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Soulmates, in Stephen’s view, had never made much sense.
There had been a time when it was the bedrock of society, when it was respected as some form of cosmic law that nobody dared breach. Hopeless romanticism at its finest really, the idea that something out there cared enough about every individual person to craft another half just for them. Honestly, Stephen had once laughed so hard at the thought, he’d begun to cry, never mind that he had been drunk.
Originally, only mated pairs could be married. That was an archaic idea discovered by anthropologists and archeologists working in tandem to discover the traditions of their early ancestors. They really couldn’t be blamed though, after all, the Australopithecus and Neanderthal weren’t smart enough to realize they didn’t have to be with one that made them all warm and fuzzy for a hot minute.
It was theorized…of course, that the mated pairs were compatible enough to create a strong enough offspring to survive the terrors of everyday life. Thus, those nearly human ancestors naturally came together for that very purpose. Practical. Not even romantic really and Stephen could almost respect that.
Of course, things changed eventually.
Powerful empires would rise up like the Sumerians, Babylonians, and Assyrian. Sure, those early civilizations that flourished in Mesopotamia had all sorts of outdated ideas including the expectation of mated pairs spending their lives together…but even they started to realize the problem with such a notion. Society was so much more complicated then those early days and suddenly people weren’t always finding their supposed other half or alliances needed to be made between families and marriage…as always was the most stable of contracts. And of course, the issue of royal families needing an heir and on and on.
By the time of the Greeks and Romans it was almost as though they had figured everything out. Stephen would have loved to be a fly on the wall in that time, to see how the conversations went from the almost religious importance of soulmates to a concept that was malleable to fit human needs and strategy. Wong of course had forbidden such time travelling though Stephen hadn’t given up on convincing him just yet.
The Greeks and Romans abolished the archaic laws regarding marriage to one’s match…though it happened anyway. The bond was still filled to bursting with sanctity of course. If a member of an arranged marriage preferred their mated pairing to the one their family picked, it would be honored. Though now at least…the new rules made it easier for nobles and royalty to marry young, produce an heir without waiting around for the right person to pop up.
Almost perfect.
Until the fucking Church had its way of things.
Suddenly mated pairings were the only acceptable match in the eyes of God. Suddenly it was romantic again as the Victorian Era took off. Suddenly it didn’t matter that your wife or husband had given you a black eye or broke your wrist or made you commit suicide. Suddenly it didn’t matter if you weren’t in love or they broke your heart, or they raped you…they were your soulmate…it must be the only option for you. If anything had gone wrong, well you must be insane, unstable, twisted.
Sufficed to say Stephen found the entire concept of soulmates a little nauseating. Things had changed for the better of course, modern studies and changing societal norms recognized that while your fated mate might be fairly high on the compatibility scale…it didn’t mean they were the one for you.
Emotions ran high between soulmates…that was a give in. Something made the hormones in the body react differently to one another and the response inevitably led to very passionate couples. Which didn’t always mean sex…everything was amplified including anger, grief, pain, love, happiness. It wasn’t really a surprise that chances of ending up either happily married for the rest of your life or murdered and dumped six feet under, were fifty-fifty.
Really, it had become on trend to reject one’s soulmate unless you were one of the unlucky few to be raised religiously. It was more common these days for one’s mate to be their best friend and often times like a brother or a sister…taking on the title of aunt and uncle to their matches’ children.
Stephen had never subscribed to the tales people like to recount about how difficult that transition was…about how for a split second upon meeting them they couldn’t help but believe they would die for their other half, would give up anything for them. An evolutionary trick to be sure, one that had stuck and refused to let go. Despite the facts, Stephen always assumed that when he met his soulmate it would be the easiest thing in the world to smile and nod, maybe share a moment of surprise and then go on as if nothing had happened.
Not only did he not want a soulmate, but it certainly wasn’t practical as a Sorcerer. It was actually atypical for any of the sorcerers to accept their soulmates unless they too were already within the order. It made sense. It was how things should be.
Yet.
For all of Stephen’s beliefs and extensive research nothing, absolutely nothing prepared him for sensation of his heart all but stopping, for the way his entire world slowed down to a trickle, for the way tears pricked the back of his eyes as he stared at the mate fated to be his.
Tony Stark had stood in that park, sunlight washing over him, arm hovering protectively around Pepper and looked back at him with an expression of such awe, shock, and want that it made Stephen’s head spin and his knees weak.
Maybe he had relied too much on his soulmate being a stranger. Maybe the universe in all its infinite wisdom wanted to play a cruel joke on the man who laughed and ridiculed the entire idea of its sanctity since the time he was a boy. Maybe they knew that the only way to save the world was to have the sorcerer fall in love with the mechanic before ever knowing they were meant to be together so that in the end…he would choose the right path to save everybody and reunite millions of people with their loves, their families, their souls.
And Stephen did.
Now…in the aftermath of Titan, only two days ago, Stephen stood at the large window of the Sanctum, trembling hands clasped behind his back and tried to keep his heartbeat steady. Down below, standing on the stoop, obviously arguing with himself was Tony Stark, still as radiant as the first day.
There had been no time in light of Bruce’s warning to discuss what they found that day, to let those initial emotions cool and for their minds to take over again. To discuss Tony’s marriage, Stephen’s hatred of the bond, the intensity of emotion rolling though them both. There had been a silent promise for afterwards and one vocalization after Ebony Maw had attacked him from Tony, that they would talk…that they had better both survive.
The memory of pain in Tony’s eyes as he gripped Stephen’s shoulder afterwards still twisted his stomach with the urge to help, to make better, to promise him the world. There hadn’t been time, and, in the end, it was a good thing Stephen had never made that same promise to Tony.
Now though, five years after, after everything, Tony clearly still wanted to talk.
And Stephen didn’t know what to do with himself and the way his heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest.
Down below Tony raised his hand to knock and Stephen quietly went to the door as he listened to each hesitant tap. Part of him wanted to rush forward and pull the door from his hinges, while another wanted to disappear into another dimension.
He would do neither of those things.
Swallowing thickly, Stephen opened the door slowly and came face to face with the man who had been occupying his thoughts obsessively ever since he took his first breath back in their world. On the stoop, Tony looked haggard, dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled and clothing a rushed ensemble of sweatpants and a t-shirt and a ratty leather jacket.
Yet those warm brown eyes were the same as they met his. The emotions within too many to count as he murmured, in a tone that was almost disbelieving, “Stephen?”
The sound of his name, in Tony’s voice, shaped by those lips was like a lightning strike to his heart and Stephen wanted to cry, to apologize, to collapse right there and beg the man who had somehow stolen every reasonable thought from his mind, to stay, to love him.
Suddenly the long history of soulmates didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.
Tony, certainly seeing something in his expression stepped forward into Stephen’s home and let the door shut with a decided click behind him. There was a slight tremble in the man, one that was so familiar to Stephen, even if it was for a different reason.
And then he was moving toward Stephen, expression twisted with grief and anger and desperation, forcing the sorcerer to move backwards, stumbling a little, “why? Why? WHY?” Tony was saying it over and over again and Stephen didn’t have words to explain to apologize and suddenly hands were clamping down on his shoulders, holding him in place.
Tony took up his entire vision, tears falling over his cheeks and eyes blazing as he shook the taller man and Stephen wanted to tell him to stop, to let him speak but he couldn’t because each word was like an arrow piercing his skin, stealing his breath, and leaving him filled with shame.
“Why? Stephen why did you do it?! You fucking bastard,” Tony choked, shook him again. “You fucking left me. Why?” A sob seemed to wretch itself from Tony’s throat, a terrible inhumane sound. “I couldn’t save you and you just…left me. Fuck why?”
And Tony’s knees were giving out and Stephen’s arms were suddenly around him, holding him as fists pounded against his chest. Tears burned Stephen’s eyes, because he had left Tony, had been willing to do absolutely anything to keep the other man alive, no matter how much it hurt him to leave it all behind without ever really knowing him. But he had seen in the stone how beautiful they were together, how much they could have done, everything they could have been. It had been cruel…so god damn cruel of the world and yet Stephen did it because he couldn’t not.
He couldn’t let his soulmate die.
“I’m sorry,” it was a desperate plea, the air in his lungs still too tight to make the words audible. “I’m sorry,” he tried again, and this time Tony gasped, trying to get his own air as he stopped fighting and they both collapsed on the hard floor of Stephen’s home, of their home. “I had to save you.”
Hands dug into his flesh, stinging with the tightness of Tony’s grip but Stephen didn’t make a noise, to busy holding the man in his arms and feeling the rightness of the bond flowing between them. It hurt, of course it fucking hurt, their emotions were amplified by 100 and it almost felt as though he was being torn apart but it was a beautiful kind of pain, exquisite in the knowledge that no matter how bad it was…he wasn’t alone.
“Never again,” Tony whispered against his throat, one hand tangled in the strands of Stephen’s hair, keeping him still and unmoving. “Don’t leave me again Stephen Strange.”
It wasn’t a promise he could make. It wasn’t even one Tony could make if they were being realistic, but Stephen found the words slipping out anyway, mind rebelling against the very though of having to choose between Tony Stark and the world once more.
“Never again.”