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Tony is prepared when Wong calls him. The Masters of the Mystic Arts do their best to keep their battles out of sight of the rest of the world. They’ve got a lot of practice in that discretion, which means that when one leaks over, it’s bad.
This time, it was bad enough that the news reported on it.
Not that the news understands exactly what happened. Neither does Tony, but he knows Stephen was in the area, so he knows it wasn’t aliens or mutants or any of the other theories that are being tossed about.
Tony finds Stephen in his bedroom, curled up on his side, staring into space. Tony doesn’t try to talk to him, just kicks off his shoes and joins Stephen on the bed, making the little spoon of him. A long time passes before Stephen speaks. “Hundreds of people, Tony,” he whispers. “Hundreds.”
“I know,” Tony says. He doesn’t say, You did the best you could, because that never made him feel any better.
Stephen takes a shuddering breath. “I often tell myself I save more lives as a sorcerer than I ever did as a surgeon, but right now…”
That, at least, Tony can answer. “The bad days don’t erase the good ones,” he says. “We all screw up sometimes. We all end up in no win scenarios sometimes. We all have to choose the lesser of two evils sometimes. I don’t know which this was, but I know that, on balance, you’ve done more good than harm.”
“I won’t ever forget today,” Stephen says.
“No,” Tony agrees. His own mistakes haunt him, too. “But there are more good days ahead. More people who will live because of you.”
Stephen rolls over so that he can hold Tony in return, and that’s progress.