, still didn't, know about Tony Stark) but he found himself pitying Tony in that moment. The only way to find your soulmate on Earth was to hear the last words they spoke to you before their death, and have those words match the words written on your from your birth. Having the words on your arm turn black was never a celebrated occasion.
"I just can't," Tony whispered.
Stephen wasn't sure who he was speaking to; it looked as though Tony was alone for once. But then, as he watched Tony roll up his sleeve and reveal the blackened words on his arm for the first time, a horrible kind of understanding stole over him. He rocked back on his heels, horrified, unable to take his eyes off those six words. Six terribly familiar words.
Tony, there was no other way.