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Stephen groaned, stumbling through the portal and into the Sanctum. He collapsed, grateful when the Sanctum shifted a couch to catch him before he could hit the ground.
The cloak was doing their best, but the drain of the fight was affecting even it.
The couch was soft beneath him, and smelled lightly of… hmm, sage, maybe. Master Linoli had likely been here; he’d never quite figured out how she managed to leave the scent of sage everywhere she went, when she herself didn’t smell like sage. But then, he’d never invested all that much energy into figuring it out.
His eyes slid shut without his conscious consent. The darkness was… nice. Yes, nice. He floated in the darkness for a while, feeling far too heavy to try to move. He wondered what Wong would say if Stephen just didn’t move from this position until he started feeling human again. He wasn’t injured, per se, just… Drained. Depleted. Worn out to the nth level.
Some part of him knew that he couldn’t sustain the pace much longer, but every master of the order was spreading themselves thin, trying to be everywhere they needed to be, with the Ancient One gone and so many masters dead at the hands of Kaecilius and his fellow zealots. Dormammu’s temporary incursion into their world had stirred up more than one hotspot of dimensional activity, most far from benign.
No, every possible available hand was being put to use.
The very fact that Stephen was considered a master now, had to be a sign of how desperate they were. No one had become a master after so short a time with Kamar Taj in the last thousand years.
Stephen could claim it was his skill and aptitude that had gotten him there so quickly, but… well, the sudden dearth of masters and Stephen’s own… experiences in the dark dimension—he shuddered, shoving the memories away—meant that he had received a promotion that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d earned.
He groaned, deciding he didn’t want to think overly much about that. He didn’t particularly want to be thinking about anything. Would rather actually like to think about nothing right now. Sleep. Sleep would be good. If he slept, maybe he’d wake up mostly human tomorrow.
And the couch was comfortable enough, really, it was. And yes, his belts were digging into his side, and he was entirely too grimy right now, and he hadn’t eaten in over 27 hours, and… all right, sleeping right now would not help him solve any of those issues.
Food. Shower. Bed.
He wouldn’t stay in the astral plane tonight, because he didn’t think he had the energy for even that much. Not that he was going to say anything of the sort to Wong should he bring it up. He wouldn’t want Wong to come to the erroneous conclusion that Stephen was anywhere near reasonable.
He just needed to get up.
Easy.
Stephen turned his head, getting another strong whiff of sage as he buried his face in the soft cloth covering. He’d try again in another five minutes. That seemed a reasonable amount of time to wait.
His stomach let out an unhappy grumble, making it clear that it didn’t think five minutes was a reasonable amount of time.
Fine. He shifted, bringing his arms up so that he could push himself up with his forearms and elbows rather than his hands.
It took him longer than he liked, exhaustion trying to convince him not to move, to just stay put and let the sleep take him.
Food. Shower. Bed.
He made it to his feet, stumbling to the door and towards the kitchen. He’d ended up in the study closest to the kitchen—thank you, Sanctum—and it only took him a few minutes shuffling through the hallways to make it there.
The clatter of pots and pans made him pause. Yes, sometimes the New York Sanctum had visitors, but he normally was aware of them, some sixth sense that came from being connected to the Sanctum as its master. But he felt nothing.
He took a deep breath, gathering dimensional energy, ignoring the way it sapped even further at his energy, and stepped into the room, prepared to bring magic to bear in an instant.
A man stood at the stove, examining two different frying pans that he had apparently just pulled out of the bottom cupboard. “Who are you?” Stephen asked. He wasn’t dressed like any sorcerers Stephen knew, instead wearing a business suit so white that looked like it shouldn’t ever be taken out of its protective covering. His hair was blonde, with a strange glint around it that gave the strange sense of a halo. Maybe it was just how the light was hitting it, because Stephen had no other explanation.
The man glanced at him, blue eyes ice cold. “You,” he snapped. “You just had to do it, didn’t you.” He dropped the frying pans onto the counter and Stephen winced at the clang of metal on the laminate countertops. Where was the proper respect for kitchen utilities?
And Stephen’s headache, for that matter.
“Who. Are. You?” Stephen repeated.
The man scoffed. “Who am I?” Derision leaked from his voice. “I’m your guardian angel you… you…” the man—angel?—let out a frustrated snarl, apparently unable to think of a proper word to describe whatever Stephen was.
Stephen honestly didn’t know whether he should be surprised or not that guardian angels were apparently actual things. He’d seen far stranger things by this point, but it still seemed… preposterous. He took a moment to consider whether this meant he should change his view on religion, but then dismissed the thought as ridiculous.
Of course, it could be a lie—a strange choice of lie, for sure, but a lie nonetheless—but Stephen found it hard to believe that. The words just felt true. Which really deserved further examination.
But that could wait until after he’d slept.
Food. Shower. Bed.
“Right,” he said, deciding that the guardian angel in his kitchen really wasn’t his priority. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure, but I’ve—”
“Oh I’ve got it.” The guardian angel snapped his fingers and a china plate—did the Sanctum even have china like this?—with a large omelet appeared on the table, fork, knife, and a glass of water in place around it.
Stephen took a deep breath. Oh, that smelled good. He’d been thinking something easy—a sandwich, if he’d had the energy for it, or a few slices of cheese and ham if he didn’t—but he wasn’t about to say no to an omelet created by his supposed guardian angel.
It occurred to him that accepting food from strangers that the Sanctum didn’t register as present was perhaps a bad idea. But Stephen was tired, and there were probably easier ways to kill him than to make him an omelet laced with poison.
Not that he thought it was laced with poison, but it could happen. He’d gotten to the point where he genuinely accepted that anything could happen; the Mystic Arts truly had expanded his understanding of the universe, including the understanding that he really didn’t understand anything. So yes, anything was possible. Including guardian angels in his kitchen.
He fell into the chair in front of the omelet and cut himself a bite. It was good, the cheese melted throughout, with bell peppers, ham, and onions surrounded by marvelously fluffy eggs.
He took another bite.
“Thank you,” Stephen said, once he’d remembered his manners. He glanced up at the supposed angel, who was glaring at him. “Do you have a name?” he added. Manners, see?
The angel scoffed. “Not one that you could pronounce.”
Well then. “Right.”
“Are you going to explain yourself?” the angel demanded, clearly dismissing the conversation. “After that stunt you pulled?” He shook his head. “I’ve been in meetings for a month explaining that. After centuries of human after human, I was being considered for a promotion! Now they’re thinking about downgrading me to being a cloud hopper! A cloud hopper! You… you…”
He once again seemed to be at a loss for what sort of word encompassed just what Stephen was. Stephen suspected it would be far from complimentary if the angel ever actually figured it out. As it was, apparently Stephen was beyond words.
“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. And frankly, he was too tired to try to divine it from context clues. If the angel had something he wanted to say, he could come out and say it.
“You don’t—” The angel threw his hands into the air. “I’m talking about the 98,567,342 times you died in that little dimensional joyride you took.”
Joyride.
Well, that was an interesting description for the most hell-ish experience—98,567,342 deaths, really?—of his life.
“It was necessary,” Stephen said, mostly because he couldn’t quite think of what else there was to say. The world had been at risk—all of reality, for that matter—what other choice had he had? If there had been any sort of other way, Stephen would have taken it in a heartbeat, given the way he had chosen had been entirely traumatizing and thus rather inconvenient in terms of his psychological welfare.
Wong kept talking about speaking to someone, but there was too much to do… and Stephen would really rather not talk to anyone about it, if he could help it.
“Necessary,” the angel looked genuinely distressed. “I am at risk of demotion, and you think it was necessary!?”
Stephen blinked. Perhaps he was more tired than he’d thought, because he had rather thought that angels were supposed to be a little more concerned with the general survival of the human race. But then, what did he actually know about angels? What he did know was probably more myth than reality.
“I’m… sorry?” Stephen tried. Less because he was—since he wasn’t—but because it seemed the fastest way to get his guardian angel out of his kitchen so that Stephen could go to bed.
Food—accomplished. Shower. Bed.
“Oh, you had better be sorry,” his angel muttered. “I’d been doing so well with you! A doctor who saved lives, it looked great in my reports. Sure, the accident was a bit of a mess, but becoming a sorcerer was a nice turn around, really sold it to the bosses, a real come back story. They love come back stories.”
Did they? Stephen had so many questions about angelic priorities.
“Right,” he agreed. “And then…”
“And then you died 98,567,342 times!” the angel ranted. “Do you know how bad that looks? I’m supposed to keep you alive until your time had run out, and you just went and made me look like an incompetent buffoon!”
Stephen blinked. Should he apologize again? Would that get him out of here faster?
“I saved the world?” Stephen said. “Surely your bosses like that? A human up against a dimensional being of untold power and succeeding. That seems—”
The angel scoffed. “Underdog stories are 1 in a 100, happen everywhere. No one is impressed by those any longer.”
And come back stories were somehow more impressive???
“Right,” Stephen said. Maybe this conversation wasn’t even happening, maybe he was back on the couch, experiencing an exhaustion-induced hallucination.
Though, if that were true, the omelet probably wouldn’t have helped ease the hunger pangs.
That really leaned things in favor of this being real.
“Well, I’m not sure what you expect me to do about this,” Stephen said finally. “I haven’t died in over a month, it’s a little late to be making a fuss about it, isn’t it?”
The angel glared at him, and for a moment Stephen thought he saw literal fire in his eyes. He blinked and it was gone. “No. More. Dying,” the angel ordered. He held up his fingers, a hairsbreadth between his thumb and his pointer. “I am this close to demotion, one more death before your time and I’m back with the cloud hoppers. Do you know how abominably cheerful they are?” He shook his head. “No. And they never get anything done! No efficiency! No sense of urgency! And they all like those baggy tunics, floating around everywhere with no sense of style.” He shook his head. “I won’t do it, Stephen Strange. I will not be demoted!”
Stephen blinked. “Right,” he said. “No more dying,” he agreed. “I suppose next time the whole universe is at stake, you’ll manage to help out?”
The angel wrinkled his nose, radiating disgust. “You should have stuck to being a doctor,” he said. As though Stephen had changed his career on a lark and not lost his entire life in the span of a few seconds worth of distracted driving. “Far less chances of messy deaths, there. I need you to live at least another 40 years!”
Given Stephen’s new life style, that felt a bit like a stretch goal, but Stephen certainly didn’t intend to die soon. Not that his intentions meant much, when it came to this sort of thing.
“Right,” Stephen said. “I’ll do my best to survive, then.”
The angel glared at him. “See that you do. Oh, I just loathe getting involved. But anything’s better than being a cloud hopper.” He shuddered, then disappeared, a flash of light temporarily blinding Stephen, leaving spots in his eyes as he blinked rapidly.
The kitchen, when the blinking dots finally vanished, was entirely empty.
Had that really happened? It certainly had been surreal enough to be nothing more than a dream, but, most of Stephen’s life fell under that designation and it was all real.
Unfortunately, he probably did have a guardian angel at risk of demotion. One who, if Stephen had understood correctly, would be getting ‘involved’ if it looked like Stephen was about to die anytime in the near future.
It should probably be comforting, knowing that someone—something?—out there wanted to keep him alive. But, honestly? Stephen doubted he wanted the involvement of his guardian angel. He got the sense that they had very different priorities. Admittedly, Stephen’s current priorities included a shower, then bed. Not exactly world-changing priorities, there.
He shook his head, forcing himself to his feet. The dishes had disappeared when the angel had which was one less thing for him to deal with.
Shower. Bed.
Tomorrow—or whenever he woke up; he’d gladly sleep a week away, at this point—he could deal with the possible repercussions of having to deal with his guardian angel.
It’d be fine, he was sure.
How much trouble could a guardian angel cause, anyways?
-_-
Anxiety stirred in his gut as he made his way to a stable looking boulder, settling himself down. With half the universe at stake, Stephen didn’t want to risk anything, and that meant taking a quick glance at the future to help figure out the best way to end the threat they were facing. If the Guardians’ quick explanation of their last encounter with Thanos was any indication, then Thanos would have four infinity stones at hand when he showed up.
Those weren’t great odds.
He opened the Eye of Agamotto and began his spell.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
Stephen startled, head jerking up to take in a faintly familiar figure. Pure white suit, blonde haloed hair, and icy blue eyes. Sure, he’d only met the man once, and he’d been incredibly sleep deprived at the time, but meeting his guardian angel had left an impact. Wong had admitted that Guardian Angels were a thing, though not everyone had one.
Wong had sounded almost pitying. Apparently having a guardian angel wasn’t always a good thing. Given the angel’s reaction to Stephen saving all of reality, Stephen could acknowledge that he could see where it might be a bit of a hassle.
Angels’ priorities did not quite match his own.
“Excuse me?” Stephen asked.
The angel stuck his finger in his face in a clear attempt to intimidate. “Oh, I know what you’re about to do. You’re about to go stick yourself in another time loop and die an entirely disproportionate amount of times and then I really will be demoted! It’s not happening, Stephen Strange!”
“Strange?” Stark’s voice sounded concerned as it got closer to him. “Who is this?”
Stephen turned his head to look at Stark who was watching Stephen’s angel with suspicion, keeping one hand out to keep Parker behind him, just in case. Stephen was still a little confused as to the relationship there, neither Stark nor Parker had actually answered that question.
“Well,” Stephen said slowly. “This is… my guardian angel.”
Stark’s face twisted in what appeared to be genuine distress. Stephen wondered if he was going through an existential crisis; he was pretty sure Stark was an atheist. Stephen was more agnostic than anything, but he understood the mental whiplash the reveal could have. He was honestly a little impressed that Stark was accepting the explanation as well as he was. “You’re serious?”
“Unfortunately,” Stephen said.
His angel glared at him. “Oh, is that the thanks I get for being here to stop you from killing yourself an untold number of times?”
Stark and Parker both made concerned noises at that—the Guardians were arguing again, and generally ignoring the proceedings—but Stephen ignored them.
“If that’s what it takes to stop Thanos, then that’s what I’ll do,” he said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse—”
“No!” his angel snapped. “I will not excuse you. A cloud hopper, Strange. That’s what’s in my future if you don’t cease and desist with this nonsense.”
“Given that I am in possession of the Time stone, which Thanos is currently searching for, I’m likely to die either way,” Stephen pointed out. “If one more death is all it takes for you to get demoted, then it’ll happen either way.”
His guardian angel froze, horror crossing his face, clearly recognizing that Stephen was right and that he was doomed.
His angel whirled striding towards Stark. “You! Call your angel right now!”
Stark backed up a step, looking alarmed. “I don’t know what the hell—”
“Heaven, actually.”
”—you’re talking about.”
His angel snorted. “You’re the only other person present who has a guardian angel. It’s obvious by the—” he waved his hand at Stark as though that explained anything. “I’m going to need…” He shuddered dramatically. “To collaborate.” He narrowed his eyes at Parker. “I’d really think you’d qualify for one,” he added nonsensically. “You’d be great for an angel’s reputation.”
“Uh, thanks?” Parker said, sounding entirely confused.
Stephen didn’t blame him.
“I don’t have a guardian angel,” Stark said slowly. “I’m atheist.”
Stephen’s angel scoffed. “As if that matters.” He snapped his fingers in front of Stark’s face, impatience radiating from him. “Now get to it. Call your angel.”
Stark looked at Stephen, his eyes practically screaming, Help me.
Stephen shrugged. This really wasn’t his area of expertise. Stark looked unimpressed by his lack of assistance; Stephen wasn’t too bothered by that.
“Get to it, already. I don’t have all day here!” Stephen’s angel said.
“Okay, pretend I’m humoring you,” Stark said finally. “How exactly would I call my guardian angel?”
Stephen’s angel looked at Stark as though he was rather dim. “You pray, obviously.”
“Pray,” Stark repeated. “…right.” He glanced at Stephen again, as though trying to ascertain whether he actually had to do this.
“There’s a… slim possibility that this will help us with Thanos,” Stephen said. He wasn’t entirely sure he really believed that. Angels had very warped priorities, after all. But it probably wouldn’t hurt.
Stark sighed. “I swear, my mom is laughing at me, wherever she is. Bright side, my dad’s probably rolling in his grave.” He let out a deep breath. “Right. Pray.” He closed his eyes, scrunching them a little as though this was genuinely painful for him.
There was a flash of light and then a second man was there. His suit was just as white as Stephen’s angel’s was and his hair, brown instead of blonde, had the same shiny quality as Stephen’s angel, giving the appearance of a halo. “Why in all the realms of existence am I being called—” He cut off, eyeing Stephen’s angel with contempt. “Oh, you.”
“Yes, me,” Stephen’s angel snapped. “I need your help.”
Stark’s angel brought his hand up and examined his nails contemptuously. “Why should I help you? Rumor is you’re practically a cloud hopper.”
Stephen’s angel bristled. “Only because that one—” he pointed at Stephen. “—had the audacity to go and die 98,567,342 times!”
Stark edged around the two angels, sitting on the edge of Stephen’s boulder and lowering his voice. “Okay, but what the hell is going on here?”
“Honestly? I don’t really know,” Stephen admitted. “My angel showed up about a year ago telling me that if I died again, he was going to get demoted and he wasn’t letting that happen for another forty years. Pretty sure dying is definitely in the cards for me given the Thanos threat.” He glanced at Stark. “Probably all of us,” he admitted. “And he’s not too happy with that.”
Stark considered that, then nodded. “Yeah, I was pretty sure this was a death sentence, too. But I was hoping we could at least delay things long enough for earth to get their defenses in place and stand a chance. But what was he talking about with you dying 98,567,342 times? That real?”
Stephen hesitated. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It’s a long story.”
Stark examined him. “Well, given it involves dying 98,567,342 times, I didn’t exactly think it was short.”
Fair enough. “Anyways, I’m not actually sure if he’s going to be any help, but anything is better than nothing.”
“Hopefully,” Tony muttered. He examined the two angels who were still arguing. Mostly Stark’s angel was demanding to know why he should help Stephen’s.
Apparently Stark’s impending death was not as much a motivation as Stephen’s own death was. Stark seemed remarkably not offended by the implication that it didn’t matter if he died. Stephen was pretty sure that was an indication of some deeper problems, but that really wasn’t any of Stephen’s business.
“Fine!” Stephen’s angel snapped. “If not to avoid Stark’s death, you have to acknowledge that the inevitable love story would do wonders for your reputation,” he said. “Everyone knows you haven’t managed a love match in over two thousand years!”
Stark’s angel scoffed. “As if Stark has a chance at true love.”
“Wow,” Stark said; this time he did sound offended. Apparently mentioning his love life—wasn’t he engaged?—was worse than not caring whether he lived or died. Maybe the angels weren’t the only ones with warped priorities. “That was a little below the belt, don’t you think?”
“Hey,” Parker said, sounding offended on Stark’s behalf as he sidled over towards the two of them, hovering behind Stark protectively. “Mr. Stark is great! Anyone would be lucky to have him.”
“Thanks, spiderling.” The offense disappeared for wry amusement. “Your defense is appreciated.” Now Stephen really wanted an explanation for their relationship. Because Parker sounded a bit like a kid defending their perpetually single parent.
Which, again, didn’t make sense, because Stark was engaged.
Stephen’s angel ignored both Stark and Parker; instead he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Stark pointedly, arching an eyebrow as though Stark’s angel was dim for not seeing what was right in front of him.
Stark’s angel blinked in surprise then turned to look at Stark; his gazed slid from Stark to Stephen, then back to Stark. “Huh.”
Stephen suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.
“All right,” Stark’s angel agreed. “Say we end this Thanos threat, I want equal credit for the subsequent love match.”
Stark leaned closer to Stephen. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
“Not just you,” Stephen agreed darkly. He turned to Stark, because something still didn’t make sense to him. “Aren’t you engaged? Shouldn’t he already have a love match for you?”
Stark wrinkled his nose. “I mean technically. But not really. I proposed to distract the press from… other things. She agreed to get the tabloids off her back about her inability to maintain a relationship as a ‘working woman’. We’ll either get married to cover our tracks or she’ll find a better fit and we’ll break it off citing our deep friendship so she can have a real romance.”
Stephen blinked at Stark. Was this a Stark thing? Or a famous-person thing? “Seriously?”
Stark shrugged. “You do what you got to do when it comes to the press.”
Stephen had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He turned back to their angels, trying to gauge where the two were in regards to dealing with the Thanos threat.
Their two angels were now talking seriously, hands gesturing with extra vehemences as they discussed how to deal with the threat that was Thanos. Apparently their biggest concern was if Thanos had his own guardian angel and how they would react to their decision to wipe Thanos from existence.
Which, if the two could really manage what they said they could, would be a very convenient resolution to what was otherwise a death bell for more than half the universe.
The Guardians had finally stopped arguing and were now watching the conversation like it was some bizarre game of tennis, heads turning from one to the other as the two angels argued.
“All right,” Stark’s angel finally pulled back. “I agree to this collaboration. But don’t expect this to become a habit.”
Stephen’s angel shrugged. “Oh, I can handle the romance that comes next without you. It’s going to be the love story of the century. It’ll undoubtedly get me promoted.”
Stark’s angel stiffened. “Perhaps our collaboration can… continue. But only until these two are dead!”
“Such a bad feeling,” Stark said with a sigh.
Since Stephen could read between the lines—the two angels were clearly insinuating that he and Stark were going to get together—he had no choice but to agree with Stark. He was most certainly not getting into a relationship with Stark just so his angel could get promoted.
“So,” Stark said, this time addressing the angels. “What, exactly, do you need us to do to help with the Thanos situation?” he asked.
Both angels sniffed in condescension. “Just stay out of the way,” Stephen’s angel said. “We really don’t need either of you dying. The two of you are… problematic, in that way.”
Stephen exchanged glances with Stark. It went against all of Stephen’s instincts to leave this sort of thing in someone else’s hands, and he could see that Stark had a similar problem.
“Right,” Stephen said. Maybe he and Stark could have a backup plan in case this didn’t go as smoothly for the angels as they thought it would.
Sure, it might end up with them dead—and his angel demoted—but that was just the way of things.
He had barely had the thought when a blue and black wormhole appeared a fair distance away. He stiffened and Stark’s armor immediately crawled out to cover his body as Parker’s face mask slid into place.
Their angels turned towards Thanos.
“I don’t think so!” Stephen’s angel snapped. “Leave now or be exterminated.”
Thanos looked genuinely startled, confusion crossing his large, purple face. He ignored the threat, however, clearly determining it to be inconsequential. “Where is Maw?”
“Dead,” Stark offered. “Sort of met with the vacuum of space unprepared.”
Thanos let out a sigh that sounded genuinely grieved. “This day extracts a heavy toll.”
Stark’s angel scoffed. “As though you care. You killed your own daughter.”
“He what?” Quill demanded, fury in his voice, lunging toward Thanos. “What did you do to Gamora!?”
Stephen’s angel snapped his fingers and Quill froze mid-lunge. “Stay out of this, human. He traded her for the soul stone, obviously. You’ll just get yourself killed trying to avenge her. Which isn’t really my concern, but the potential repercussions might endanger my human when he tries to save you. He’s a doctor, you know. They have a thing about not letting people die in front of them.”
Stephen really didn’t know how to take that. From anyone else, that would be a compliment—of sorts—but from his angel, it really didn’t come off that way.
Thanos was watching the angels with a little more consideration at the show of power. “Give me the time stone,” he said. “And I will leave you alive.”
The angels hesitated. “All of us?” Stephen’s angel asked curiously. ”Because—“
Oh, oh no. “I’m going to fight him if that happens,” he said quickly, before the angels could get the wrong idea that giving the time stone away would fulfill their objective of keeping them alive. “He might kill me, anyways.”
Stephen’s angel made a face. “That’s probably true,” he acknowledged after a moment. “I suppose extinction is the only answer.”
Thanos brought his hand up, infinity stones glowing. “I cannot allow you to do—”
Stark’s angel snapped his fingers and Thanos froze. “His voice annoyed me,” he said. “You really can’t reason with zealots, either. It’s a waste of our time.”
“Agreed,” Stephen’s angel said. He turned to look at them. “I would look away, if I were you,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to burn your eyes out of your head.”
“What?” Stark asked, alarmed.
The two angels started glowing and Stephen automatically grabbed Stark and forced him to turn away. Parker had thankfully already done so.
The Guardians managed to show a bit of common sense and copied them, Quill unfrozen long enough to manage it as well.
Even looking away, the flash of light had dots dancing before Stephen’s eyes.
He turned slowly as the light dimmed to see that where Thanos had been standing was a smear of what looked like charcoal on the ground and a golden gauntlet on the ground, infinity stones shining in the light.
“Huh,” Stark said. “That was… useful.” He moved away from Stephen to approach the smear and gauntlet. He picked up the gauntlet, examining it skeptically. “Now, not to sound too optimistic, but I don’t suppose there’s a way to trade the soul stone back for Thanos’ daughter? She sounded like she didn’t deserve to die.”
“We’re not her guardian angels.”
Stark watched them skeptically before glancing at Stephen thoughtfully. “I wager that if Gamora were to somehow be saved, that Strange would be happy—”
“That’s really not our concern.“
”—and might be willing to put aside his antagonism and take me on a date.”
Seriously? Stephen sent Stark his most exasperated look, but if it really did bring Gamora back… “Oh, most certainly,” Stephen agreed. “I mean, nothing sets the mood more than saving people from certain death. Stark is clearly the only viable person around with which to explore that mood.”
“Well…” Stark’s angel and Stephen’s angel exchanged looks. “I suppose that exceptions can be made,” Stark’s angel said slowly. “It really was an unjustified death. And an exchange would keep the balance in place.”
“This is true,” Stephen’s angel agreed. “And it would look good on our records.”
“The two of them need the push, too,” Stark’s angel finished. “It’s only reasonable.” He reached out and took the gauntlet from Stark, who stepped back closer to Stephen.
“I didn’t actually think that would work,” he whispered. “What do you think they’ll do if I promise to kiss you?”
“Do you think Thanos’ armies are still on earth?” he whispered back. “Because I figure that’s worth a kiss or two.”
Stark examined him thoughtfully. “Are we trying to extort a pair of angels?” he asked, still quiet, but amusement obvious. “That seems kind of sketchy, even for me.”
Stephen shrugged, because anyone who knew Stephen knew that he had very few qualms with manipulating things for the greater good. “You do what you have to do,” he said with easy equanimity. If he was going to have a guardian angel with warped priorities, he might as well make the most of it.
And if Stark really wasn’t actually engaged, then Stephen supposed that Stark wasn’t the worst person to do it all with.
Stark hummed, eyeing the angels who were arguing again.
Finally they seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, because Stark’s angel took the soul stone and squeezed it in his hand.
It vanished in a flash of light and suddenly a woman was there, stumbling a little, a cry on her lips. She was green, Stephen noted with some surprise—but then why would an alien be beholden to the color scheme of human inhabitants?—though that didn’t have any impact on the fact that she was clearly quite beautiful.
“Gamora!” Quill cried out. He flung himself forward and grabbed Gamora in a tight embrace. She still looked confused, but she returned the hug, shaking a little. She had been dead a few seconds ago, so that was probably fair.
“What? Am I… Am I dead?”
“You were,” Stark’s angel said, unconcerned with the situation. “But we’ve rectified the matter.” He turned towards him and Stark. “Now, I expect your date to be suitably romantic,” he ordered. “If we’re going to put together a love story, we can’t have shoddy workmanship.”
“Right,” Stark agreed. “I’ll bring flowers.”
Stark’s angel nodded, as though that was sufficient. No wonder Stark’s angel didn’t think Stark could manage a love story if that was his definition of romantic. Stephen figured he could work with it, though. Not that he was guaranteeing any sort of romance, but he could at least pretend he was considering it. Especially since it apparently made his angels cooperative. They had killed Thanos for them.
“Well,” he said. “Now that we’ve got that figured out, we should probably head to earth and get rid of that pesky army.” He sighed, dramatically. “Hopefully it doesn’t kill us.”
Both angels sighed. “Fine. Fine. We’ll handle it.”
Stark coughed into his fist. “Didn’t even have to promise to kiss,” he said quietly as the two angels disappeared. “But I suppose we should follow them. I don’t suppose you can do that nifty portal thing you did when we first met?”
“I can,” Stephen said. “But we might want to give them a minute to get rid of the army. Hopefully they don’t accidentally burn anyone’s eyes out.”
“That would be non-optimal,” Stark agreed. “They don’t seem to be great at thinking through that sort of thing when it doesn’t have to do with their potential promotion or demotion.”
Yeah, Stephen had noticed that, too.
Parker sidled closer. “So, just curious, are they going to be playing cupid?” He looked a little unnerved. “Because I don’t think you want those two involved in your love lives. They seem kind of…” He didn’t finish the sentence, clearly unsure how to describe just what the two angels were.
Stephen blanched. He got Parker’s point, regardless of his ability to voice it, and it was bad. “Stark and I can handle our romance just fine,” he said quickly. He exchanged concerned looks with Stark. Maybe they should actually try to make that first date at least somewhat romantic, just to convince the angels that they had the whole thing under control.
Stark looked like he’d come to the same conclusion.
The two angels appeared again. “Well,” Stephen’s angel said smugly. “That’s taken care of. Do try not to die any time in the near future. I really don’t want to have to interfere again.” He eyed the two of them. “And try to hurry up between the two of you. I’d like that promotion within your lifetimes.”
“Right,” Stark agreed. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Stephen’s cheek. Despite himself, Stephen flushed. “We’ll get on that.”
Stephen’s angel beamed. “Perfect.” He disappeared.
Stark’s angel examined them. “Well, I suppose this wasn’t a complete waste.” He disappeared a moment later, gauntlet falling to the ground with the remaining infinity stones still in place.
“Well,” Stark said after a moment. “That ended far better than I was expecting.”
“Agreed,” Stephen said dryly. “I suppose those 98,567,342 deaths paid off double,” he said. “If I hadn’t, then my angel might not have ever gotten involved.”
Stark eyed him. “Yeah, I really feel like I want that explained.”
Stephen shrugged, picking the gauntlet up. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do with the stones of cosmic power before we deal with that. Maybe I’ll tell you on our date.”
“Right.” Stark nodded. He made a face, looking a little exasperated. “I should probably explain this whole thing to Pepper.”
“She’s…”
“Not going to care,” Stark admitted. “We’re friends, but she really doesn’t want to marry me. Not to say that you and I are going to…”
“Agreed,” Stephen said quickly. “I don’t exactly take our guardian angels’ opinions on our compatibility as gospel.”
“Exactly,” Stark said. “A date or two to make them feel good about themselves…”
“Not like it’s going to go anywhere.”
“But we’ll have done our job.”
Stephen nodded, satisfied that they were on the same page.
“Right,” Parker said, sounding skeptical, having listened to the two of them with an increasingly odd expression on his face. “I’m sure there are going to be no complications here whatsoever.”
Stephen wasn’t entirely sure what the kid meant by that. But he wasn’t going to pursue it. “Well, back to earth?”
“Back to earth,” Tony agreed.