Work Text:
Stephen wakes up in the hospital.
The last he remembers, he was on a battlefield, watching Tony Stark prepare himself to snap. It’s not inconceivable that he could have been hospitalized after that and lost a few hours of memory to the trauma, but the possibility never even occurs to him, because he wakes up to a haze of painkillers and the sight of his hands absolutely covered in external fixators.
Christine is beside him, telling him everything will be okay. Stephen doesn’t respond. What is he supposed to say? He’s been here before. He knows, in the marrow of him, that this is no nightmare or flashback. He really has been sent back in time. He closes his eyes and shuts everyone out and can’t bring himself to care how worrying that must be.
The next day, while Stephen is staring into the distance, there’s a commotion out in the hall. It gets louder, and louder, and then his room’s door slams open and Tony Stark strides in. He looks momentarily taken aback at the sight of Stephen, but recovers quickly. “Strange, would you tell your overprotective guard dogs that it’s okay for me to stay and chat?” Christine, two nurses, and at least one security guard pile into the room after him, bringing raised voices with them.
Somehow, it never occurred to Stephen that he might not have come back alone. The relief is overwhelming, but he forces himself to find his voice. “It’s fine.” The words are barely a croak—he hasn’t spoken in awhile—but they capture Christine’s attention and the others follow her lead.
“Stephen, are you sure?” she asks, casting Stark a skeptical look.
He hadn’t been Stark’s biggest fan, Stephen abruptly remembers. Oh well. “I’m sure. Actually, if we could speak alone…”
Christine isn’t sold on the idea, but Tony steps in and ushers them all out the door. When it’s closed he turns back to Stephen and pauses a moment to take in the wreck the accident has made of Stephen. “I’m sorry about this,” Tony says, waving at him. “The stones put all kinds of conditions on when I could go to and who I could take with me without just splitting our timeline into a new branch instead of getting a proper do-over. I’d have landed us after your recovery, but…” Tony looks abruptly exhausted, “...honestly, we need all the time we can get. We don’t have months to spare.”
“I understand,” Stephen says. He takes a careful, steadying breath. “The painkillers have me a little foggy, but our first step has to be documenting future events. I can do that.”
Tony pulls up a chair next to Stephen’s bed and projects a hologram from his wrist.
They get to work.