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Heavy concern pressed down on Wong’s chest and his gut twisted with guilt as he took in Strange where he was slumped against a wall in the corner, as though he’d searched for a place to be safe and tried to make himself small. Kamar-Taj had taken everyone’s attention, trying to recover from everything Kaecilius had done and all the Masters he had hurt and killed. The loss of the Ancient One was a loss that they all felt.
Strange had been left in the Sanctum, having been accepted by the Sanctum as its new Master when Strange had protected it against all odds in the wake of Daniel’s death. Wong hadn’t intentionally neglected Strange—none of them had—but he hadn’t quite realized how serious Strange’s situation was.
Not until the Cloak of Levitation had come to fetch Wong. When Wong had found Strange he’d been curled up with his phone in hand—clearly intending to call someone—catatonic. He certainly wasn’t responding to Wong or anything going on around him.
Wong didn’t know Strange well. They weren’t exactly friends. Strange was the man who stole Wong’s books and asked too many questions and didn’t seem to accept limits.
Strange was the man who’d saved them all and who Wong had clearly failed in the aftermath of it. He shouldn’t have left Strange alone—that was clear now—but there had simply been so much. Kamar-Taj reeling, so many of them dead and injured, so many shaken from the Ancient One’s final revelations followed by the finality of her death.
And so Strange had fallen through the cracks and Wong… Wong didn’t know how to help him. But someone had to help Strange and there wasn’t anyone else, not anymore, so Wong would have to do.
Mordo had been Strange’s closest friend and Mordo was gone. The thought came with a pang of hurt, because Mordo had been Wong’s friend, too, and he was gone. But he wasn’t like their lost and fallen Masters who had been taken from them. He had walked away of his own volition, he had abandoned them.
Wong eyed the phone in Strange’s hand. Strange had clearly been considering reaching out for help—had he tried and failed? tried and been ignored? or had he not tried at all?—but since Strange was here alone, help clearly wasn’t coming.
Despite the fact that Wong wasn’t Strange’s friend, he was pretty sure he knew who Strange had wanted to call. He knew enough through Kamar-Taj’s gossip chain to know that Strange had left a boyfriend behind when he’d come to Kamar-Taj. Given the gossip at Kamar-Taj was incredibly thorough, Wong knew who it was, too.
It took Wong almost three hours to actually get a hold of the man after several attempts to bring Strange back to awareness had failed. Strange’s phone was locked and Strange was in no state to tell Wong the passcode to unlock it—though Wong questioned whether Strange would have actually told him, were he in a state to—so Wong used public avenues to reach Strange’s ex-boyfriend.
Because of course Strange’s ex-boyfriend was Tony Stark. Wong was persistent, though, he always had been. Three hours of calling every number associated with Stark, the Avengers, and Stark Industries had finally gotten him on the radar of someone who appeared to be Stark’s personal assistant, a young Irish woman named Friday. “What do you want with the boss?” the woman asked him, sounding suspicious.
“I’m calling on behalf of Stephen Strange,” Wong said. He hoped the breakup had been at least somewhat amicable—that the Kamar-Taj gossip chain didn’t know—and that Wong wasn’t about to be hung up on. “He’s been… hurt.”
“One moment,” Friday said.
It was less than a minute later than a man’s voice came across the phone. “What happened to Stephen?” the man, undoubtedly Stark, demanded.
“That’s complicated,” Wong said, because there were some things that were impossible to explain on the phone, even if Wong did have all the right answers. “I need you to come to 177A Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village.” He looked at Strange who he’d gotten the Cloak to help him move to a bed while Wong had started his campaign to get ahold of Stark. “He needs you.”
Wong hoped it’d help, though he didn’t really know. But he didn’t really think it could get worse right now.
A moment of silence and when Stark spoke there was a note of uncertainty. “Did he ask for me?”
Wong hesitated, because he was acting off a whole lot of assumptions here. “He wanted you,” he said, hoping it was true.
Another moment of silence, then Stark answered. “I’ll be there.” He hung up before Wong could say anything else, which was just as well, because Wong wasn’t going to explain anything over the phone. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to explain anything period. None of them were entirely sure what Strange had done. There had been so much to do and with the problem directly solved, it had felt safe to save the answers until everything was stable.
Wong was regretting that now. Just another thing that had fallen through the cracks.
Wong startled when a knock on the door came less than five minutes later. How the hell had Stark gotten here so fast? But then, Stark wasn’t just Tony Stark, Stark was also Iron Man, even if the man Wong let in the door wasn’t dressed in that iconic armor. Wong wasn’t sure where the armor was, but he was pretty sure it had played a role in Stark getting there so fast.
“Where’s Stephen?” Stark asked the moment he stepped through the door, gaze darting around the foyer as though expecting to see Stephen right there.
At least he got straight to the point. Wong waved for Stark to follow him. “This way.”
Wong led Stark through the halls, ignoring the intensity with which Stark watched him and the scrutinization with which Stark took in the halls they passed. The Cloak greeted them at Strange’s door and Stark stopped still to watch it.
“What the hell did Stephen get himself into?” Stark muttered, but the question apparently fled his mind when he stepped into the room and saw Stephen curled on the bed, staring out into the room with empty eyes. “Shit,” he whispered, taking a few steps forward before stopping. He looked at Wong. “What happened to him?”
Wong hated admitting it, but… “I don’t know. Not completely. There was a fight. He was injured. People died. Then he… dealt with the larger threat alone, but the details are… blurry.” He knew it had taken something tremendous from Strange, that it had cost Strange something, knew that the Time stone had played some sort of role and could make some guesses from there, but nothing definitive. “That was a few days ago. I found him like this today.” Guilt twisted in him as Stark’s eyes narrowed as he took him in, a silent demand to know why Stephen had been on his own long enough to get to this state. “The last few days have been very busy,” Wong defended, though it didn’t drown out his own guilt. He should have been paying more attention. Should have realized. “We have been trying to recover from the attack, we lost many of our people.”
Finally, Stark turned back to Strange, for a long second just staring as though not sure what to do. After a moment he took a slow, careful, tentative step forward. He knelt at the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch Stephen’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered so quiet Wong almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m gonna climb in bed behind you. We’re gonna just lay with each other for a bit. You don’t need to do anything, okay? Just lay with me for a while and listen to me talk.”
The words made Wong frown, there was a certain familiarity with the way Stark was talking to Strange, though Wong didn’t think Strange had this sort of trauma in his past, that before his accident he’d had a rather normal life. But this was clearly practiced, clearly familiar, like it was something he and Strange had done before.
Just as he’d said, Stark slid into the bed with Strange just behind him, arm curling around Strange’s hip as he pressed his chest to Strange’s back. “It looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, Stephen. I thought I’d cornered the market on that, if we’re honest with each other. I rather distinctly recall you demanding an actual oath that I try to be more careful. I think I’m going to have to call hypocrite on you.” Stark sighed and nuzzled the back of Strange’s neck. “You weren’t supposed to be in danger,” Stark whispered. “Losing you was hard enough, but I thought I was losing you to healing, not to… not to this.”
Wong shifted uncomfortably, not sure if he should leave or not now that Stark was here. But he’d left Strange earlier, certain he’d be okay, and they could see where that had led them. After a moment he took a place in the desk chair, waiting and listening. Stark glanced at him once, but there was no telling what he was thinking as he turned his focus back to Strange.
“Could’ve used your help a few months back,” Stark said. “There was this kid, and I made a bit of a mess. Well, he made a bit of a mess, too. I really don’t think I should have to take all the blame. And, okay, maybe I was supposed to be the adult in that situation, and I tried, but god Stephen, I don’t understand teenagers. I swear, I skipped that entire phase. I mean, I was a mess, but not a teenage mess, you know? You were a teenager, though. A regular one. You probably could have told me what I was doing wrong. But then again, this is you, you’re not great with people. Worst bedside manner in the history of bedside manners. I remember that time I got sick, you spent most of the time shoving medicine and chicken noodle soup down my throat while lecturing me on my sleeping habits and the problematic lack of fruits and vegetables in my diet. Then, when I was finally better, you stocked my fridge with healthy food and collaborated with JARVIS—” a soft hitch of Stark’s breath broke the steady stream of words, ”—to work on improving my more ‘deplorable’ health habits.”
There was a shift from the corner of Wong’s eye and he looked over to see that the Cloak of Levitation was shifting back and forth, as though nervous, not sure what it should be doing. The act felt so very distinct, the emotion looked so real, that it took Wong temporarily aback. He knew very little about the Cloak of Levitation—it had been in a state of inactivity for decades—but the act felt very… human. Very alive.
Wong hadn’t thought much about it before, when the Cloak of Levitation had come to find Wong, when it had brought Wong to Strange in an obvious request for help. But now Wong had nothing to do but watch and listen and hope that Strange came back to them and it was suddenly far more obvious that there was more to the Cloak of Levitation than Wong had realized.
Slowly the Cloak of Levitation shifted closer to where Stark was talking to Strange, the one-sided dialogue having moved on to discuss someone Stark sounded strangely fond of, for all that he was calling them a dummy, who apparently missed Stephen a great deal.
Stark once again looked up, lips twitching into a bit of a frown as the Cloak of Levitation finally made it to the bed, clearly anxious to get closer. “You care about him?” Stark asked, clearly speaking to the Cloak of Levitation instead of Strange. It was… startling how easily Stark reacted to the Cloak, as though this was almost normal. “Or just curious?”
The Cloak of Levitation shifted in close, one corner coming to touch Strange’s hand in a way that looked a lot more like care than curious.
Stark’s brow furrowed, then he nodded with a sigh. “All right, come on and cover him up, then. Stephen should probably be kept warm and it seems like a lot of work to get him under the covers.”
The Cloak of Levitation darted forward the final bit of space and dropped on top of Strange, wrapping around his front and tugging him back slightly to be closer to Stark before the part of the Cloak not covering Strange draped to cover Stark as well.
“What the hell did you get yourself into, Stephen?” Stark asked again, mostly under his breath. “But okay, whatever, I’m adaptable.” He took a deep breath. “What was I talking about? Oh right, dummy has taken his coffee failures to new extremes. He put antifreeze in my coffee, Stephen. Antifreeze. Can you imagine what my obituary would look like if I died from antifreeze in my coffee?” Antifreeze? No wonder Stark was calling the person an idiot. “My entire legacy destroyed in seconds. What a way to go.”
The one-sided conversation continued, moving over a wide variety of subjects that left Wong somewhat baffled. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to when the subject changed or what it changed to, but the words were constant. Stark never really talked about anything intimate or overly personal, and yet the whole scene felt intimate. Still, Wong stayed. In part because the guilt of having not been here in time kept Wong stuck in place, but also partially because if—when—Strange came back to himself Wong wasn’t actually sure if he’d come back peacefully.
Stark might be Iron Man and Strange might not be the most capable of sorcerers—though he’d done well enough to keep himself alive—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do any harm if he came out of his catatonic state swinging.
It was 45 minutes in that the first real sign of life came. Strange twitched just slightly, a hitched gasp of air escaping. For half a second Stark paused, but then he just kept talking, drawing no attention to Strange’s movement.
It was only a few minutes later that the hitched gasp turned into obvious shaking, visible even beneath the Cloak’s careful hold. Strange looked like the only thing keeping him in one piece was Stark’s arm around his waist and the Cloak on top of him.
Even then, it was ten minutes later that Strange’s voice interrupted Stark’s continuous ramble. “Tony?”
Stark cut off with a sharp inhale. “I’m here, sweetheart. What do you need?”
A long pause where Wong wondered if Strange was going to go quiet again. “Keep talking.”
“I can do that all day if you need me to.” Stark pressed a kiss to the nape of Strange’s neck. “How about you shift around a bit? Let me hold you properly, the way you used to like.”
The movement came slow and laborious, but Strange slowly shifted so that he was facing Stark, though he immediately buried his face into the crook of Stark’s neck and shoulder. Stark shifted to kiss the side of his head, but that was all he did before he started talking again, this time going on about some feud between his R&D department and marketing and his genuine concern that something might blow up at Stark Industries outside of the testing department and that his bets were actually on marketing, since R&D was too smart—or rather too familiar with the danger of explosives—for that.
Wong didn’t know what the final straw was, but something finally broke through whatever was holding Strange together.
The sobs were violent, wild, heaving things. They sounded broken—the sort of broken noise that could only come from someone who had broken themself.
Stark just pulled Strange closer. He wasn’t talking any longer, but Wong could see Stark’s hand moving beneath the Cloak, a gentle shift up and down Strange’s spine.
Slowly, slowly, Strange’s sobs died down as the sheer force of the sobs drained Strange.
“You need to sleep?” Stark asked when the sobs turned to silence. “Or do you need to talk?”
The silence was long but just as heavy as the weight of Strange’s sobs. “I didn’t think you’d come,” Strange whispered. “Not after…”
Stark’s laugh was soft, somehow tender. “Stephen, absolutely nothing would stop me from being here if you need me. All you ever have to do is ask. I love you, that hasn’t changed. You weren’t just the love of my life, you were one of my best friends. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same. I’ll always—”
“I do,” Strange whispered. “I always loved you. I still—” Strange took a broken breath. “Remember when… when you said you heard me? When you were dying? That it kept you alive, kept you sane?” Strange shuddered. “That it gave you something to come home to?”
“I remember. I’d do anything to come home to you,” Stark confirmed.
“I heard your voice,” Strange said. “Every time… every time he killed me.” Stark froze, eyes going wide and alarm crossing his face, followed quickly by non-comprehension. “Over and over. I couldn’t stop, because if I stopped…” Strange broke off for a moment. “If I stopped everyone would have died. I had to let him keep killing me. I had to keep him trapped, keep us both trapped, because that was the only way to make him bargain.” Another pained noise. “You were there, in my head, promising me that if I made it through you were going to be there. You promised I’d be safe again. I just wanted to be safe again, Tony. I didn’t want this,” Stephen said, the words almost pleading. “I didn’t want this, Tony.”
Wong’s guilt ratcheted even higher as a heavy realization fell over him. He had been looking at Strange as a fellow Master of the Mystic Arts, a dedicated sorcerer of Kamar-Taj. Strange had fought for their world, had faced the threat of Kaecilius and Dormammu right alongside the rest of them, alongside those of them who had been Masters for years. But Strange hadn’t been one of them, not a Master dedicated to the cause, but a student. A student who, at the beginning, hadn’t even known Kamar-Taj’s true purpose.
By the Vishanti, Wong should have known at the very beginning that Strange needed serious and immediate support. Should have never left him alone in the aftermath. It didn’t matter how much had been going on, Strange hadn’t signed up for this. He didn’t have the background, the experience, the training… none of the things that they gave their Masters.
Wong had failed him far more than he’d realized.
“Oh sweetheart,” Stark whispered. “I’m so sorry. You did so good, though. You kept everyone safe.” Wong could see on Stark’s face that he didn’t really understand what Strange was talking about—and Wong was putting the picture together, a very alarming picture—especially since Stark had focused on comforting and helping Strange over demanding the answers from Wong that would have given him some of the context he needed. “I’m so proud of you.” That pulled out something closer to Strange’s earlier sobs. “But you’re safe now, okay? You’re safe. I’m going to keep you safe.” The words were so fervent that Wong, even knowing everything that was really out there, found he believed it.
“I didn’t want this,” Strange whispered again. “I didn’t want this, Tony.”
Stark nodded, accepting that. “What do you want, Stephen?”
Strange didn’t answer for such a long moment Wong wasn’t sure he was going to answer. “I want you to stay,” Strange whispered finally.
“I’ll stay,” Stark promised. “Of course I’ll stay. As long as you need me to.”
“Forever,” Strange answered immediately, sounding almost desperate. “I spent a century without you—” Wong’s gut went tight and horror twisted through him. Oh Vishanti, please let it not have been that long. That was so far beyond anything Wong had imagined. “—please, don’t leave. I don’t want to be without you any longer.”
“If that’s what you want,” Stark agreed. “You have me forever.”
Wong hoped desperately that wasn’t a false promise. Because Dormammu, this fight, it had already broken Strange. Stark leaving after promising to stay… that would break Strange in whole new ways. It would ensure that the next time the fight came, the next time Strange faced the threat—
The thought cut off. Because would Strange? Wong had just… assumed—they’d all assumed—that Strange had accepted the role Kamar-Taj played and had, furthermore, accepted a place among them. He’d fought Kaecilius, fought Dormammu, had stayed in the Sanctum in the aftermath. But no one had actually asked—or if they had, Wong wasn’t aware of it—if Strange was there to stay.
But if Strange was here to stay, if he became a full Master of the Mystic Arts and Stark promised to stay, but then didn’t… Strange’s concept of coming home, of being safe… it would shatter. Strange would never feel safe again.
Or at the very least, it would take a very, very long time.
Did Stark mean it when he said he’d stay? Strange had left Stark when he’d come to Kamar-Taj, but Stark had also come the moment Wong had called, no questions asked. Or rather, with only one question asked. If Strange had asked for him. If Strange wanted him there.
And when Stark had believed Strange did, that had been enough.
“Thank you,” Strange whispered.
“So we’ve established I’m staying forever,” Stark continued. “What else do you want? What do you need?”
Strange didn’t answer for a long moment. “Can you talk again?” he asked finally. “I just… I want to sleep. I can’t sleep without you. I want it to all go away.”
Stark nodded again. “I’ll talk until you fall asleep. Just lay here with me, I’ll keep you safe.”
“And you’ll…”
Stark pressed a kiss to Strange’s temple, the silent promise followed by a voiced one. “I’ll be here when you wake up, Stephen. I promise. Now… let me tell you about the disaster of a date that Pepper went on. I told her not to, because the guy was absolutely not good enough for her, but did she listen? Of course not. So, this guy shows up forty minutes late—” Stark continued talking, stories meandering until a soft, snuffling noise interrupted him indicating that Strange had finally fallen asleep.
Stark’s words slowly faded out. He attempted to shift back—gaze taking in Strange—but Strange let out a pained noise, even in his sleep noting the loss of Stark, and Stark stopped his attempts to look over Strange and went back to just holding him.
He did, however, finally turn his attention away from Strange for the first time since he’d stepped into the room to look at Wong.
Wong almost regretted not leaving during anything that had happened before. Though maybe he should have regretted that when he’d been a silent observer to their quiet promises and careful intimacy.
“How did you know how to help him?” Wong asked before Stark could say anything.
Stark blinked, clearly caught off guard. “It’s what he used to do for me,” Stark said finally. “When I had bad days or got triggered after… well, that doesn’t matter. He’d just… hold me and talk. And then after his accident, being held helped him, it was one of the few things that did. So I figured…” He shook his head, knocking the words away and turning his focus back to Wong. Stark’s gaze turned hard, demanding. “That doesn’t matter. What the hell happened to Stephen?” he asked, voice fierce with its insistence. “What was he talking about getting killed? What happened to him!?”
Wong sighed. “I’ll explain what I can,” he said. Stark was, according to his own words, here to stay. True, Wong wasn’t actually sure Strange was here to stay—now that he’d realized no one had asked Strange—but Wong thought, or maybe just hoped, that Strange was. And if Strange was staying—and Stark was staying for Strange—then Stark needed to know. “But I don’t know everything. We’ll both have to wait until tomorrow to hear the full story.”
It had taken too long for Wong to ask, for Wong to be where he needed to be. But he wasn’t going to fail Strange again.
He had no doubt Stark would be right there to help.