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Today was a bad day, Stephen knew even before he opened his eyes. There was a chill in the room that warned him the weather would be less then wonderful and a steady pattering against the window that reinforced it.
Still, the deciding factor was the ache emanating from the joints in his hands at a steady, constant rate. He dreaded the thought of getting up, of moving them in anyway that might cause a flare up, particularly in the left, where his wrist was additionally circled with a numb throbbing.
But pain didn’t mean the world stopped spinning for him and the sooner he dressed and got ready for the day, the quicker he could settle somewhere with a book and a weary eye out for dimensional disturbances. If he was lucky, he might even get to astral project for awhile and escape the chains that were his body.
With a sigh, Stephen slipped from the bed, feet hitting the cool hardwood and making him grimace. His Cloak came floating in front of him with an air of expectation and quite suddenly, Stephen felt his stomach twist and something hard and bitter settle in his chest. It wasn’t fair, not to the Cloak tasked with his well-being and not to himself but he found his back straightening and his eyes narrowing.
“Its fine,” he gritted out. “I can dress myself today.”
The Cloak bobbed on the spot for a moment and Stephen knew it was contemplating whether it should help anyway. Apparently, the look on his face was enough to persuade it otherwise, since it simply seemed to shake a little before going to wait by the door, as though preparing to see him fail, just to say I told you so.
Stephen stood even though he was painfully aware of just how hateful it was to dress on his own, especially all the belts. It was just that some days, he didn’t want to play the part of the kind and gracious cripple, waiting for everyone’s goodwill to see him through his day.
He was capable damn it, even if it hurt to all hell doing it.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to dress, taking deep breaths as he gripped the fabric and slipped it over his head, wincing as he wound the belts around him, sighing in relief as he finally slipped the shoes on. By the time he was facing the door, ready for the Cloak to settle on his shoulders, he could practically feel its exasperation radiating.
It did nothing to dampen the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that he managed it himself, even if the joints felt stiffer then ever.
With a small smile he slipped from the room, foregoing breakfast in favour of the study, where a warm fireplace should help drive the damp chill from the Sanctum. He was grateful that Wong wasn’t due to arrive until late that evening, not sure he’d be able to take the man’s judging stares or hovering nature whenever Stephen was having a bad day. It wasn’t that Wong coddled him, even if his presence could feel suffocating on bad day, just that the man knew the dangers of using magic while distracted by things like pain, especially with how hand intensive they were. It still made Stephen feel like a child.
Just as he walked past the kitchen, the Cloak popped off his shoulders, one end reaching out to curl around his upper arm and tug him to a stop. Stephen glared at it and it seemed to glare back, as it turned itself toward the kitchen with obvious intent.
“I’m not hungry,” he said tightly.
The Cloak was apparently unimpressed with that and applied a little more pressure, making Stephen narrow his eyes, “if you make me eat, I will make sure I throw up on you.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. Stephen felt downright nauseous, a common feeling on days like today and as the Cloak seemed to size up how truthful he was being, it finally relented. It settled back on his shoulders and Stephen had to stifle sigh, recognizing it had every intention of being his caretaker today.
As soon as he entered the sitting room, the fireplace roared to life, a large flame billowing inside before settling into something more reasonable. With it came a wave of heat that Stephen immediately put his hands out to, inhaling deeply when his trembling fingers felt the first brush of warmth.
The Cloak took the liberty of tugging the armchair closer and flying to the shelf, always oddly in tune with whatever Stephen intended to work on that day. He sunk down in the cushions, shifting until he was perfectly comfortable, his mind already drifting from place to place. A heavy weight settled in his lap, making him blink down at it blearily.
Opening it came with the satisfying crack of the spine and crinkle of old parchment, the foreign words messily scrawled in ink felt like coming home, and as his lips began to move silently, hands brushing over the worn pages, he felt himself finally starting to relax.
Wong had told him once, with the slightest downturn of his lips, that Stephen’s ability to slip from his body was almost unnatural. Astral projection took years to learn and even longer to gain stamina that would allow one to be away for an extended period of time. Regardless, no matter how good you were, it averaged approximately thirty minutes of focused meditation before reaching a state where one could release themselves from the earthly plane.
Stephen had been reading all of three minutes, when the weight of the book disappeared from his lap, the soft pages turning to air under his fingers, the crackling of the fireplace becoming nothing but a whisper.
When Wong confronted him about it, Stephen had simply told him the truth, that perhaps it was because he had more to run from then most. When he slipped into the astral plane, not to travel or to fight, but to simply be, he didn’t feel pain, both physically and mentally. It was calm, a soothing nothingness that was so tempting to get lost in. His mind was gone, unattached to its prison of not only his aching limbs, but the constant pressure at the back of his head where haunting memories lay.
If he wanted to actually do something while projecting, create a physical manifestation of himself, it took much more effort, not so unlike other masters. That hadn’t comforted Wong any, who worried he didn’t have the balance tying him to earth when compared to his reasons to flee. Stephen wasn’t so concerned about it on days like today, after all, he’d begun regulating the act since Wong learned of it, but he couldn’t bare another moment of the ache.
It was just so much nicer to drift.
---
Tony ran a hand over his eyes, tired from a long day of typical company bullshit, not that he had any right to complain. Usually he was only needed once every few weeks to go over some details, but today had taken hours and then Shield conveniently needed a meeting to top it all off. Still, seven wasn’t too bad, though he had hoped to join Stephen at the Sanctum hours ago.
His lover hadn’t been answering his texts, which wasn’t unusual, but it still made Tony miss him all the more. He’s been toying with the idea of suggesting they work out a situation where they could move in together, finding himself craving more and more time together in their already hectic lives.
Tony slipped into the Sanctum, long past needing to knock to announce his presence. What he expected to find was either complete silence or Stephen waiting impatiently for him, though neither held true.
The moment he stepped inside, the Cloak, with whom he had a bumpy relationship, even six months in, was in his face, waving its fabric around in a nearly frantic manner. Tony blinked, his stomach twisting abruptly, “what’s wrong? where’s Stephen?”
It lifted a corner, winding it around Tony’s wrist and yanking him further into the Sanctum. He followed quickly, breath coming harder as he struggled to hold back every panicked thought, threatening to make him lose his composure.
He stumbled into the sitting room where the Cloak released him to go and hover over Stephen’s form. Tony stared at his lover, slumped in the armchair, book opened in his lap, face pale and glistening with sweat in the light of the fireplace.
It was no surprise considering the room was on the verge of sweltering. Tony was at his side in a heartbeat, taking in his closed eyes, fingers pressing to his pulse where it thrummed steadily. He blew a sigh of relief, glancing up at the Cloak which seemed to be vibrating with anxiety.
“How long has he been like this?” he muttered to himself though he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew. Tony forced himself to take a calming breath, eyes falling closed for a moment while he thought.
This wasn’t the first time he’d found Stephen like this and each time he did it sent of stab of fear through him. Astral projection, Wong had informed him, was fine in small stints but Stephen seemed to have a hard time keeping himself grounded. Tony had been warned that it wouldn’t be all that difficult for his lover to just slip away one day, with nothing to hold him back. Stephen knew it too, and it killed him that he still took the risk.
“Go and get some tea, would you? And maybe a few of those gingersnaps he likes so much.”
The Cloak sped from the room as Tony carefully took Stephen’s hands in his. He wouldn’t want to eat or drink, but it was obvious he had nothing all day, it would help to steady him once he was back.
Feeling the light trembling of Stephen’s fingers, Tony understood why he did this, even if he hated that he resorted to out of body experiences to escape the pain. Taking a fortifying breath Tony winced to himself as he pressed his thumbs into the palms of Stephen’s scarred hands.
“Stephen?” he murmured.
No response, Tony felt like he could cry.
He pressed harder, having learned that if he was under this long, it took something significant to drag him back, “come on,” he muttered, frustration lacing the tone. “Don’t make me do this, wake up.”
Nothing.
Tony’s jaw clenched, eyes falling closed so he wouldn’t have to see the pain there as he dug in harder, the rest of his hand clenching around the limbs well. A strangled gasp and a hard tug had Tony falling back on his heels, hands up in surrender.
Stephen was staring at him wide-eyed and confused, hands cradled against his chest. Tony waited, biting his lip and hating the expression there as guilt churned in his gut. He felt like he could practically see Stephen coming back into his body. Slowly, his eyes grew more focused, the confusion slipping away as he grimaced, his body going from tense back to relaxed, brow furrowing regretfully.
“Stephen?” he inquired softly, heart hammering.
A moment passed then Stephen slumped, “its ok, I’m here,” he croaked.
Just then the Cloak came fluttering in with the items he requested. The tea was room temperature and Tony swore he needed to figure out how the sentient fabric managed it, as he picked up the cup and lifted it to Stephen’s lips.
His lover recoiled for a moment, nose scrunching but Tony wasn’t having it, simply raising an eyebrow. With a sigh he began to sip, hands still cradled against his stomach now protectively, until finally he’d drained half of it.
“I’m sorry,” Stephen said, voice clearer.
“If you were sorry,” Tony said slowly, deliberately as he tried to crush his frustration. “You wouldn’t keep doing it.”
Silence.
Tony glanced up at him to find his lover looking into the fire and he sighed. Stephen would still be scattered brained for at least an hour, drifting in and out of focus, there would be no way of having a proper conversation about this until then.
“Alright,” he said quietly as he stood. “We’ll talk about it later. For now, let me just keep you here with me, don’t slip away again ok?”
Stephen’s eyes glanced over him, a little hazy but he nodded slowly. Tony carefully shifted his lover until he could squeeze into the chair next to him and quietly began breaking off pieces of the cookie and handing them to Stephen, who munched slowly, while the Cloak draped itself over them both, protective and watchful.
“I love you,” Stephen murmured.
Tony leaned in to press a gentle kiss to Stephen’s forehead, holding it a moment, “I know, I know.”