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When Stephen Strange awoke, the bed was empty.
The bed was far too cold for the time of year, the warm spring sun slowly peeking through the little space in between the curtains that had been left there the night prior. Stephen must not have closed them properly before going to bed - not that that mattered. Sometimes he even forgot to close them at all. There was only a small beam of light that made its way through, bouncing off of ancient texts scattered across the floor in amongst notes on language and translation methods and then to the thin layer of dust that lined the floor, indicative of the room needing a good clean. He’d get to it later, maybe he’d get to it later in the day, or later when the books were read and put back into the shelves in his room, through the sanctum or back at Karmar-Taj.
But he said that yesterday, didn’t he? He’d get to it later, eventually, some time in the future when his mind wasn’t so fogged with thoughts of the past, present and future all at once. There were far more important things to busy himself with than cleaning his bedroom. Later. He’d do it later.
There was an ambient noise coming from the outside world, though it felt somewhat distant to where he was in his room. Bleeker street was often busy at this time of day and often Stephen would grumble at how annoying that sound was, but today he didn’t seem to mind it.
His first thought when he woke was that he had left the fire running overnight. He’d told Tony to put it out when he came to bed, but the icy coldness of his surroundings indicated that his boyfriend had stayed up all night again and most definitely did not put it out. Rolling over onto his side, he checked to see if it was still going or had just burnt out overnight, but was immediately confused and quite frankly a little disoriented as soon as he noticed that the fireplace had not been lit at all.
The fireplace had been lit, hadn’t it?
But it wasn’t. It hadn’t even been burnt the night prior and this was clear because the logs that were perfectly stacked inside had not a single burn on them. They were perfectly fresh.
But it was lit. It was lit. He knew it was lit.
He could have sworn that the air was scented like burning wood, burning, burning, burning. There wasn’t a fire in the sanctum and he knew that there wasn’t because he could hear the kettle two rooms over scream at the top of its lungs. Wong must be making tea. He always made tea in the morning, and at midday, and as the sun set. Stephen would join him often and they’d argue about their own tea preferences, always ending in some petty argument about why fruit tea is far more superior to breakfast tea and why on earth are you putting milk in your tea, Strange?!
But the fireplace had been lit.
And it had been raining earlier, hadn’t it? It was the middle of winter and snow was due to fall any time now. Only it had just been winter and the snow that was due to fall had already fallen. It wasn’t as bad as this looming thought said so, either.
He shook his head quickly before rubbing his face with both hands as if to snap himself out of some weird thought, a thought he shouldn’t have had, a thought that distracted him from the imminent threats to the Earth and its people. With a groan, he finally sat up in his bed and then twisted so that he could hop out and land on a discarded pile of something that could have been clothing, or papers, or pieces of scrap metal fused with something far more ancient. A futuristic item stuck looking towards the past.
The cloak had made its way to his shoulders as he stood in front of the fireplace, almost as if it were trying to comfort Stephen in his hazy state. It startled him a little but his reaction was a little delayed. It was like he really didn’t know what time it was nor where he was, though he knew entirely where and when he was. It was almost as if time had slipped from his grasp, something he once guarded so carefully and protectively now gone from his hands - they must have shaken too much to make him slip so far. But time really hadn’t fallen from his hands, even now that the time stone was no longer laced around his neck. It just felt a little different, like more than one number had fallen from the clock’s face.
And so he made his way out of his mish-mash of a bedroom and into the hallway with the cloak wrapped around him like a protective shield. Then into the kitchen where he muttered a good morning to Wong who sat reading through ancient texts in a language Stephen hadn’t learnt yet. He waved to him with his teacup and then gestured to a larger pot of what seemed to be earl grey tea based off of the rich smell of bergamot that filled the room.
-
A few moments passed until they sat across from each other; both drinking from the same pot of tea. A bowl of chopped red apples and golden kiwifruit sat in the centre of the little antique table, too right beside two iron candlesticks. The candles were not lit, though they had been melted to their roots and neither of them had gotten around to replacing the dead candles.
“Did you dream again last night?” Wong’s voice was as pointed as ever, the glossy look in his eyes not matching the pointed tone.
Ah. So he had been dreaming? The days seemed to blend with what he saw during his sleep now. It was a bit hard to distinguish between what was a dream and what was simply stepping out of his mind unintentionally.
Stephen took a sip of his tea before placing the cup back down on the table, “The fireplace had been lit overnight,” he took a moment to figure out what he was going to say next, the cloak’s collar fluttering and framing his somewhat drained looking face, “It was warm. It couldn’t have been a dream, I remember everything far too vividly for it to be anything but a figment of my imagination.”
Wong stayed silent but gave him a look that resembled disbelief. That Sure, Strange look he always gave when Stephen was being an idiot.
“I’ve been dreaming a lot lately, haven’t I?” Stephen continued, now fiddling with a pair of bright yellow gloves he’d worn once or twice in the past. He thought they made him look stupid, but they’d been a gift from someone important to him in the past. Something made specially for him on an impulsive thought one night and then oh no! Tony Stark is standing outside the New York sanctum at three in the morning waving a pair of gloves that could help relax the shakes!
They were important to him.
Wong nodded quickly, his cup now discarded to the edge of the table and a fork stabbing a slice of kiwifruit mid air in his hand, “Most nights. You’re getting worse, by the way.”
Stephen rolled his eyes, his tone strong and heavy, ”I’m not getting worse.”
“You are. Look at you, you look like you’ve barely slept at all!” The fork now extended forward and towards Stephen’s face, though he barely registered it.
Stephen only shook his head. Denial.
I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me
Denial, denial, denial.
He’d been sleeping fine. He slept often, just enough for himself to still function. The whole eight hours! He’d been sleeping and eating just fine, Wong had no idea what he was talking about.
He was absolutely positively fine.
Denial, denial, denial, denial, denial, denial.
I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me, I won’t let this build up inside of me
Stephen fabricated a smile. The same one he’d give to the families of patients he had little hope for and all he could tell them was ”They are going to be absolutely fine in my hands.” He’d gotten pretty damn good at it over the years.
He was absolutely positively fine.
-
Everything was absolutely fine.
Three sunflowers rested in a tall, glass vase sat atop a windowsill, backlit by the rising sun and creating big, huge shadows on the freshly tiled floor of a small kitchen.
The kitchen smelt like freshly ground coffee and steamed oat milk. No notes of tea danced through the air as no one had prepared a pot of tea just yet, but the rustling of boxes and bags against each other could be heard. Whoever occupied the kitchen must have been getting ready to make it. The kettle whistled and birds sung outside; a few birds flew right in front of the window, staying there for a few moments before flying off again as if they were watching whatever was going on inside for just a few moments.
A pot of fruit tea was prepared as soon as the kettle stopped and then placed at the centre of a dining room table that overlooked a clear blue sky.
Stephen wasn’t in the kitchen, but he knew that Tony was. He knew that if he took two to three more steps forward he’d be in the kitchen and staring directly at the man he loved and he would be entirely real, alive and well, sitting there sipping on his coffee and watching a flock of birds fly past. His hands shook a little more than usual, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his sweatpants and did his absolute best to ignore how they trembled against his thighs.
One, two, three, he stepped forward.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Four steps forward and he was in the kitchen, standing on tacky black and white checkerboard tiles and right next to a small spillage of oat milk. Tony was there too. Right in front of him with his back turned, the sun creating a frame around his body just like the sunflowers on the windowsill. A gentle smile made its way to his lips, expanding once he stepped forward a few more times and was within arms reach of the other.
Noticing the presence of the other man in the room, Tony turned to look at him, “Mornin’! Made you some tea. Not sure what kind you wanted, so I made a wild guess,” He grinned lazily, evident that he hadn’t actually slept much the night prior.
Stephen didn’t respond, dumbfounded and frozen in his spot at the sweet, buttery sound of his beloved’s voice, soft and smooth with a twinge of snark sprinkled throughout it. He blinked rather awkwardly as if he were trying to adjust his gaze, like this was something that he shouldn’t be believing to be true. But Tony never disappeared no matter how many times he blinked, he did, however, furrow his brows and tilt his head in that really cute way he always did that made him look like a puppy trying to find the source of a sound when Stephen did not respond.
Tony spoke up again, this time with a little bit more sarcasm drowning in his words, “Hellooo? Earth to sexy doctor boyfriend? My loving gesture of making you a pot of tea like I have been for the past few weeks starting to offend you?”
Doctor? But my….Hands…?
His hands stopped trembling in his pockets. He was fine.
Everything was absolutely fine
“I…No, no, Tony, it’s fine..” Was all he could muster for now.
Tony then crossed his arms and pouted, putting on an act of being upset, “Just fine…?”
Stephen laughed warmly, pulling out the chair next to him and taking a seat. He poured himself a cup and nodded approvingly as soon as he smelt whatever tea Tony had picked out for him, noting that it was indeed one of his favourites, “More than fine. I’m happy that you do this for me.” Anthony, I’m happy that you’re here, I love you dangled from his lips, refusing to be spoken aloud. It was like something was holding him back. Like something didn’t allow him to say everything he wished he could.
But that was fine.
He’d tell him one day.
His dearest, beloved, Anthony. He’d tell him that he loved him once more one day.
“Y’know, I’ve been up waiting for you to wake up and I even made you tea and you haven’t even given me a kiss yet. Ridiculous!” Tony beamed, contemplating getting up to make himself yet another coffee once he’d finished the one he was currently drinking. Maybe he’d make a black coffee this time. Stephen laughed at that again, a loving laughter that could warm an entire room of sour faces.
Stephen kissed Tony gently, making sure to savour the moment.
-
“Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me,” He called into the room that was filled with no one but himself and Wanda Maximoff of all people. The two had grown close after the battle against Thanos due to their magical abilities and their shared feelings of loneliness, pieces of their lives tattered and torn until they were nothing but shreds of paper through a shredder. Sawdust falling from a newest invention. The two of them seemed to isolate after the battle and no one really saw them both - Wanda wanting nothing more than to become one with her Vision somewhere in the sky above. There was nothing more for her to lose in the waking world so the best possible course of action to her was to simply leave it. Stephen felt somewhat similar, though his detachment from what was real stemmed from a combination of losing his heart and having to shuffle through millions of timelines where his friends and himself died. He’d watched Tony die millions of times before it happened for real, no Tony outside of his mind to shake himself awake and ground him.
He continued, “It feels like a part of my heart is absent. There’s a wound there and all of my medical abilities combined with my magical abilities can’t even fix it,” He was staring at the window, out into a blue sky he’d seen in his dream last night. Any moment now a flock of birds would fly past.
Wanda was startled by Stephen’s sudden words. They had been sitting in a delightful silence they had grown to find comfort in for the past half hour, Stephen staring through the window watching the clouds and Wanda making pretty pictures with a Lite-Brite she’d found in an op shop a few days prior. She made pictures of memories. Warm, comfortable memories.
She placed a yellow piece right in the corner of the canvas as if it were a sun in a child’s drawing as she spoke, “I did too,” her Sokovian accent thickly laced through her words, “I dreamt that I was happy.”
“Somewhere out there you’re happy,” Stephen added, still not taking his eyes off of the large, circular window that reflected the details of the eye around his neck.
“Somewhere.” But not here, why on earth am I not happy here?! “Did you dream of Stark again?”
He nodded gently, now finally taking his eyes off of the window. His eyes hurt. They burned, “He’d survived the snap. Things were different and I was certain that I was still Sorcerer Supreme. Things were…..” a pause so that he could turn to look at Wanda who was almost done with her picture. A red crown with two horns that pointed upwards with a yellow background, “Happier.”
”Better?”
“Worth living for.”
She didn’t respond vocally, only nodding a little as she turned the lights of the Lite-Brite on. The picture was beautiful.
Wanda wasn’t fond of Tony, nor was Tony fond of Wanda, but Wanda was fond of Stephen and Stephen was fond of Wanda. Despite her hatred for Stephen’s boyfriend - he refused to call him an ex - she still listened to his stories of Tony, his frustrations with his course of action and his wishes that there was just one more way because Tony, there was no other way seemed to rattle in his brain far too much and there had to have been another way and things could have been better if it were him that died instead of Tony and maybe if he hadn’t have given up the stone they’d both be happy and they could have cheated time somehow despite the fact that Stephen knew that they couldn’t do that and and and and
Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. No hope, no harm, just another false alarm. Last night I felt real arms around me. No hope, no harm, just another false alarm.
Wanda was a gift to Stephen. Stephen was a gift to Wanda.
Stephen often said he wished he’d met Vision. He thought that the two of them could have a good, sophisticated conversation about the world they lived in and what lied beyond, more specifically the multiverse theory. Wanda had said that Vision believed in the multiverse to which Stephen said that the Ancient One shoved him through the multiverse to scare him into a change in how he interpreted the world. Wanda was happy to see that Stephen wished he could have met her love. It made her happy that he didn’t have a sour mood towards him as she did to his Tony.
Her accent would decorate the room, her bright, genuine smile would light the candles around them “I’m sure that somewhere out there, Stephen, you and Vizh are the best of friends.”
-
It rained.
It wasn’t meant to rain today because the radio said tomorrow.
But it rained. It wasn’t meant to.
Stephen felt like it was meant to rain. Like today was meant to feel nothing but cold, cold, cold. It just felt right when the rain started to fall on a day that was meant to be nothing but sunshine and rainbows and fucking ice cream dates in Central Park. But it was nothing but blurry vision and standing at the circular window at the top of the sanctum looking like an oracle npc in one of those video games Peter keeps rambling about every time he comes around to visit. And to top it all off, his hands shook more than usual. They felt numb. They felt as though they weren’t part of his body.
Not one part of his body felt attached to himself. It was like he was a doll that had been pulled apart by some kid and left to lie on the floor again.
What was he standing next to aside from the window? Did it matter? Did it matter that anything that wasn’t Tony Stark was scattered around him just like how his bedroom was still definitely not cleaned? Did it really matter at all? Was all that mattered right now the fact that he felt separate from the world around him, like he was in his astral form floating about, watching himself in third person and calling himself ‘he’ rather than ‘me’?
It was slow where he stood in the sanctum. But whatever happened below on Bleeker Street was far too busy. Despite the business, nothing seemed to feel busy to him. It just looked busy. They were the TV screen and Stephen was lounging on his couch watching mindlessly and two seconds from changing the channel.
He didn’t change the channel.
He just wandered off into a world within his head. One filled with freshly ground coffee and the smell of axe body spray with Guns N’ Roses playing softly in the distance.
-
And then he arose on a new day, a new morning, in a very warm bed greeted by a smile akin to the sun.
He wasn’t sure if he was truly dreaming, but what he did know was that he was truly happy wherever here was.
He was happier than he had ever been before.