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Stephen slams open the Sanctum doors and can’t even muster up a flinch at the extra-loud noise. The Sanctum is clearly unhappy, and so is he. There’s not an inch of him that isn’t covered in monster blood and guts. This is the third time this week.
First it was an escaped demon, then the novices accidentally let lose a hydra, then Shuma-Gorath tried to invade for the 59th time, then some crazy witch reanimated a bunch of corpses, and now Stephen has just finished fighting off an evil inter-dimensional slug. He’s not sure he’s ever been so busy in his life, including when he was the top neurosurgeon at one of New Yorks finest hospitals.
Stephen can feel his magic sparking at his fingertips; on its last legs and desperately trying not to fail him completely. Frankly, it’s a wonder he’s even made it this far without his magic flaking on him. He walks up the stairs slowly, trying not to aggravate the many bruises and wounds he’s gathered over the past week. It doesn’t work. There’s a large cut on his leg he needs to stitch up soon, as having the Cloak wrapped around it to prevent further bleeding does inhibit his movement somewhat. He’s still walking up the stairs. Are they longer than usual?
Stephen glares upwards. “Seriously?” The stairs stay the same length. He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry for bringing in blood and dirt again, alright? I promise I’ll clean it later.” The Sanctum seems mollified by this, and the stairs return to normal length. Stephen trudges up the last few steps and begins to limp his way to his room.
The process of de-robing and dealing with all his new injuries is made a lot more tedious without magic. He can’t waste any of it at the moment as there’s an equal chance some new disaster is going to crop up and that he might just pass out if he uses any more. He’s not going to risk it either way. Stephen wraps the cut on his leg as carefully as he can with his shaky hands. It’s in a spot where trying to do stitches would just end in disaster. He’ll do it magically later.
A cup of steaming hot tea sounds wonderful to Stephen, and he’s trying to work out how he could get the Cloak to do it for him when his phone rings. Rings with his ringtone for the Avengers emergency line. Fuck his life. Stephen drags his hands down his face and hopes it’s a wrong number or a drill or something. He grabs his phone and takes two tries to swipe to accept.
“Hello?” There’s the sound of snarling and repulsor-beam fire coming from the other line. Not a wrong number or a drill then. Fantastic.
“Merlin? Yeah, great, okay we need your help out here ASAP. Aliens are trying to invade again,” When are they not, really? “And they’ve got some kind of magical staff thingy that lets them depower all our tech. Which is really unhelpful.” Stephen pushes down the surge of affection that rushes through him at Starks voice and instead asks the obvious.
“Your tech seems fine. Does this magical staff only affect those who truly believe?” Stephen can physically feel the eyeroll Stark gives. There’s a few seconds of repulsor-beam blasts and the sounds of dying aliens before Stark comes back.
“Ha ha. Very funny, Stephanie. I have magical safeguards in place for my tech. Being over-paranoid does have its perks sometimes.” That peaks Stephen’s interest. What kind of safeguards? How did Stark even do that without any magical-minded input? It’s a conversation they probably could have if they were closer. At their current relationship stage, Stark would probably just think Stephen was trying to look for ways around it.
Stephen balances his phone between his ear and shoulder as he searches for wherever he threw his sling-ring. He catches sight of himself in his mirror and grimaces. God, his robes are filthy. He’ll definitely need to change, and he’s got no time to do it manually. In a quick motion, he changes out his robes and summons his sling ring. Black spots fill his vision for a few seconds. That’s… fine. Hopefully he can just take and/or break this ‘magical staff’ and be done with it.
“Of course. How could I ever doubt you?” Stark snorts. “Where are you stationed?”
There’s an odd silence from the other line. Stephen waits with a raised eyebrow.
“Uh, Central Park? Did you not see the whole ‘aliens invade again’ on the news? Please tell me you have TV in that haunted house of yours.” Stephen winces. Maybe he should’ve thought about the fact him not knowing where a whole alien army was invading would seem suspicious. He clears his throat.
“We have TV, yes. Also, it’s not haunted. I’ve just been busy today. Meeting you now.” Stephen opens a portal to Central Park as he turns his phone off, and it takes far more energy than it should. As long as Stephen doesn’t try fight off a whole squad of aliens, he’ll be fine.
Stephen emerges on the outskirts of the battle. The alien mothership is hovering just above the ground, and presumably hasn’t been smashed by Captain Marvel yet because of the aforementioned magical staff. Stark is a few meters to his left, and he gets the cloak to fly him over there.
“Stark!” Stephen cuts the last few aliens Stark is fighting down and tries to ignore how that makes his magic spark painfully up his arm. Stark turns to him and taps the side of his head. Comms. Shit. Stephen completely forgot to grab his earpiece. He shakes his head and Stephen can tell Stark is giving him an unimpressed look from behind the helmet. An arm panel opens on Starks suit and he hands Stephen an earpiece. It takes Stephen longer to get it fixed in place than normal, shaky hands making it harder than it should be.
A beep signifies he’s online. “Can you hear me?” Stark gives a short nod.
“Loud and clear. The staff is with the big ugly one over there.” He points across the battlefield at a large, insect-like creature holding a glowing wooden staff. Yeah, that’s going to be a pain in the ass to get to.
“I see it. Do I get ground support or I am going it alone?” Stark blasts another alien as he gives Stephen a confused look.
“Can’t you just, y’know, portal over there?” Stark waves his hands around in what Stephen thinks is meant to be an impression of him making a portal. It’s almost insulting how bad it is. Stephen slides his perception into the next plane and looks over to the insectoid. That’s what he thought. He drags his mind back to the regular plane and ignores the growing pounding in his head.
“The staff is providing a magical force-field of sorts. I won’t be able to get anywhere near it through a portal.” Stark sighs. He motions for Stephen to stay still and turns his head away, clearly talking to someone else. Stephen raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
Stephen hears the scuttling coming up behind him too late. He spins around as fast as he can and skewers the thing with an eldritch spear, but it still manages to nick him on the arm. He stumbles back, vision whiting out as he clutches his arm. Shit.
The whirring of repulsors comes to a stop beside him. Through his blurry eyes, he can see Stark has flipped up his faceplate and is standing in front of him. Concern is written all over his face.
“Woah, Strange, you alright? Did that thing get you?” Stephen should say yes. On the other hand, the cut isn’t even that bad, and he’s the only one who can deal with the staff. He doesn’t need to worry Stark. Stephen straightens up and shakes his head.
“Concerned are we, Stark? I didn’t know you cared so much.” Stark rolls his eyes and lowers his faceplate.
“You’re fine then. Don’t worry, me caring was exclusively a one time deal. Can’t get it again.” Stark flies up to fry some more aliens. Stephen spots Captain Marvel coming their way, and presumes she’s his ground support. Well, more air support in her case.
“Oh, I’m devastated. How ever will I survive?” Stephens deadpan gets a snort out of the other man. Captain Marvel lands and nods Stark, and then Stephen.
“Doctor Strange, good to have you with us. I hear you need some help getting over to that staff.” Stephen bristles a little at ‘help’ (he’s sure he could do it by himself if he really wanted to), but nods anyway.
“It would be appreciated, yes. The barrier it gives off means I have to get close to it through more conventional means.” Captain Marvel hums in understanding. Stark is still hovering nearby, and Stephen wonders what he’s still doing here.
“I see. You just need me to pick off any aliens that try get in the way, right?" In a show of excellent timing, she turns to the side and blasts an alien that was trying to sneak up on the three of them.
“Correct. I’m ready to go whenever you are, Captain.” Captain Marvel nods and flies upwards, surveying the battlefield. Stark moves in closer and stares at Stephen for a few seconds before coming to some sort of decision.
“I’ll join you both. Can’t hurt to have some extra back-up.” Stephen gives him a strange look. What is Stark playing at? The two of them are acquaintances at best, conversations filled with bickering and pointed jabs. They’re so similar that it’s a detriment to their relationship. Stephen already has support, so why would Stark willingly volunteer to provide more?
(It doesn’t matter that Stephen would do the same in a heartbeat. Stephen is not thinking about his feelings for Stark right now.)
Captain Marvel shrugs. “Sure. Less work for me. The clearest path seems to be to our left. I’ll go first, Strange will go in the middle and then Stark will cover the rear. That sound good to everyone?” Stephen and Stark both nod in the affirmative. Stephen expects Stark to make some lecherous comment on ‘covering the rear’, but it never comes. What is going on with him?
~*~
The three of them make their way across the battlefield, only having to stop a few times. Stephen uses his magic twice and can feel the strain of it tugging at his limbs. If this staff requires any high-level magic to neutralize it, Stephen will probably end up collapsing where he stands. Which would be less than ideal.
“Okay. Strange, do you think you can get to the staff from here? Stark and I will distract the leader and his entourage while you grab it.” From where the three of them are standing (or hovering above) on a small mound, the leader is 10 or so meters away and surrounded by a swarm of smaller insectoids. If Stephen sneaks around the back and uses the Crimson Bands to restrain him… It would work, but would it be too strenuous? Does he have enough magic left? Stephen glances over to the wider battlefield and sees that if something doesn’t change soon, the Avengers might actually lose this one. Even the Hulk is looking fatigued.
Stephen nods decisively. “I can do it. If you two draw their attention to the front, I can move around the back and get it from there.” Captain Marvel nods and begins to move, but Stark holds up a hand. Stephen can feel Stark searching his face for something.
“You sure you can do this? You looked rough when you got here, and now you somehow look worse.” Stephen raises both eyebrows in disbelief. First of all, why has Stark been paying so much attention to him? And to the point where he’s noticed Stephen getting more tired and sluggish? Secondly, rude .
“Thank you so much, Stark. I forget how complimentary you can be.” Stark doesn’t respond to Stephens sarcasm as he usually would. Instead, he just stares Stephen down. Captain Marvel is looking between them with a confused expression, and Stephen feels much the same.
Stephen sighs. “Yes, Stark, I can do this. I will be fine.” Stark is silent for a few more seconds before shrugging.
“Your call.” He motions to the aliens below. “Shall we, Captain?” She grins and nods, flying down with Stark following behind. Stephen waits for them to get the full attention of the horde below, then begins to sneak around the back.
It only takes a minute or two for Stephen to get behind the leader. The staff makes all of Stephens magical senses go haywire as it pulses with energy. He can do this. Four of the insects eight legs are clutching the staff, which means Stephen is going to either have to make a band for each leg or one massive band to tie around the things middle. The shock of being restrained in the first place should make it drop the staff.
One big band is probably the safer choice here, as his magic reserves are nearly completely diminished. Readying himself, Stephen scrapes almost all the magic he can get and lets the Crimson Bands loose with a whispered incantation. The band shoots out slower than Stephen would have liked, but it still does the job. As expected, the alien drops the staff in surprise. The Cloak immediately shoots over to grab it.
Stark flies over to the leader and fires a beam right through its head. Stephen retracts the band as alien blood and brains splatter all over him. Great. Just what he needed, being covered in monster parts. Again . The Cloak wipes some of it off of his face and he gives it an appreciative smile.
Captain Marvel and Stark both land next to him as the Cloak hands over the staff. Stephen inspects it and comes to an extremely inconvenient conclusion. The staff needs to be disenchanted, not just broken or taken away. It’s set up so that it can continue doing what the last owner wanted it to after their death, and breaking would just make two of them.
Stephen does not have enough magic for this. He doesn’t really have a choice, though, does he? The staff needs to be disenchanted to lower the barriers and stop de-powering everyone's tech. Stephen sighs.
“Everything alright, Gandalf? Staff not playing nice?” Stephen twirls the staff around and shakes his head.
“No, I know how to stop it. It’s just a tedious process.” Captain Marvel looks between the two of them with calculating eyes and then shrugs.
“Well, if you boys are okay here, I’m going to get back out there and help the others.” Before either of them can respond, she’s flown away to rejoin the fight, leaving a small crater behind from the force of her jump. There’s an awkward silence for a minute.
“Really knows how to make an exit, doesn’t she? Almost as dramatic as you.” Stephen snorts at Starks conversation attempt. He’s putting off disenchanting this thing for as long as he reasonably can.
“I’m not sure you’re one to be talking. Need I remind you of the number of times you’ve scorched the Sanctum steps in your compulsion to exit with the repulsors on full blast?” Stark makes a hand-wavy motion.
“That’s besides the point.” He motions to the staff. “The point is when you’re going to deal with that thing.” Time’s up. Stephen spins the staff around a few more times to get a feel for it and then rests is across his trembling hands.
Stephen begins the incantation and his vision almost immediately greys out. The world feels like it’s tilting on its axis, but he keeps going. Magical energy swirls through the air, almost suffocatingly, and the force of it breaks all of Stephen stitches from the past week. Faintly he can hear Stark call out in confusion, but everything seems so far away. The middle of the spell is the hardest part, and Stephen’s legs give out halfway through. Cold metal hands are clutching his chest and shoulder. The staff becomes dead weight in Stephens hand as it expels the last of it’s magical energy. Stephen only catches a glimpse of Stark’s frantic face before darkness encroaches on his peripheries, and then completely takes over.
~*~
Ow . That’s the first thought Stephen has when he returns to consciousness. Fucking ow. His whole body hurts like he’s just been run over by a damn truck. More like 15 trucks, really. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open and finds himself laying on his bed at the Sanctum. Huh. Last thing he remembers is doing the incantation to disenchant that staff. He must’ve passed out afterwards.
That doesn’t explain how he ended up back here. With tiny movements, Stephen manoeuvres himself into a sitting position. His (seemingly perpetually) filthy robes have been removed, leaving him shirtless with some sweatpants on. A bandage is wrapped around his chest, covering the bruises and the gash he has on his side from Shuma-Gorath. A bandage is peaking up from the band of the sweatpants, indicating that the cut on his leg from the interdimensional slug (and doesn’t that feel like a lifetime ago?) is similarly taken care of.
Stephen is beyond baffled. Who did all this? The only thing they haven’t attended to is the injury to his arm from today, which is far deeper than Stephen had originally thought.
Footsteps and the sound of bickering are getting closer. Stephen tries to sit up further, but flinches back down as his head and body both protest.
“ーlook, Cloak, I’m bringing him some tea now, alright? You are one determined piece of outerwear.” Stark turns the corner into Stephens room and a grin spreads across his face. “Wizard! You’re up. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to kiss you awake.” Stephen can only gape at him. What in the name of Agamatto is Stark doing here? He continues into the room and places the tray of tea he’s holding down on the bedside table, along with a kit of bandages and sutures. Stark continues to talk, either totally oblivious to Stephens shock or purposefully giving him time to adjust. Stephen’s just not sure anymore.
“Anyway, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, I’ve taken the liberty of patching you up. Seriously, did you get in a fight with the damn Hulk before helping us out? It’s like someone used you as their own personal punching bag.” That’s what this week has felt like, if Stephen’s being honest. Stark pushes on. “That brings me to another thing I was curious about, couldn’t you have just waved your hands, said ‘abracadabra’, and magicked away all of this? Some of these seem days old but not dealt with, like, at all. Care to explain?” Stark finally takes a breath and raises his eyebrow at Stephen expectantly. Goddamn Stark and his observational skills. Any injuries Stephen did fix up with magic would’ve split right open again with the energy burst from the staff.
Stephen clears his throat. “Thank you for taking care of my injuries, Stark. I presume you were also the one who brought me back here. I can heal myself from here, so you’re free to go.” Stephen has low hopes that Stark will take the bait and leave, but it’s worth it to try. All Stark does in reply is raise another incredulous eyebrow at Stephen.
“No way am I leaving you alone in this house of horrors. One of your vases had black smoke coming out of it, and I think it tried to talk to me.” Stephen grimaces. Of course Stark would stumble across the one of the few things that are actually dangerous in the Sanctum.
“Again, this place is the Sanctum Sanctorum, not a ‘house of horrors’. That vase has a archdevil trapped inside it, so it would be best for all our sakes if you stayed well away from it.” Stark blanches.
“You have a trapped archdevil in this place?”
“Yes, I believe I did just say that. Is your hearing in order?” Stark ignores his comment.
“A trapped archdevil lives in a jar here, and you expect me to leave you alone with at least three open wounds and enough bruises to pass for some kind of fucked-up Jackson Pollock painting? No way, Strange. We might not be the best of friends, but not even I’m that cruel.” Stephen rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. This continuous arguing with Stark is not helping with his headache.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Stark, but I do live here. On a daily basis. Including when I am injured. I will be perfectly fine if you leave.” Stark is silent for a moment, before a look of sick triumph comes over his face.
“Alright. Magically stitch up that cut on your arm and I’ll leave.” The Cloak flutters around Stark angrily at that. He bats it away as Stephen is left to realise, to his ever-growing horror, that Stark has just caught Stephen in a perfectly crafted trap. Stephen can’t magically do his own stitches because he has no magic left. Stark must have cottoned on to this fact.
It’s been a few hours of complete inactivity though, so maybe he’s regained enough to do a simple spell like that? How much harm could it really do if it fails. With this in mind, Stephen raises an extremely shaky hand and mutters the spell for stitches.
Pain shoots up his arm and ricochets throughout his body. Bad idea. Agamotto’s eye, that was a bad idea . He lets out a groan of pain and curls into himself, further aggravating his other traumas. Warm hands come to rest on his shoulders.
“Hey, Stephen, you’re okay. Just lie back, alright?” Hearing Stark say his name sends an unexpected rush of warmth through Stephen. His hands guide Stephen to rest against his pillows and Stephen opens his eyes again, unaware he had ever closed them. Starks face is only a few inches away from Stephens own, and it sends a burst of heat to his cheeks he’s hoping Stark ignores.
Stark leans back and his stance goes from radiating concern to radiating an aura of ‘you’re-a-fucking-idiot’. Stephen probably deserves whatever Stark is going to say next.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. You’re completely overworked, aren’t you? I got the whole damn story from Wong, I just wanted to see if you’d own up to it. Stephen Strange, you are a complete moron and somehow worse than me at taking care of yourself!” Stark slaps his arm lightly but manages to clip part of the cut on it while doing so. Stephen hisses in pain and Stark turns apologetic.
“Shit. Sorry. Just for the slap, though, not for the rest of it! Aren’t you an actual medical doctor? You should know that trying to do an insanely intense spell with practically no magic on top of having a truckload of other injuries is a shockingly bad idea. And again, all of this is coming from me! Tony Stark, unanimously voted ‘worlds worst practitioner of self care’ since I was 12!” Stephen can’t help but wince under Stark’s ferocious glare and cutting words. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Stephen likes it any more than he has to. He’s also wondering why 12 in specific. It’s probably not the time to ask.
Stark softens and sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. He thumps down on the edge of the bed next to Stephen and looks at him with disarmingly vulnerable eyes.
“Look, Stephen, when you collapsed… I was scared. Honest-to-god afraid for you. That doesn’t— I don’t like feeling that way for anyone. Ever. So when you just crumpled and blood started pouring out of you, yeah, I thought you were dying. That made me realise that you dying was not permissible under any circumstances. Just let me take care of you, alright? It would suck if we lost our only magic guy.” Stark’s — well, Stephen should probably call him Tony after that — attempt at humour falls flat after such an emotional speech.
Stephen is shell-shocked, if he’s being honest. The idea that Tony would actually care if he died, that his feelings might be returned, well. It’s a lot for one day.
“I— Alright. You can… take care of me if you want, Tony.” They both know it’s as good of an apology Tony will get from him. Stephen might be imagining it, but a blush seems to bloom across Tony’s cheeks when Stephen says his name. Interesting.
Tony reaches for the bandages and suture kit and makes an awkward aborted motion for the tea before turning to Stephen.
“Uh, do you want some tea? It’s probably cold now.” Stephen shakes his head.
“I’ll only drop it with my hands as they are. Plus I wouldn’t be able to drink it with you about to stitch up my arm.” Tony’s eyes widen as he takes in Stephens trembling hands for the first time.
“Ah, shit, do you need anything for them? Painkillers or bandages or weed or something?” A laugh is pulled out of Stephen at that. Tony grins in return.
Stephen motions to the drawer of the table. “There are some gloves in there that provide pressure. No drugs necessary." Tony nods with another mischievous grin. He retrieves the gloves and hands them over to Stephen, who pulls them on with the Cloaks assistance. He breathes a sigh of relief as the pain in his hands is alleviated.
Tony is sat on a chair right next to his arm, as close as he can physically get with the bedframe in the way. He’s pushed Stephens bedside table away and has the medical supplies nestled on the mattress between them. It’s strangely intimate.
Tony threads the needle and holds it up. “Ready? I don’t want to you freak out about the needle.” Stephen raises both his eyebrows.
“I am, as you said before, ‘an actual medical doctor’. I wouldn’t have done very well professionally if I was afraid of needles.” Tony shrugs unrepentantly.
“I always like to check. Barton once almost skewered Bruce when he didn’t warn him about the needle.” Stephen barks out a laugh. He’s sure that turned out swimmingly. The only fore-warning Stephen gets is the prick of pain from the needle entering his skin. It’s a familiar pain, and a welcome sharpness from the general ache of his body, so he doesn’t flinch.
They fall into a comfortable silence as Tony focuses on stitching Stephen up. From what he can see, they’re impressively neat stitches for someone with no official medical training. When Tony reaches the end of the cut, he leans forward and bites the excess thread off with his teeth.
Stephens brain bluescreens.
That was— holy shit that was incredibly hot. Tony leers upwards at him through his eyelashes, a downright dirty grin spread across his lips. Agamotto help him. He can see where Tony's playboy reputation comes from now.
“That–” Stephen’s voice falters for a second. “That was highly unsanitary.” Tony sees right through him.
“Yeah, but did you enjoy it? I did. Plus I disinfected the wound while you were asleep. It’ll be fine.” Tony is incorrigible. Not that Stephen is complaining, really. Tony hands the used suture kit off to the Cloak and picks up the bandages instead.
With more care than strictly necessary, Tony begins to wrap the wound. Stephen is thankful he doesn’t rip the bandage off with his teeth. Once was quite enough for him. Tony seals the bandage with some tape and pats Stephens arm.
“There we go. All fixed up. You can send the bill to Stark Industries.” Stephen gives a long-suffering sigh. “Alternatively, I take payment in chocolate, flowers or dates with extremely attractive sorcerers. All three if you’re feeling particularly thankful. Maybe don’t tell Pep about the chocolate though.” What? Stephen’s brain malfunctions for the second time in a very short period, and it only serves to make his brain fog worse. There’s no way Tony is asking him on a date. Is there? Tony has an expectant eyebrow raised.
“With me?” Tony looks at him in exasperation.
“No, with Wong. Do you happen to know what music he likes? I was going to take him to a concert.” Stephen mentally hits himself. Who else would Tony be talking about besides him?
“He’s a big Beyoncé fan. Single Ladies is a particular favourite of his.” Tony nods in understanding.
“Great, I’ll set something up then. Is he a home by 8 type or a stay out all night type?”
“He’s more of a ‘never-leaves-the-library-other-than-to-deal-with-my-bullshit’ type.”
Tony grins. “That felt quoted. There a story behind that?” Stephen makes a show of thinking for a few seconds.
“Sure. Maybe I’ll tell you over dinner some time, if you’re lucky.”
“I’ve been known to hit the jackpot a couple of times. How about next Saturday? Gives you plenty of time to heal.” Stephen blinks innocently.
“What, to pick Wong up? I don’t see why I would need to be there for that.” Tony laughs and pokes Stephens thigh, the one without an injury.
“Funny. Seriously though, next Saturday at 8? I know a great restaurant downtown. It’s private too.” Stephen smiles warmly at Tony and nods.
“That would be great, Tony.” Something occurs to Stephen. “Just as long as there’s some no-cutlery options. My hands are unpredictable on the best of days.” Tony heaves a great mock-sigh.
“Stephanie, you have no faith in me. It’s a pizza place. Anyone eating there with cutlery is a certified freak.” Oh. The easy accommodation for Stephen’s disability makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since Christine. It’s far too early to be putting a name to it though.
Stephen, in an uncharacteristically impulsive move, grabs one of Tony’s hands. “Thank you, Tony. I mean it. This is… a lot more care than anyone has shown me in a while.” Tony’s face turns a bright, vibrant red. The Cloak floats up next to him and starts poking his side.
“Oh, yes, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you. Do you have to be here for this? You’re not coming on the date.” The Cloak stills, like a child before they throw a tantrum. Stephen narrows his eyes.
“No. You are not coming. It’s one date! I will be fine!” The Cloak turns its back on Stephen haughtily and floats out of the room. Stephen groans and rubs his hands down his face as Tony chuckles beside him.
“I get it, single parenting can be difficult. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Stephen makes a gap in his fingers to glare at Tony, who is grinning like the cat who got the damn cream.
Stephen points at Tony. “The Cloak will be your problem soon too. We can’t do this relationship if you won’t help with the kids.” Tony grasps his chest in a show of betrayal.
“How dare you call the Cloak a problem? I love that thing like it’s my own toddler-aged sartorial… choice.” Stephen takes great offence at the way Tony says ‘choice’. It’s not like he had one!
Stephen goes to stretch his arms and instead cringes at the pain the runs down them. Tony is by his side in an instant.
“Take it easy, alright? You need lots of rest and no fighting inter-dimensional or intergalactic bugs for a while.” Tony picks up the forgotten tea cup, grimaces at the temperature and puts it back down.
“You know that things trying to take over Earth won’t just wait for me to be ready, right?” Tony shrugs.
“Yeah, well, this time you can call on me and the other Avengers to help with the magic stuff. As much as we can.” Despite all the considerations and care Tony has already shown, it still shocks Stephen that Tony would be willing to offer his services, and the rest of the Avengers, to help Stephen out.
“Thank you. Again. This is far too many ‘thank you’s in one day.” Tony shudders.
“I know, it’s giving me hives. No one should ever be so grateful towards me.” Stephen laughs again. An awkward silence descends over the pair. Tony looks like he doesn’t know if he should stay or if he should go. Stephen makes the decision for him.
He pats the bed beside him. “Will you stay? Wouldn’t want to leave me in this place all alone after all.” Tony looks shocked at the invitation, then settles his face into a warm grin.
“‘Course, Merlin. I’ll protect you from any archdevils or evil slugs that come to bite.” Wong told him about the slug. Great. Tony laughs at the look on Stephens face and comes around the other side of the bed, sliding right in next to Stephen.
Tony doesn’t hesitate to throw his arm over Stephen’s chest, carefully avoiding any injured parts. He smushes his face into Stephens shoulder and taps Stephens chest lightly.
“Sleeping time now. Tony is tired and needs to not think for a while.” Stephen blinks. Did he just refer to himself in the third person? He opens his mouth to ask—
“Shh.” Tony’s hand comes up to rest on his mouth, one finger over Stephens lips. “No more questions. Sleeping.” How can Stephen say no to that? It’s unfathomably adorable. He turns his head as much as he can to rest on top of Tony’s, and closes his eyes.
This may have been the worst week of Stephens life, but he supposes it hasn’t been all bad. Sleep comes for him quickly, and Stephen smiles into Tony’s hair before he’s gone.