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“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain!” Agonizing pain ripped through his chest, and for a moment he knew he was dying, dead. But then he was there again, flying towards the terrifying, impossible creature—could it even be called a creature?—that kept killing him. “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain!”

Pain. So much pain.

Nothing he did was enough to protect himself. Not the shields he manifested, not his paltry attempts to fight back, nothing.

It kept going, over and over, he’d die only to start again. And he knew, knew that this was all he was going to know for the rest of his too-many lives. He would live and he would die and he would live again.

It would be worth it though. It had to be.

He died again, flaming rope cutting through his neck.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain!”

Tony jerked awake. His body trembled and sweat gathered uncomfortably on the back of his neck. He shoved his face into his hands, forcing his body to breathe slowly when his lungs seemed desperate for the heaving gasps of air. He could feel the words on his tongue. Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain. Knew that if he tried they’d slip out easily, as though he’d said them a million times despite the fact that before his dream last night he’d never even heard of whatever or whoever this ‘Dormammu’ was.

“Dormammu,” he whispered. The word felt natural. His own voice grated in his ears, not quite right, not quite a match for the voice that had played on repeat in the dream.

What was that? What the hell sort of dream was that?

He shuddered, a sickening, slimy touch against his skin. He had the suspicion this was only the beginning of this particular nightmare. His dream-mate had never been inclined to nightmares before, or at least not fantastical ones. But this… this was some nightmare fantasy that Tony had never experienced from his dream-mate before.

It was a rare phenomenon, one that plagued less than two percent of the population—though despite the small percentage it was still well-documented, even if poorly explained. For some reason there were people out there who didn’t dream their own dreams, but instead experienced the dreams of another person.

Not all dream-mates knew each other—there was no obvious connection, most of the time—not if they hadn’t already met in real life. But Tony hadn’t let that stop him; he’d put in the effort to finding his own dream-mate in the aftermath of Afghanistan when he was sure the nightmares… well, he didn’t know what his own nightmares had looked like back then, but he hadn’t doubted that they were there.

Even now, almost ten years later, he could feel it haunt him in the early dawns when his memories slid back to those life-altering months, could feel the fear and dread, could remember water in his lungs and pain in his chest.

It seemed inescapable that it wouldn’t haunt his dreams as well.

It had felt only right to find his dream-mate, to see if he could make up for making their nights miserable.

All he’d had to go on was his own dreams and nightmares, the most helpful being the hyper-realistic stress dreams from what he had ascertained was med school—he knew far more about the human body than he had ever planned on—and the nightmares of a young girl named Donna falling into a frozen lake. It was the haunted Stephen, why didn’t you save me? that had been the instrumental clue in allowing him to find his dream-mate, a Doctor Stephen Strange.

Strange, however, had had little desire to have any contact with him—Tony had noted the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, though he wasn’t sure if that was his fault or not; the man was a doctor after all, not known for the best sleep schedules—and Tony had left him with his contact information and a promise of paid-for therapy if Strange decided he wanted it.

Strange had never contacted him and had never taken the offer for Tony to pay for his therapy even as Tony was sure that the nightmares had kept adding up and up—the trauma had, after all—but Tony could at least console himself that the offer was open to Strange if he ever wanted it.

Tony was starting to wonder if he was going to need some of his own therapy if this new dream was a sign of what was to come.

…To be fair, he should probably be in therapy for his own reasons in the first place. Aforementioned trauma. But he wasn’t and didn’t want to be, and Tony didn’t see that changing just because his dream-mate had a new set of nightmares to add to the pile.

His own inclinations for avoidance played a role, but that wasn’t all of it. It felt wrong to discuss someone else’s nightmares, to expose someone else’s vulnerabilities, even if there were therapists out there that specialized in dream therapy. Working through someone else’s joys and traumas was a different process than working through your own, after all. He suspected, however, that a therapist would only tell him that such fantastical dreams like the one he’d just had happened and that Tony shouldn’t let it bother him.

And it should be. It should only be some nightmare fantasy. But Tony knew the difference between imagination and experience when it came to Strange’s dreams—he had plenty of experience, by this point—and the dream had ached with terrifying reality.

He groaned, exhaustion tugging at him. It didn’t make any sense. What he had just experienced shouldn’t be real. It didn’t make any sense if it were real. And yet the certainty that it was real lingered.

He took in a deep breath, gathering himself together. His hands were shaking and he forced them to still.

That was another dream that had haunted him the past year, the loss of his hands. He could picture them perfectly: longer, thinner than his own, trying to hold a scalpel as a faceless patient bled out in front of him only for the scalpel to fall from shaking fingers.

It was only one variation of the same dream. Tony had followed Strange’s life from a distance since the moment he’d found him. Had learned of the accident while Strange was still in the hospital. Even knowing, though, it hadn’t prepared him for the nightmares of the car accident—that gut-wrenching moment of losing control, a moment of weightlessness before everything had crashed inward—but even those didn’t match the despair of the dreams focused on the damage to Strange’s hands.

Even in dreams, Strange’s despair had threatened to drown Tony.

Tony’s nightmares were Strange’s reality.

Tony had considered reaching out, to see if there was anything Strange needed. Strange’s life had turned on its head in one instant, and Tony could feel the weight of it in his dreams. He hadn’t made the connection. He might not actually know the man, but at the same time, he knew Strange in ways that no one else ever would. Ana had always said that dreams were a path to the soul. Tony didn’t know if he actually believed in souls, but the point stood.

Which was why he hadn’t reached out in the end. Strange, he suspected, would never have been able to see the act as anything other than pity, even if it wasn’t.  Maybe it was Tony’s own emotions getting in the way, mixing with his views of Strange, but he couldn’t imagine Strange reacting well to anything that he might construe as pity.

Tony didn’t think he had it in him to pity Strange. The years of watching Strange from a distance in combination with his own life marked by Strange’s dreams… no, Tony didn’t have it in him to pity Strange. Strange had always held an odd spot in Tony’s life. Admiration, respect, care, concern. Strange had always felt, in some odd way, like Tony’s friend.

A very one-sided friendship, given he doubted Strange felt the same way about Tony.

He wondered where Strange was, now. Tony had lost track of him a few months ago, and it had felt a little more intrusive than his passive check-ins to search any further. The dreams had still come, and hadn’t been any more haunting than normal, so Tony had assumed that Strange was okay as he could be, given his situation.

At least not until this last dream.

He sighed. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It’s 3:42 in the morning,” FRIDAY informed him promptly.

Tony nodded. He considered going back to bed, but he suspected that nightmares would be back. He’d rather avoid that. Sometimes he wished it was as simple as not sleeping at the same time as his dream-mate, if so he’d be tempted to simply shift his sleep schedule around to avoid the problem. Shared sleep had nothing to do with it, though. No, dream-mates held some other elusive connection that doctors and scientists could not explain.

Which meant that Strange could be wide awake right now and Tony would still have his nightmares.

Inconvenient, but it was what it was. He winced at the thought. Ana would give him her look if she knew he’d thought that. She’d always been very forthright in her views on what it meant to have a dream-mate. And, in truth, when Tony had done his own research into what people thought ‘dream-mates’ meant… he’d always come back to Ana’s teachings.

Even if he still wasn’t sure about the whole ‘soul’ thing.

Tony slid out of bed. A shower would help clear his thoughts, get rid of the sweat sticking to him, and wake him up.

The shower helped, and the nightmare felt more like just that, a nightmare, rather than the hyperrealistic memory it had first felt like.

It was still vibrant enough, though, for his post-dream routine. The lights in his ‘dream room’ were already on when he got there. He sent a flicker of a smile at the camera in the corner to thank FRIDAY for getting it ready for him. He wandered around the room for a moment, considering what this dream required. He passed his notebook and paint easel and stopped at his sketch book.

The art had been something else he’d learned from Ana. She was the only other person Tony personally knew who had had a dream-mate. She’d never met her dream-mate, but she’d called her Mei. There had been no denying the fondness in Ana’s voice when she told Tony about those dreams that Mei had given her. Ana had strongly believed that dream-mates had a duty to remember. That the dreams were shared with a stranger so that they would never fade out into the night.

Ana had done it through drawing, and she’d taught Tony to do the same. He’d branched out, as he’d gotten older, some nightmares were better expunged through words scrawled across lined paper, others through paint on canvas, some he even used an old recorder—FRIDAY could record it easily, of course, but the recorder had simply always felt right—and just talked.

Tonight he needed the comfort of a pencil in hand, though. The first tool Ana had ever given him. He searched through his desk for his pencils and settled in front of the blank sheet and started sketching.

He shivered, remembering the almost psychedelic world he’d been trapped in and the all too real feeling of dying that the dream had showed him in exquisite detail.

Strange’s dreams had always been like that, though, at least the ones that were manifestations of real experiences. The details perfect and vivid.

Dream science said that most dreams given to dream-mates were like that. More vivid for them than those people who had no dream-mates, as though the act of sharing the dream gave it definition, even as dreams remained unique to the individual.

Sometimes Tony wondered what his own dreams were like. But even if he were to ask Strange, he doubted there was any way for Strange to truly explain what it felt like to dream Tony’s dreams, just as Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to properly tell Strange what his own dreams were like. That was if Strange cared enough to ask. There were plenty of people who considered dreams entirely non-essential.

Tony knew most people would probably be surprised to find out that Tony wasn’t one of those people. He was a person of fact, of science. Dreams didn’t fit in either. Tony blamed it on Ana’s lessons growing up. Their dreams wouldn’t be shared if they didn’t matter.

He breathed deeply, shaking away the last vestiges of the nightmare as he kept drawing, sketching out the large, looming face of Dormammu glaring down at him. Giving the nightmares a physical structure had always been the best way to soothe himself after a bad night.

For the second time this morning, he considered, as he worked, reaching out to Strange this time, to make sure that he was all right, to find out for certain if the nightmare was real or not, to… Tony didn’t know. How did you approach a complete stranger with their own vulnerabilities? Vulnerabilities that Strange had never asked to expose to Tony.

Tony knew he wouldn’t have wanted Strange to come in during any of Tony’s worst times to try to ‘fix’ Tony. Though Tony could only imagine that some of his dreams had been entirely too telling. And sure, ‘fixing’ wasn’t what Tony would want to do—probably—but where were the lines? He knew that most dream-mates who found each other had that sort of relationship.

Tony and Strange didn’t though. Even if Tony had sometimes imagined what it would be like to talk to someone who understood.

Would Strange understand? Were the dreams enough for that?

He shook himself. It was harder than normal to knock away his thoughts of Strange and the dreams. He stared at the outline on the paper in front of him. Large, fierce eyes glared out at him. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes Boss?” FRIDAY asked, a concerned note to her voice. She didn’t like it when Strange gave him nightmares—even if it wasn’t Strange’s fault—and he had no doubt that his heart rate and stress levels had been worse than normal after that particular horror.

Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.

He considered his words carefully, aware that there were answers out there that he might not want to find. Tony’d never been very good at sticking his head in the sand when it came to this sort of thing. Whatever Strange had faced… “Have there been any global anomalies recently?”

“Checking, Boss.”

Tony waited, erasing an errant line carefully, before continuing his careful sketch. He didn’t think he’d get around to properly filling out the picture this morning. But then, he suspected this dream would be back. He’d have plenty of time to get this one right.

“There was some sort of atmospheric anomaly above Hong Kong yesterday,” FRIDAY informed him. “It lasted less than two minutes. There are, however, no reports of any actual disturbance.”

Tony let out a hum, tapping his fingers against the cool metal of the table. Less than two minutes. What Strange had dreamt was… He shook his head. Far longer than two minutes, but then, it had been… cyclical, a loop, could that possibly…? No. That didn’t make sense.

Time didn’t work that way.

…did it? …could it?

The physics of that potential scenario hurt his brain.

“Boss?” FRIDAY interrupted his thoughts, drawing him out of the realms of impossibility and back into reality. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tony smiled a little at the question. “No, FRI. But thank you.”

He turned back to his drawing, and forced himself to focus. He’d figure out the mystery of what had happened to Strange later.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Either way, thinking about it more right now wasn’t helpful.

-_-

“But you will suffer!”

He met the vast gaze of the creature that had tortured and killed him hundreds—thousands? More?—of times, would continue to kill him who knew how many more times. The words fell off his lips. “Pain is an old friend.” One he would greet however often he needed to if only it kept everyone else safe. “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain!”

He barely heard the screamed, “End this!” as he died again.

Tony gasped awake. He shook, bile in his throat. The dreams were getting worse, yet were somehow harder and harder to wake up from.

He wasn’t sure if that was an aspect of the dreams or if Tony’s brain was so determined to understand what Strange had gone through that it was clinging to the nightmares, trying to get insight into what was happening. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if his unconscious mind was so determined to understand that it forced him to stay in Strange’s nightmares longer.

More than one person had commented that he could be stubborn to the point of self-destructiveness, and they had the evidence to back it up.

He wanted to understand. Needed to understand. What was happening? What had Strange done? What was Dormammu that Strange had thought that those deaths, seemingly innumerable, had been a price worth paying?

He could feel Strange’s emotions in the dreams, or at least an echo of them—because for a moment, those emotions were his emotions. Beneath the fear and the resignation lay a deep, unfaltering conviction.

An eternity of dying would be worth stopping Dormammu; Strange’s certainty etched into Tony’s bones. But why?

He’d searched the web for information on Dormammu, but he’d found nothing. Not even a hint. FRIDAY had suggested that it really was just a dream, that Dormammu and Strange’s deaths were a symptom of some inner turmoil Strange was going through rather than a realistic interpretation of something Strange had actually gone through.

It should be. That was the thing. It should be. That was the problem that Tony kept coming back to. But Tony… He just couldn’t get past the part of him that knew it wasn’t. Strange’s dreams had patterns, types. He had always been able to figure out what was a real memory, what was the mind adding unreal layers to it, and what was simply the mind’s fantasies.

And this fit all the markers of something that was real.

So he didn’t understand, but that didn’t stop his brain from trying to understand, even if that meant clinging to the nightmares that plagued him.

He considered that he possessed another, simpler, way to get his answers. He could find Strange again and ask him.

But… no, he’d considered the option multiple times and discarded it already. That wasn’t the sort of dream-mate relationship that he and Strange had. Strange didn’t need Tony getting in the way and Tony wasn’t going to be the one to force Strange to face his nightmares.

Strange had faced Tony’s nightmares all Tony’s life, Tony could face Strange’s for him.

He pulled himself out of bed, the image of Dormammu stark in his mind as he moved to his dream room. His fingers itched for a pencil.

-_-

“Boss?”

“Yeah, FRIDAY?” Tony replied absently, frowning down at the reports that the R&D managers had filled out. Apparently there was some disgruntlement about weapons that Tony would need to look at and deal with. SI wasn’t going back into weapons, and he didn’t know why—even close to a decade since he’d made that announcement—there were still those who thought that if they just presented him with the right idea, they’d convince him to put weapons into production again.

Not. Happening.

“A man identifying himself as Stephen Strange is attempting to get ahold of you. He has the necessary codes.”

Tony blinked, attention pulled away from the papers to stare at the ceiling. “What?”

“A man identifying himself as Stephen Strange is attempting to get ahold of you—“

“I heard you, FRIDAY,” Tony corrected. “I just wasn’t sure I was hearing right.” Why the hell would Strange be trying to get ahold of him after all this time? The dreams had been coming nightly for nearly two months, now, steady and consistent. Tony’s sketch book was filled with drawings of different elements of the dream: Dormammu, green runes circling his wrist, clouds of pink and purple, spikes raining down from the sky, golden shields between him and the world.

Tony had assumed that if Strange hadn’t reached out by now, he was unlikely to ever do so. Looked like Tony had been wrong. “Put him through, FRI.”

It only took a moment. “Doctor Strange,” Tony said when FRIDAY indicated that the call had gone through. “How can I help you?”

“Doctor Stark.” Strange’s voice was tired, that much was immediately obvious. Tony knew Stephen wasn’t having nightmares—or at least not his own nightmares, who knew what Tony’s brain was providing—but Tony was already well aware that it was more than possible for the things that haunted a person to follow into the day. Tony couldn’t take those from Strange. “I apologize for the late call.” Tony glanced at his watch to see that it was almost midnight. “But it was brought to my attention that you… may have been having nightmares of late.”

Tony paused. That was one way to put that. “I have,” he agreed simply. It felt best not to elaborate on the matter. What would he even say?

Strange let out a sigh. “Right. I… I was hoping you would be willing to… meet up. I am a part of a… group, and it is procedure for dream-mates to be—“ Strange paused, clearly searching for the right word. “—introduced.”

Tony crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. There was something about Strange’s hesitance that nudged for his attention. Strange had never really hit him as the hesitant type. “A group,” he repeated. “You’re making that sound a little sketchy, Doctor.”

Strange’s laugh came out a little strained. “It is one of those things easier explained in person than over the phone.”

Tony hummed, but then accepted it. “This have something to do with what I’ve been having nightmares about?”

Strange didn’t answer immediately. “Yes,” he said finally. “If you’re dreaming about what I expect that you’re dreaming of.”

Tony shuddered a little. Dormammu. He didn’t put the thought into words, noted that Strange didn’t either.

“Is it real?” he asked, needing to know, the question that had plagued him for two months, now.

Strange inhaled sharply, the following exhale stuttered. “Yes.”

Tony closed his eyes, going over what he knew from the dreams and what he could guess—the anomaly in Hong Kong that had preceded the start of the nightmares, the certainty in Strange’s emotions, the fear, the fact that it had come night after night. He had no real proof, but he’d always been a good at putting things together. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. What the dreams told him and what logic told him did not compute, but Tony… Tony prided himself on his intellect, yes, but not on his ability to stay rational and logical. “So I hope you plan on explaining.”

“Yes.” Strange didn’t expound any further, but Tony hadn’t expected him to.

He considered his next words carefully. “If I’m reading your dreams right…” He inhaled slow and careful, and when he said the next words he tried to make them as sincere and gentle as he could. “Thank you, Stephen Strange.” It was nowhere near sufficient, but something told Tony that it was likely Strange hadn’t heard it as much as he should have.

Another shuddering breath, and for a moment it was silent as Strange pulled himself back together. “When can you meet?”

“Let me know when works best for you and I’ll make it work.” He could offer that consideration after everything he suspected to be true.

“Tomorrow?” Stephen asked. “Eight?”

“Morning or night?”

“Morning.”

FRIDAY pulled up his schedule and Tony glanced through it. Nothing that required he deal with other people until noon, which he expected would give Strange more than enough time to impart whatever information he considered valuable enough to reach out to Tony about.

“I can do that,” he agreed.

“177A Bleecker Street,” Stephen told him. “It’s in Greenwich Village. I’ll see you then.”

Strange hung up before Tony could respond. Tony pursed his lips. Tomorrow he’d get answers. There was a part of him that wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The larger part of him wanted to understand fully what he’d already guessed.

-_-

Tony stuck his hands in his pockets, examining the entry way he’d been let into. It was a strange mix of warm and austere, the dark wooden accents that made the place feel inviting a contrast to the numerous objects placed on pedestals as though he’d just entered a museum.

Strange cleared his throat and Tony shifted his attention back to him. Strange was dressed… well, Tony didn’t know how to describe the clothes. A dark blue tunic of sorts with a large, ornate belt. And a cloak. There was no missing the dark red cloak. It fit Strange, somehow.

Somehow that was secondary though to Strange himself. Strange looked tired, yes, but not as tired as he’d sounded on the phone. Tony figured that meant that Strange was sleeping fine; the soul was perfectly capable of being weary even with plenty of sleep. It was the sort of weariness that showed through the eyes.

Tony’d seen it in the mirror more than once.

“So…” Tony met Strange’s gaze for a moment before Strange diverted his gaze away, as though unwilling to let Tony see the vulnerability his eyes expressed. “You want to explain everything?”

“We’re waiting for one of the… others, to join us. There are certain… requests of dream-mates that we would make of you, and I don’t know all of them.”

Yep, that still sounded sketchy. And the strange hesitance that Strange was exuding didn’t help in the slightest. Strange really did not seem the type of person meant to be hesitant and it sent off little alarm bells in Tony’s head.

“Right,” Tony said, merely for something to say as he looked around some more. The word hung awkwardly in the air between them. It had been a long time since Tony was this genuinely uncomfortable around someone else. As a general rule he didn’t allow himself to be uncomfortable. That meant giving the other person an advantage over him; he did everything he could to avoid that.

But it was difficult when he and Strange didn’t truly know each other and yet also knew each other’s vulnerabilities intimately.

Paths to the soul.

Worse, in some ways then what they did know, was everything they didn’t. Tony knew that Strange had his dreams, carried his nightmares, but he’d never had those himself. He didn’t know what Strange knew. He just knew that Strange did.

“I’m sorry,” Strange said, breaking the silence.

Tony glanced back at him. Strange looked even more uncomfortable than before. Tony got the sense that apologies were not Strange’s forte.

“Not your fault I’m dreaming your dreams.” It wasn’t anyone’s, really.

“No, not that.” Strange shook his head. “I don’t apologize for things that aren’t my fault.” A regretful look crossed his face that Tony took to mean that he didn’t always apologize for things that were his fault either. Tony couldn’t really say anything about that without being a hypocrite, though. “I… There’s been a lot going on. I’d forgotten that you’d be… I forgot you’d be experiencing my nightmares.” His expression tightened, lips going white as he pressed them together. “I was just grateful not to have the experience follow me into my dreams.” His expression turned wry. “Though your dreams aren’t always a walk in the park.”

None of his dreams could possibly match Strange’s.

Tony considered Strange for a long moment. “Well, it’s fine. Dream sharing is something you get used to. Not like it’s always on the front of your mind. It’s just…” life. For them things had always been this way, always would be. Strange’s dreams had been alarming enough to keep it on the forefront of Tony’s mind, but he doubted his own dreams had been anything particularly different, lately, to have done the same for Strange. Just another part of the lives they led.

Strange looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with Tony’s response. “You thought of me, after Afghanistan, enough that you actually went to the effort to figure out who I was and searched me out.”

“That’s different,” Tony pointed out. It was. “I had three months in that cave—“ Strange shuddered a little, and Tony wondered a little yet again what he dreamt. ”—to consider the situation and the ramifications.”

Strange considered him for a long moment, then nodded in acceptance.

Someone appeared in a doorway, dressed similarly to Strange in terms of the tunic situation, though he was wearing more browns, golds, and reds. He quite distinctly did not wear a cloak.

Tony suspected not everyone could pull off the cloak look as well as Strange did, though, so that made sense. Strange’s lean, tall frame made it work in a way Tony didn’t think most people could pull off.

The new man observed Tony, expression telling Tony nothing about his thoughts. They turned towards Strange. “This is him?”

Strange nodded. “Yes. Wong, meet Tony Stark. Tony Stark, meet Wong.”

Tony gave Wong a once over as Wong did the same for him, all careful analysis.

“Well,” Wong said after a moment. “We should adjourn to the sitting room. We have things to discuss.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Tony said neutrally, hoping he managed to keep his own expression as blank as Wong’s.

Strange moved first, heading down the hallway behind him. Tony followed him, feeling Wong’s presence trailing behind him.

The sitting room was a little cozier than the entry way had been, with more of the dark wood paneling and a fireplace with an already low-burning fire lit in the fireplace. Three armchairs stood set in a triangle with just enough space between them so as not to be crowded, but closer than Tony would normally choose to be to complete strangers. Strange sat in one of the chairs, leaning back with a quiet sigh. Tony followed his example.

Wong took the last seat and Tony could see him considering Tony again. Tony couldn’t help but wonder where Wong’s thoughts were.

“So,” Tony said, deciding to jump to the point when no one spoke. “Magic’s real. That’s new.” Well, probably not new, but new to him at least.

At least when it came to normal humans. Aliens and experimented-on-by-alien-artifacts individuals didn’t count, which were his only experiences with ‘magic’.

Wong looked a little surprised, glancing at Strange.

“I didn’t tell him,” Strange answered the unspoken question. “He’d already guessed that the dreams were real.”

“Really.” Wong examined Tony again. “Most do not. It is far easier to believe that the dreams that come are nothing more than… dreams.” His lip twitched wryly. “Most people do not want to believe.”

Tony shrugged. “Strange’s dreams have always had a hyper-realism to them when they’re echoes of what really happened. What people might consider more ‘standard’ nightmares have a different… taste to them.”

Strange gave him a considering look. Tony suspected that Strange was wondering what Tony always wondered: what nightmares did they give each other? What nightmares should have been theirs to bear?

“I would expect you to need more evidence than that,” Strange said lowly. “You’re well known as… well, a science-minded individual.”

“I have gone and given your dreams their own personal categorizations,” Tony pointed out. “Just because dream science is… questionable at best, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its time and place.” He shrugged. “Plus, dream about something every night for two months and you start considering that the world might be bigger than you thought,” Tony added dryly. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate an explanation.”

“There are a few matters that need to be discussed before then,” Wong said.

Tony glanced between the two men and went for the obvious, low-hanging fruit. “Let me guess, secrecy?”

“That is the main matter,” Wong agreed after a moment, once he’d gotten past his surprise. Tony resisted the urge to smirk. Yeah, he wasn’t an idiot. He could figure this stuff out. “The sorcerers of Kamar Taj, which Stephen is now a part of, are tasked with protecting the world from dimensional and mystical threats such as the one you have been dreaming of; our safety lies in our secrecy.”

Tony had expected that much. He’d spent last night and this morning considering the situation from the perspective of what he could honestly agree to. In the end, the nightmares had decided it for him. He doubted magic would hide forever—nothing ever did, but especially not in the world as it was now—but he had no intention of being the one to expose people to the sort of horror that Strange had gone through.

“I can accept that.”

For some reason Strange frowned at that. “You’re strangely accepting of all of this.”

Tony had to stop himself from making a comment about which of them was ‘strange’. He didn’t think Strange would appreciate his wit. And, admittedly, it was pretty lowbrow wit. Tony was better than that. “I’ve spent two months being brutally killed by Dormammu, over and over again, every night,” Tony said. Strange flinched back, hands clenching on the arms of the armchair, knuckles going white. For a moment Tony regretted the bluntness with which he’d delivered that particular blow. “If that’s what magic is, I have no desire to expose the world to it any sooner than inevitable.”

He would sleep better at night, literally, if magic didn’t exist.

“Magic is more than that,” Wong said, almost but not quite defensively. “But yes, a desire to protect people from beings such as Dormammu plays a role in our secrecy.” Tony suspected sparing people from that existential fear played a role just as much as keeping idiots from searching out such things and endangering everyone around them. People, he’d found, could be both cruel and foolish—sometimes both at the same time.

“All right,” Tony said, getting them back on point. “You’ve got my oath of silence or whatever you need. You’ve clearly been doing your jobs so far, you don’t need me sticking my nose into it.”

He wanted to know what, exactly, Strange had done. What the threat he’d faced actually meant. What else could be out there. If Strange’s new life meant that Tony had other nightmares to prepare himself for.

“That is… appreciated,” Wong said. Tony had to admit that he enjoyed just how confused both Wong and Strange appeared to be by Tony’s easy acceptance. He got it, he did; he had a reputation—a mostly well-deserved one for that matter—of being difficult.

Except he could hear Stephen’s voice in his head, over and over, ‘Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.’ The pain might be phantom, as all pain was during nightmares, but the fear was real… If that didn’t spell out the necessity of what Wong, Strange, and their group did—what had Wong called them, the sorcerers of Kamar Taj?—then Tony didn’t know what would.

Given the circumstances, even Tony wasn’t going to be difficult. Not about this, at least. He was sure he’d have other opportunities to be difficult.

“So, what else?” Tony asked. “If secrecy is the main concern, I presume that means there are others.”

“Yes. Among those dimensional beings that we protect against, there are those that attack through dreams. However, were they to attack Strange, they would go through you. The means and methods are not entirely understood—” Good to know that magic didn’t understand the phenomenon any more than science did. ”—but the dreams Stephen gives you are still the pathway into Stephen’s own mind. It is necessary for you to create mental shields to protect the both of you.”

Tony frowned. He really did not like the sound of that. Dimensional beings—and what exactly, did that mean?—that got into people’s minds? That preyed on people through their dreams? No, he did not like the sound of that at all.

He also didn’t like the sound of ‘mental shields’. At least not if it involved what he thought it did. Something told him meditation—which seemed the most likely method for forming ’mental shields’—wasn’t going to cut it. “Mental shields,” he said slowly—he could address the dimensional beings bit later, when he got answers for the rest of it. “Please tell me that doesn’t require magic.”

Strange grimaced. “Not directly. The shields need magical reinforcement to withstand any potential attacks. I can create them for you and provide that first foundation of magic, but you have to… maintain them, so to speak. But it doesn’t require any actual, active magic from you.”

He shuddered. Yep. Definitely not liking the sound of this. “Yeah. No. I’m not letting someone put magic in my head.”

“You would risk Stephen’s life?” Wong asked, a challenge in his voice. “His mind?”

Strange tensed, and Tony winced. That was a low blow, undoubtedly a fair one, but still a low blow.

“It’s nothing nefarious,” Strange said. His eyes softened, just a little. “I understand your… hesitance.” Tony wondered which of Tony’s own dreams had given Strange that insight or if Strange just recognized it for the leap of faith that it was. This was Tony’s mind. “I would not ask this if it weren’t important.”

“How likely are these sort of attacks anyways?” he asked, trying to gauge just how important this was.

“Likely enough,” Wong said curtly. “We ask it of every sorcerer’s dream-mate. At least for those sorcerers who have dream-mates.” He sent Strange a sharp look. “Preferably we would have known earlier, but it was something that Strange forgot to mention.”

Strange made a face at Wong. “No one mentioned it to me,” he defended. “And it’s not like I think about Stark all that often. I’ve gotten used to his nightmares.”

Tony found himself itching to ask what he had nightmares about, but this wasn’t the time for that.

“So secrecy and mental shields, which I assume you’ll be teaching me.” Strange nodded in answer. “Is that all?” Tony asked.

Strange hesitated. “If you have… questions, then I’ll answer where I can. I’m sure there’s a great deal you’ll learn from the mere act of having my dreams, but there’ll be just as much that you don’t understand.” His smile was wry, tired. “I’d prefer you come to the source rather than attempt to understand what’s out there on your own.”

Tony hadn’t yet been driven to anything drastic to figure out what Dormammu was and what Dormammu would have done, but Tony could imagine that at some point he might have. Tony’s curiosity had always been a very powerful thing.

Admittedly, if the dreams had been about something less drastic than Dormammu, he’d probably have already acted. The sheer destructive power behind Dormammu had encouraged Tony to be careful.

“I would appreciate that,” he admitted.

Wong stood. “I will leave the two of you to it.” He focused on Tony. “Work with Stephen to create mental shields as soon as you can.” He looked at Stephen. “While it is traditional for the process to be worked through as dream-mates, it is not a necessity. Let me know if you need any help with either the installation or the lessons on maintenance. Teaching is not…”

“My strong suit,” Strange agreed, tone amused. “As you’ve told me many times in the last few weeks.”

“Because it is true,” Wong retorted. “This is important enough that if the two of you cannot handle it alone, it would be best to get help.” His eyebrow arched in an amused sort of condescension. “Another thing you struggle with.”

Strange rolled his eyes. “Go away, Wong.”

Wong nodded, heading towards the doorway. He paused. “Should Stark wish, he is allowed access to the libraries. Just do not let the books leave the Sanctum.” He gave Strange a sharp look. “No. Book. Theft.”

Strange looked exasperated, but nodded.

Tony’s interest piqued at the sound of a library that likely held all the answers to the questions he had—and all the answers to the questions he didn’t know to ask, yet.

Wong disappeared out the door and Tony turned to Strange again. “So,” he said quietly. “What, exactly, was so terrible about Dormammu that dying an untold number of times was worth it.”

“Dormammu…” Strange took a deep breath. “Dormammu rules a dimension that exists alongside our own, one where time is… different.” He made a face. “It is hard to explain,” he said. “A timelessness, of sort, where everything is and was and will be. Dormammu wished to consume the earth, merge our dimension with that of the Dark Dimension. It would… we would cease to exist, in many ways, and in other ways we would exist in a state of eternal torment.”

The physics of that hurt Tony’s brain. If Dormammu would one day consume the earth, wouldn’t it already have if it ever would? The whole ‘was, is, and will be’ seemed to indicate that. He shook the thought away. While time in the ‘Dark Dimension’ might not follow the rules of time as they knew it, didn’t mean it didn’t follow any rules at all.

“How did you do what you did?” Tony asked. “Or is that…” he took a deep breath. “Or can anyone do what you did?” The thought terrified him, that a person could remake a moment over and over until they got the result they wanted. A person could essentially remake the world as they wanted, with that sort of power. Any moment redone to be done better.

“No,” Strange said quickly. “I could not have succeeded if not for the time stone.”

Tony wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not. Limitations were good. But Tony didn’t know enough about the ‘time stone’ to make a judgment beyond that. “Not a bunch of those lying around, I hope?” he hedged.

Strange shook his head. “Only one. And even then, not just anyone could make it work.” Which probably said something that Strange could make it work. Strange looked away. “For now it is somewhere safe, but… but, with recent events, I have… proved myself, I suppose one could say. It is likely that I will be asked to act as its keeper, its protector, as my mentor was before me.”

Tony considered Strange. In part, it terrified him that anyone would have the ability to wield that sort of power, but Strange…

Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.

Strange had wielded the power, once. Had saved them all with it.

Tony supposed, if he had to trust anyone with it, Strange would make the list.

“What else is out there?” Tony asked. “Besides Dormammu.”

Strange grimaced. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not really. Not yet. I’m barely more than an apprentice. I didn’t even know what Kamar Taj did until two months ago when… when the door for Dormammu was opened. If not for that, I still might not know.”

Tony immediately had half a dozen questions. What had Strange been doing in Kamar Taj if not learning how to fight creatures like Dormammu? How had Strange managed what he had against Dormammu with so little preparation?

…why was Strange still there, if he hadn’t signed up for it and this was what he’d gotten in return?

The questions itched on his tongue, but he resisted. For now. He expected that at some point, he might find himself asking.

“But there’s a nightmare monster?”

“Nightmare,” Strange said. He paused. “That’s the name,” he said, a little amused. “Perhaps not most creatively named, but still accurate. There are other, lesser creatures, but nearly all of them are denizens of Nightmare’s realm, though—”

“Not all,” Tony guessed. “Because that would be too easy a classification.”

“Yes,” Strange agreed. “The moment Wong realized I had a dream-mate he assigned me several books to read. I imagine you might be interested in those, in particular.”

“Very,” Tony said. “If I’m doing this, I want to at least know why.”

Strange nodded. “I understand that,” he agreed. He examined Tony, gaze searching, but whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say anything, instead shifting the topic slightly. “We will need to meet regularly,” he said. “For a time, at least, if we are going to create mental shields for you.”

Tony grimaced. “I can do that,” he said. “Not today, I do have other things that need doing, but if we set a time, FRIDAY can get it on my schedule—”

Strange frowned. “Secrecy is—”

Tony held up a hand. “FRIDAY isn’t a person.” A white lie, really, because she was very real, she just wasn’t human. “She’s my AI. Not some secretary. I created her. She has privacy protocols. This will never make it past her.”

Strange frowned. “How sure of that are you?” he asked.

Tony paused, searching for the right thing to say, to explain. “Her brother,” he said slowly. “The AI I had before FRIDAY. He once fought off an alien AI. He… He paid the ultimate price for it, but the AI… it got nothing from JARVIS.” It’d gotten plenty from the internet, and had been able to steal some of the legionnaire, but JARVIS hadn’t been hooked up to those at the time. Tony’s secrets had stayed his.

Ultron could have likely done much worse damage without JARVIS’ utter protection.

“Could FRIDAY be theoretically hacked?” Tony asked with a shrug, answering the question Strange was most likely to ask. “Yes.” Anything could be hacked, believing otherwise was foolish to the extreme. “But she…” He struggled to explain it. “She wouldn’t betray me,” he said finally.

Strange examined him, then nodded. “I remember…” He paused. “You dreamt of that. Of JARVIS.” His gaze turned scrutinizing. “So I know that when you say that she’s not a person, you’re lying.”

Tony winced.

“But I understand,” Strange finished. “This doesn’t go past her.”

“It won’t,” Tony promised. “Your secrets are safe with us.”

-_-

“Dormammu,” he called. “I’ve come to bargain.

Death rained down like fire.

“Dormammu—”

“Boss?”

“Yeah FRIDAY?” Tony asked, mostly distracted by the painting he was doing. He’d decided to give the sketch book a break today, and the oil paint gave the dark dimension a different sort of vibrancy.

“Doctor Strange is calling.”

The words shocked him enough to pull him away from his painting. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking a little in his surprise. “What?”

“Doctor Strange is calling.”

Why the hell was Strange calling him? And at—he glanced at the clock—three in the morning? Tony knew why he was awake, but Strange wouldn’t have known that.

“Answer him.” He waited for her acknowledgment. “Doctor Strange.”

“Doctor Stark.”

Tony made a face, he hadn’t said anything the first time, but if he was actually going to talk to Strange beyond what they already had, then he wasn’t going to deal with ‘Doctor Stark’. “Just call me Tony. I’m not big on titles.”

Strange paused. “Tony.” Strange’s tone came out vaguely uncertain at that, as though not sure how he felt about the familiarity implied by first name usage.

“How can I help you this morning?” Tony said, pressing past it. He’d take ‘Stark’, if ‘Tony’ made Strange uncomfortable. But no one called him ‘Doctor’.

The phone echoed, for a second, with a moment of silence. “I apologize for calling so late,” Strange said, tone uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, doc. I was still awake.” Rather he’d already woken up. Same difference.

“Still.” Strange was silent for a moment. Tony waited, semi-impatiently. He was just about to nudge Strange into talking when Strange finally broke the silence. “What do I dream about?”

Tony wasn’t sure if the question was a shock or simply inevitable. “You know the answer to that,” he pointed out. “I told you about Dormammu.” Strange had already known about Dormammu before Tony had said anything. Had known it would leave a mark that Tony would feel.

Just like Tony had known that Strange would feel the echoes of Afghanistan.

“That’s what I dream about now,” Strange acknowledged. “What did I dream of before?”

Tony paused, not sure how to answer that. Not that there was any chance of him not telling Strange. They were Strange’s dreams, he deserved to know. But how did a person explain dreams?

He looked around his room. The notebooks with their written accounts, the sketchbooks with the still-framed moments, the stacked canvas with a single instant caught in paint.

“You dreamt of the crash,” he said slowly. He could feel the fall in his gut at the words, remembered the picture he’d sketched of the dashboard crumpling in on his hands. “That moment of free fall before… before your life changed. You dreamt of trying to operate and the scalpel falling from shaking hands while your patient died. You dreamt of Christine.“ The sex dreams had always been awkward, but everyone knew it happened. Those ones Tony hadn’t captured in any meaningful way. That had seemed a bit non-consensual. “You had very hyper-realistic stress dreams of your time in med school; I think I actually learned things from your dreams they were so vivid.” He’d been drawing anatomy diagrams for ages, and had filled notebooks with thoughts on medicine. A flicker of a smile crossed his face—as marred by nightmares as their lives were now, they hadn’t always been that way—but it didn’t last. “You… you dreamt about Donna, about… about that lake and the ice and… about failing to save her. You dreamt that she blamed you.”

He had several sketchbooks with nothing but Donna. Some where she was vibrant and beautiful, others with her lips a pale blue in death.

There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. Tony fought back the urge to tell Strange that Donna didn’t blame him… but Tony didn’t think that would help and he wasn’t going to break the fragile moment by sticking his foot down his mouth.

Tony took a breath. “You dreamt of your dad, sometimes. Of how he’d—”

“Don’t—“ Strange cut off and Tony understood the implied request that Tony not say anything more about it.

Tony acquiesced. “I don’t know, Strange. The rest of your dreams were probably pretty normal. Girls, guys, falling, long corridors that never ended, that sort of thing.” He’d looked into dream theory, trying to figure out what Strange’s dreams meant. It was more imprecise than dream science, and he’d decided that he’d stick to the science of it, sparse it was, over the theory of what might or might not mean something.

His role was to remember, not to interpret.

Anyways, he didn’t think anyone understood what those sort of dreams meant. Even people who dreamed their own dreams.

“You never dreamt of corridors that didn’t end,” Strange said. “You dreamt of logic puzzles that couldn’t be solved.”

Tony considered that for a moment. That felt like exactly the sort of thing he would dream about. “What else?”

“Math. A lot of math. You were always dreaming about math and building things. Those dreams always felt very distinct. I passed all of my math classes with flying colors and didn’t even need to study.” Tony smirked at that. He was totally taking credit for that. “You dreamt of being kidnapped and helpless. You dreamt of your dad. You dreamt of…” Stephen hesitated. “Of her, Sunset, forcing you to—“

Tony went cold. “No.”

Strange immediately moved on. “You would dream of Rhodey getting hurt because you didn’t build him good enough weapons. You’d have stress dreams about board meetings. You dreamt of Afghanistan, of water in your lungs, of Yinsen getting hurt, dying.”

Tony felt his breath catch in his chest, because despite all of his considerations of what Strange had dreamt of when it came to Afghanistan, he’d never considered that Strange knew Yinsen. Tony had never mentioned Yinsen to anyone. Ever. Not even JARVIS.

“You dreamt of Obie ripping your heart out, of dying on your workshop floor, of him hurting the people you loved. You dreamt of the wormhole. For years you dreamt about that wormhole.” There was a note to Strange’s tone, something deeply uncomfortable.

That wasn’t surprising, it was one of those haunts that had followed him into the daytime—the panic attacks had, and were, entirely unpleasant—along with the certainty that that had been nothing more than the first battle, that they were coming back to continue the war.

“You dreamt of… well, Pepper.” Tony winced, because knowing that Strange had received his dreams of Pepper was just as uncomfortable as Tony experiencing Strange’s dreams of Christine. “Then Ultron, of… of him killing JARVIS. Of the world ending. Of… of that bunker and…”

“Yeah,” Tony said, cutting that off. He sighed. “I’m sorry. None of that was fair to you.”

“You’ve been dying over and over again for the past two months because of me,” Strange said quietly. “I think we’re more than even.”

Tony laughed, despite the fact that it wasn’t particularly funny. “Are you suggesting that this is karma? You and the universe getting back at me?” he asked. “Because really, Strange, you didn’t have to go quite that far to get payback.”

Strange laughed too, notes a little strained but something close to genuine amusement behind it. “I suppose not. But I’ve been told that I tend to take things to the extreme.”

“Extreme achieved,” Tony agreed. “And I’m sure this is just the start of it. Sounds like you’re signed up for nightmares galore.” The words fell like ice over him, the acknowledgment that had lurked on the edge of his thoughts since he’d found out the truth. “Strange.” He paused, searching for the right words. He kept finding himself in this position, words on his lips he didn’t know how to say. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You… you said you didn’t go to Kamar Taj to become some… protector.” Tony still didn’t know why Strange had gone, but the implication was that he’d been thrust into the role he was in now, that he’d had no other choice but to act. But why had he stayed when it had nearly destroyed him?

Strange didn’t answer immediately. The longer the silence drew, the more Tony doubted that Strange intended to.

“Because,” Strange said, just as Tony had expected Strange to hang up on him. “Because this is what I was meant to do.”

“Fate?” Tony asked, unable to help the sarcasm that slipped from his voice. “Really? That’s what you’re going for?”

“Nothing like that,” Strange said immediately. “But don’t pretend you don’t understand, Tony.”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t. You…” he shuddered. “Strange, I dream about it every night, the impossible price you paid, the one you are signed up to pay again…”

“It’s unlikely I’ll ever be quite in that position again,” Strange deflected. Then… “But you do know, I know you do.” He sighed. “You dreamt of your heart being ripped from your chest. You dreamt of that wormhole. You dreamt of a world that needed any form of protection it could get and a part of you already knows that when that time comes…” Strange didn’t finish. “I feel it, constantly. That determination to protect. How is my choice so different?”

It just was.

“I’ve never died for it.” Strange had. Over and over and over. Perhaps not permanently, but certainly painfully.

“Someday you might,” Strange said simply. “You know that as well as I do.”

Tony couldn’t deny that. Iron Man had never been invincible.

More, Tony never had been. That lesson had come hard and harsh, but it had come and it had carved its way into his chest, in more ways than just literally.

He wondered what it would be like for Strange, when Tony died. To never dream again, because Strange’s dreams were Tony’s dreams, and if Tony wasn’t there to dream them…

He shook his head, dismissing those thoughts. “Maybe,” he said. It still didn’t feel the same, what he had signed up for and what Strange had.

But that… that didn’t matter, did it? Because Strange had said it himself, that part of Tony that pushed him into the suit, pushed Strange into his own world. Tony couldn’t dismiss that.

“Maybe,” Strange repeated, tone tired but knowing. “I… I need to go. I apologize again for calling at this time.”

“Not a problem,” Tony said. “Like I said, I was awake.”

“I will see you tomorrow,” Strange said. “To start on your mental shields.”

Tony nodded absently, before remembering Strange couldn’t see him. “Right, see you then.”

Strange hung up. Tony let out a quiet breath, replaying the conversation in his mind, searching for… something. He wondered, if he went to sleep now, if he’d dream of Dormammu. He wondered, if he did, if he would find whatever it was in Strange that decided the pain was worth it.

He wondered, painfully, selfishly, if Strange had ever felt it in Tony’s dreams.

-_-

“Here,” Tony said, feeling a little awkward. He dropped the box on the table beside Strange. It was a little cumbersome, one of those water-tight, plastic storage boxes that worked as under-bed storage, long and wide with inconvenient hand holds. “These… well, I’m pretty sure they belong to you.”

Strange glanced at the box, unlatching the sides to look inside. “Belong to me?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware that you had anything of mine.”

“They’re your dreams,” Tony said. “Well, some of them. I’ve got a few more in storage.” It’d been a long time, after all, and Ana had started Tony young.

Strange froze, glancing at him. “My dreams?”

Tony shrugged and gestured for him to look. Strange opened the box. It was split between notebooks and sketchbooks. Strange picked up one, flipping it open. The first few sketches were simple anatomy sketches. It must have been one of the sketchbooks from when Strange had been in med school. Strange flipped through before setting it down and picking up another sketchbook.

He froze.

Tony caught sight of the image. Donna looked up off the page, cheeks pink with flush and eyelashes flecked with snowflakes, the widest smile on her face.

Strange let out a shuddering breath, dropping the sketchbook back in the box. “You…” He swallowed. “You drew the dreams.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “My butler’s wife taught me. She always said that it was the duty of a dream-mate to keep the dreams alive. That there was a reason they’d been shared, to make sure they would never be forgotten. I wrote about a few others. I’ve got a couple of paintings, too. Though not many of the older ones. Those got destroyed when my Malibu house went under.” He gestured at the box. “These ones were better stored.”

Strange stared at the box. “And you kept them.”

Tony shrugged. “I mean… yeah,” he said. “Like I said, it was my job. To make sure they were remembered. I figured that now was probably the right time to give them to you.”

Strange swallowed visibly, then nodded. “Thank you.” He closed the box. “I’ll…” he paused. “I don’t have anything from your dreams.”

Tony shrugged again. “I didn’t expect anything from you.” Everyone saw the role of the dream-mate differently. Strange hadn’t seen it as something that needed recording, and that was fine.

He moved back, falling into the seat that he presumed was meant for him, and turned the conversation to his reason for being here. “So… how does this work?” Tony asked, aiming for nonchalant and fairly certain he missed. “You just going to stick your metaphorical hands in my brain? Play around up there?”

Strange examined him for a moment. “I have a few texts that can explain,” Strange said. He waved his hand to the table next to him on the second table on the other side of his chair where several books where several books were stacked. “Even one in English. I thought it might help you if you know the process I’ll be using.”

Tony felt something close to relief. Yeah. Yeah, that would help. Tony really, really didn’t want to be doing this. He didn’t want to let someone in his head, even for something as relatively safe sounding as mental shields. But Strange had signed up to fight monsters called ‘Nightmare’—Tony hadn’t had the chance to read any of the books, yet, but whatever book talked about Nightmare was on the list—so now Tony had to do his part to keep Strange’s mind safe. But being able to read about the process, understand just how it worked… that would help.

“Yeah,” he said. This time he knew he failed at nonchalant, his relief too obvious. “That’d help.”

Strange reached over and grabbed one of the books, leaning forward to pass it to Tony. Tony took it, glancing down at the cover. It was old leather, faded and worn. The title was in faint gilded gold lettering declaring ‘Shielded Dreams for the Wary’.

“I’ve marked the relevant sections with sticky notes,” Strange said. “It’s not quite as comprehensive as the Greek texts, but I thought you would prefer a language you’re actually capable of reading.”

Tony made a face. Of course Strange read Greek. Why did that not even surprise him? “Yeah, strangely enough, Greek never made the list of necessary languages. You’ll have to summarize for me.” He held up the book Strange had just given him. “After I get the basics down.” He wondered if he should apologize for dragging this on longer than necessary. But then, Strange had come prepared for the possibility.

Plus, Strange hadn’t been attacked by any nightmare monsters yet, so Tony probably had a few days to get read up. If not, that was just a sign that both him and Strange had the worst possible luck.

“You good if I get started on this?” he asked.

Strange nodded. “I thought you could use today to study what we’re going to do. We can work on your shields tomorrow.”

Tony grimaced, but nodded. “Right. Gotcha.” He flipped the book open. There was no convenient topical guide, so he stuck to using the sticky notes that Strange had used to mark the book. The writing was old and faded, but surprisingly legible beyond that.

The book only vaguely mentioned potential psychic attackers. Tony’d have to find a different book to get that information, apparently, focused far more on the actual process of shielding a mind. While the shields in this case were primarily for dreams, they did provide extra protection against standard psychic attacks, which did seem convenient, Tony could admit.

It… didn’t sound as awful as Tony had expected.

Of course, it required that Tony ‘open himself up’ to Strange at the beginning, which seemed entirely unpleasant, but once the shields were in place, Strange’s magic powering them, Tony could handle everything else himself. Eventually, once he’d spent enough time shoring up the shields himself, Strange’s magic would ‘shift alliance’—which didn’t entirely make sense to him—but would essentially become a static piece of magic. Strange wouldn’t have some secret back path into Tony’s brain.

Not that Tony thought Strange would be likely to use such a thing. He trusted Strange, despite… well. He just trusted Strange. But Tony had plenty of reasons to be paranoid, okay?

And really, wouldn’t anyone be a bit paranoid about letting someone else into their brain? Even for a ‘good reason’?

His palm stung painfully and he looked down. He’d been digging his nails into his skin. He loosened his fist. Anxiety twisted ugly inside of him. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to let someone into his head? How did he even know if this ‘Nightmare’ was real? Hell, did he even know Dormammu was real? Strange practiced magic! What if there was some sort of spell that let Strange send whatever dreams he wanted in Tony’s direction and this was all some convoluted scam?

True, it’d be the most bizarre scam Tony could think of, and he wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of it would be—though he could imagine all sorts of terrible things—but just because it was bizarre didn’t make it impossible. Hell, everything to do with Strange had grown incredibly bizarre ever since that first dream of Dormammu.

Except… except he knew. He knew it was real. Not some magic induced hallucination.

He forced himself to breathe and focused back down on the book. Today he’d gather information. One step at a time.

“I was a doctor,” Strange said, breaking the silence.

Tony looked up, blinking at Strange who was looking through the sketchbooks Tony had brought again. “Uh, yeah,” he said, entirely uncertain as to why Strange felt the need to make that particular declaration. “I know. Super vivid stress dreams about med school, remember?” And the more haunting dreams about being unable to operate. Those Tony didn’t mention.

“I believe in consent,” Strange continued. “I know that Wong made it sound like you don’t have a choice. That if you didn’t do this I’d be in danger. But if you’re unwilling…” Strange took a deep breath. “I won’t coerce you into this. You have the right to choose. There have been sorcerers whose dream-mates have refused in the past.”

Tony stared at him. His stomach twisted. “It will put you at risk.”

Strange shrugged. “Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tony asked, skeptical.

“I wouldn’t say ‘okay’,” Strange said slowly. “But I recognize that it may be something I need to accept should you refuse to go forward with this.”

Guilt writhed in his chest and he looked away. Strange was offering him a way out, telling Tony he didn’t have to do this. A desperate part of Tony wanted to accept. But…

“I won’t risk you getting attacked just because something makes me uncomfortable,” he said finally. He met Strange’s gaze again. “I… I can’t put you in danger just because something makes me mildly uncomfortable.”

Strange frowned, but then nodded. “Thank you.” A tired smile crossed his face. “I don’t know that I’d be as willing to do the same in your position,” he admitted. “It’s…”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, for some reason I doubt that,” he said. “You’ve got a complex, Strange.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Strange asked, tone a little offended.

Tony just shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing.”

Strange glared at him. “I don’t have a complex,” he muttered.

“Anyways,” Tony said. No way was he going to get into that argument. “I… Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m ecstatic about the situation, but… but I’m not going to put you at risk because of it.”

“I…” Strange sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “For what it’s worth, you won’t be the only one… vulnerable.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

Strange gestured at the book. “That one doesn’t go into it quite as much, but it’s… I’ll be in you mind, yes. But that means you’ll have a front row seat into my mind. While I don’t think you’ll go snooping, you will see… things.” His lips pressed tight. “And I don’t exactly know what.”

“Is that something you’re okay with?” Tony asked.

Strange huffed a laugh. “The alternative is leaving my mind open for Nightmare or any number of other creatures to get into my mind. The vulnerability is a necessary evil.”

“Can’t be any worse than what I’ve already seen,” Tony pointed out. “I’ve seen a lot.”

“I suppose not,” Strange admitted after a moment. “It’s just… different, I suppose. Choosing to expose myself. I never had a say in the dreams. Neither of us did. This time we both do.”

Tony hadn’t considered that difference, not really. “I’ll won’t use anything I find against you,” he said after a moment. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know,” Strange said quietly. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe it’s ridiculous, but…” he paused. “I’ve always felt like I knew you, even when I don’t.” He shook his head. “You’re not the sort of person to do that to someone. You might be a bit of a douchebag, but not that sort.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “I’ve always felt the same.” He looked away, considering. “Though I’m very curious what in my dreams told you I was a douchebag. Because that’s more than accurate.” He examined Strange. “Think that makes us friends, Strange?”

Strange laughed. “Not if you keep calling me Strange,” he said. “If I’m calling you Tony, you should really call me Stephen.”

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Stephen. I suppose if you’re getting in my head, that’s only fitting.” He turned back to his book. “But that’s for tomorrow. For now I’ve got a little more research to do.”

-_-

“Ready?” Stephen asked. He fidgeted, fingers twisting at the edge of his sleeve. Apparently Tony wasn’t the only one nervous. “Today is the first layer. A solid shield needs at least seven.”

Tony nodded, trying to ignore the sensation of snakes twisting in knots in his stomach. “Born ready,” he said. “Not like you haven’t essentially been in my head forever, right?” If he thought of this as just an extension of their dream sharing, then it was easier to handle. What would Stephen see that he hadn’t caught glimpses of before, right?

“One way to look at it,” Stephen said. He gestured to a mat on the ground in front of the fireplace. “Then let’s get to it. No need to procrastinate.”

Tony would really like to procrastinate this as long as possible.

No. No. Tony wasn’t a coward. Better to get this over with.

He sat down on the mat; Stephen sat across from him, close enough that their knees brushed together.

Stephen held out his hands. “Contact makes it easier,” he explained.

Tony swallowed hard, but reached out to meet Stephen in the middle. Stephen’s hands were cool in his. Tony suspected that Stephen’s circulation wasn’t great, leaving him with colder extremities. Stephen’s hands trembled in his, and Stephen’s grip was light. Tony did his best to mimic the hold. He didn’t want to put pressure on Stephen’s hands. He’d never had to really deal with the pain, just phantom pain, but he imagined it was terrible.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Golden-orange—the same golden-orange of the shields from Tony’s dreams—appeared around Strange’s wrists, twisting around in a circle, before expanding up Stephen’s hands. It tingled as it covered Tony’s hands and around his own wrists.

Tony wanted to examine it, see if he could make sense of the glyphs and runes. But now wasn’t the time for that.

A flash of his own face appeared in his vision; he blinked in disorientation. It didn’t disappear. He closed his eyes, and his own face grew more distinct. He was getting a glimpse of Stephen’s thoughts, he realized. He examined his own face. It should be like looking in the mirror, but it wasn’t. Somehow it was softer, warmer. The blemishes he could see in the mirror didn’t seem to be there now, as though to Stephen they didn’t actually exist.

Tony’s face faded away, the world growing dark. A flicker of orange, like a flame, appeared in the darkness. It danced for a moment, before twisting and spinning, taking actual shape. In the back of his mind he could hear the faintest sound, like a fuzzy radio, playing classical music.

The music spun, low and melancholy with the flicker of flame, that thinned and separated into an expansive net. It expanded wider, growling larger until it expanded beyond him where he seemed to lurk in his own mind. He looked up, saw the net above him.

He reached out, a strange instinct, and touched the net.

The music grew louder, warm and beautiful, if still sad. A flash of a woman’s face hit him, pale and serious. It’s not about you, a voice whispered.

I’m not ready, Stephen’s voice echoed.

No one ever is.

Tony jerked back, a twist of guilt in his chest. He’d promised not to snoop, but he hadn’t realized that was what would happen when he touched the net.

The music crescendoed, evocative and painful and Tony wanted to weep. This was Stephen’s song, desperate and aching and trying so, so hard, but unable to escape the melancholy, the sense of loss and fear and confusion and need—for love, for purpose, for stability—that seemed to have taken root in him.

A gasp escaped him as the emotions resonated deeply in his chest. These were things he’d caught glimpses of, but this feeling eclipsed every hint the dreams had ever given him.

Then it faded, the music falling away, the net disappearing, and the world going dark.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Stephen was shuddering slightly, breathing heavy.

“You okay?” Tony asked, surprised when his own voice came out hoarse.

Stephen nodded. “It’s…” He didn’t finish, but Tony nodded anyways. He wasn’t sure he understood, but at the same time… He did.

“Thank you,” Tony said.

Stephen shrugged, looking away. “It’s all technically for me, anyways,” Stephen pointed out. He glanced back at Tony, wry smile on his face. “Protecting your mind, protects mine.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” It was why he was doing it after all. He looked down to where he and Stephen were still holding hands. “It was beautiful, though,” Tony said quietly. He looked up at Stephen. You’re beautiful. He didn’t mean physically—though, now that he considered it, Stephen was also physically appealing—but the sense of him. Tony had always known it, to some degree. But the feel of it.

“I felt you,” Stephen said quietly. “It was…”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “You should probably be careful with that,” he said with amusement. “Pretty sure there are some things I don’t want to hear.”

“Beautiful,” Stephen finished, a laugh in his voice. “You were beautiful.” He squeezed Tony’s hands, gentle. He let go and stood. “Come back tomorrow?”

Tony nodded. “Well, not going to get these shields in my head on my own, am I?” he asked wryly. He sent a grin at Stephen. “So, yeah, pretty sure I’ll be back.”

-_-

The music faded. Stephen’s song echoed in his mind, as nothing more than a memory. He didn’t think it was a song he would ever forget, the same way his mother’s last song still sometimes came back to him on late nights when the darkness cradled him. He expected it was a song that Stephen would hear in dreams, because he knew it would play in his own, even if he’d never experience them.

Seven nets, interwoven together, so that there were no gaps for anything to sneak through, filled the air around him in the darkness, entirely impenetrable. Slowly his mindscape grew dark, the shields fading from view, now just a part of him.

He opened his eyes. It was his and Strange’s final meeting to build the shields in his mind, which meant… “So… guess I’ve got a lot of meditation in my future,” he said, aiming for casual. “Got to keep those shields up to par?” He bit his lip. “Guess I don’t have any reason to keep coming back, huh? Back to the status quo. Two strangers, giving each other our nightmares..”

Stephen paused. “I… I don’t see why we need to do that,” he said slowly. They locked gazes. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? Friends… hang out, don’t they?” He said ‘hang out’ as though he wasn’t quite sure how the phenomenon worked. Tony understood entirely, because he wasn’t entirely sure, either. He had friends, yes, but… well, none of them had been the ‘hang out with each other’ types. Partially because two of the three worked for him.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I guess they do.” A grin tugged at his lips. “Could be kind of nice.”

Stephen stood, and Tony copied him.

“Though,” Stephen said. He gave Tony a scrutinizing look. “After last night…” Last night? Tony hadn’t seen Stephen, so he had to be talking about a dream. “I’m not sure friends dream about each other… that way.” He arched an eyebrow. “Adds a certain… dynamic to the relationship.”

Tony froze as the words took a second to permeate. Had he really? That was entirely humiliating and far too revealing. He’d known he had interest in Stephen, but he didn’t think he’d gotten that far, yet. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t that he was ashamed. He was only human, but still, what a way to inform Stephen that he was interested. No subtlety, there.

Stephen laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I am, actually,” he admitted, a smirk on his face. “But you’ve given me a couple of indicators that you were interested. it’s good to know that you considered it an actual possibility.”

Tony stared at him, barely managing to stop himself from gaping unflatteringly. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” He eyed Stephen, considering the situation. “Should I be expecting any… dreams of my own?” he asked. Stephen wouldn’t have brought it up, would he, if he didn’t see the potential for it on his side?

“Not sure it’s going to beat out the nightmares,” Stephen said, grimacing a little. Yeah, fair. Stephen’s nightmares were no joke. “But… yeah, I could see it happening.”

Tony considered that. He’d experienced weirder things than having fantasies about himself. He didn’t think those dreams, if they did end up coming, would make it into the sketchbook, though. He eyed Stephen thoughtfully. Unless Stephen was into that. He’d have to ask.

“But,” Stephen said, smile softening a little. “Maybe we can work up to that.”

“Probably for the best,” Tony said. He examined Stephen, thoughts twisting around the words. ‘Work up to that’ was so very up to interpretation, after all. He took a step closer. Stephen watched him, a quiet sort of expectation in his gaze, as though Stephen knew exactly what Tony intended.

If he did, he didn’t appear to have a problem with it, just waiting.

Tony stretched up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Stephen’s cheek.

Stephen smiled, a small warm thing.

For a moment Tony could see the future as it might be—too soon, too fast, to have thoughts like those, but he knew Stephen, even as he was just now getting to know Stephen—a future where when Tony’s nightmares woke Stephen, or Stephen’s nightmares woke Tony… they woke up to each other.

He shook the thought away. Too fast, too soon, for those thoughts.

But…

Well, they’d shared the dreams that haunted their nights all their lives, maybe someday they’d share a different sort of dream.