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Stephen went lax—in sleep, this time, rather than unconsciousness—leaving Tony to grapple with a dizzying mix of anger, shock, and confusion. He slumped back in the chair he’d been occupying for the last week and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Where did he even start? Fourteen million lifetimes? ‘You deserved more than that’? Or maybe with ‘I don’t want to live without you’?
When it came to Tony, everyone had their breaking point. He’d learned that lesson. People would go so far with him, and no further. Pepper and Rhodey went further than most, but even they had their limits. Stephen had blown past every line anyone had ever drawn and a few Tony hadn’t even thought of.
Tony lowered his hand and stared at the man in the bed. Even having woken, even in a natural sleep, he looked fragile. According to Wong, it was a miracle he’d survived at all, and the best case scenario for his recovery was measured in months. Years, to heal completely, if that was even possible. Even Sorcerers, it seemed, didn’t know that much about the soul.
I don’t want to live without you.
What was Tony supposed to do with that?