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Heart in a Headlock
‘You know, my wallet would really appreciate you giving the poor DoorDash guy a break,’ Stephen muttered as he shoved his arms into his hoodie. Jogging down the stairs, he rolled his eyes as Wong fell out of a portal. ‘Really, couldn’t even take the stairs?’
‘Do not come between a man and his-’ Wong fell silent as Stephen yanked open the front door. ‘Is that…Iron Man?’
‘In the flesh,’ Tony Stark proclaimed with a grin, which might have been charming if his face wasn’t ashen, the bruise ringed around his right eye an ugly black.
‘Tony?’ Stephen’s lips parted, his words lost.
‘You going to invite me in? People are going to talk.’
He lunged forward as Iron Man began to fall, the heavy weight of the armor a formidable force that sent them both crashing to the floor.
‘A little help?’ Stephen gasped, hand flailing in the air for Wong to pull him back up. He’d never been this close to Iron Man, hadn’t needed to be, and so he hadn’t realized how cold the metal could be against flesh, the burning bite of it.
Is this what he feels when he wears it?
Ignoring Wong’s laughter and the Cloak wrapping around his hand in an attempt to help, Stephen pulled his head back, trying to understand what was happening, why the man in the suit was trembling worse than his hands.
‘Tony? Since when have you been on a first name basis with Iron Man?’ Wong questioned, sharply inhaling as Tony lifted his face.
Dried blood was crusted in the hair at his temple, and if Stephen squinted, he could see flakes of it clinging to Tony’s skin where it had been hastily rubbed away. He’d tried to make himself presentable but had been too distracted to meet his usual standards of impeccable grooming.
He knew Tony’s appearance was another layer of armor, just like the suit that encased him.
What happened to him?
Now knowing what he was looking for, Stephen’s gaze quickly took note of everything, brain shifting to doctor mode, a part of himself he’d never be able to give up. There were other clues, small, broken capillaries around his nose, dark blood crusted in his left nostril, red patches lurking beneath the skin that foretold future hideous bruises.
The three of them managed to get Tony back to his feet, Stephen bracing the weight of the suit when it became clear he was unsteady. Looking beyond him to the street outside, Stephen searched for threats, sending his magic out to investigate when nothing was found.
‘Does something chase you?’ Wong asked as Stephen mentally checked the wards of the Sanctum, afraid of whatever it was that made Tony’s pulse race in his neck.
‘You’re safe,’ Tony wheezed, unsuccessfully hiding his wince as he lowered his gaze.
Not once had Tony Stark, arrogance personified, averted his gaze from Stephen. His fingers stretched out to touch Tony’s face in reassurance, changing trajectory last second to stroke over the serrated lines over the arc reactor, the crushed chest plating.
‘What happened to you?’ Wong breathed out, standing at Stephen’s shoulder as he stared down at the dull arc reactor.
‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’
‘No!’ Tony blurted, too quick for Stephen to be anything other than suspicious. ‘No hospitals. Too many questions, too many sharp objects.’
The arc reactor flickered in desperation.
‘That isn’t going to kill you, right?’
‘The shrapnel was taken out years ago, come on, you know that,’ Tony scoffed, swaying further into Stephen’s hold. ‘You guys not heard of hospitality? You know, offer your guest a drink? Somewhere to sit? Never mind, there looks good.’ He took a few wobbly steps forward and collapsed at the foot of the stairs.
Wong caught his elbow as he stepped forward. ‘Come with me.’
‘I’ve got a situation-’
‘Now, Stephen.’
Torn between the explanation he needed to give and the injured man now being propped up by the Cloak, Stephen turned on his foot, following Wong to the other side of the room, positioning himself so he could keep an eye on Tony.
‘Care to explain to me how you’re on a first name basis with Tony Stark? Or how he knew exactly where to find you? Or perhaps you’d like to explain why he’s not bothered by that!’ Wong gestured, his words blurring together the faster he spoke.
‘By what?’
Wong pointed to where Tony was allowing the Cloak to fuss over him, not batting it away as it nosed at his arc reactor like a dog would. He wasn’t reacting at all, gazing at the floor with the sort of look that tugged at Stephen.
‘Stephen!’ Wong clicked his fingers.
‘We weren’t exactly subtle when we fought Kaecilius. He may have seen-’
‘Stephen.’ If Stephen wasn’t concerned about the man lost to the demons inside his head, he might have laughed at the way Wong’s eye twitched.
‘Tony Stark is…’
They hadn’t discussed that yet.
‘My boyfriend, or he would be, if he didn’t have trust and commitment issues large enough to keep a therapist in business for the rest of their career-’
‘I swear, Strange-’
‘We’re taking it slow, when we have any time for dates that is.’
‘You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were dating Iron Man? We have rules, secrets-’
‘We have to be discreet-’
‘Do not argue semantics with me.’
Stephen held his hands up, trying to diffuse the anger. ‘I should’ve told you.’ He took a deep breath, considering. The truth of what he felt for Tony had been teasing his thoughts for weeks, but then the Accords had happened.
It wasn’t fair to explain feelings he hadn’t been able to articulate to Tony yet, but he owed Wong an explanation.
‘I… like him.’ He let his hands fall to his side, and something in his expression had Wong relaxing too, his eyes widening. ‘This thing between us is new, and I don’t want to mess it up.’
‘This sounds as if it’s more than like,’ Wong whispered.
Not once had Tony called him to explain what was going on with the Accords, and the only time Stephen had subtly enquired, he’d been redirected with some excuse of not wanting to influence Stephen’s views.
As if the lack of contact and dark circles under Tony’s eyes he’d seen in the news hadn’t already swayed him.
Stephen shuffled on the spot, looking over at Tony. ‘I can’t get into it now. I can’t even get into it with Tony. He wants to take it slow, and I respect that. But right now, he’s hurt, and I need to help him.’
‘What do you need from me?’
Turning his attention back to Wong, he gave him a smile, hoping it would convey his gratitude.
‘Alert the other Sanctums, move the apprentices somewhere safe. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it.’
Wong cast one last look at Tony, who now had his head tipped back, his eyes closed as he performed a slow breathing exercise.
An exercise Stephen had taught him for when nightmares kept him up at night.
‘What happened to him?’
‘I’m about to find out,’ Stephen whispered, clasping Wong on the shoulder.
This thing between them was still new, delicate, treasured, and Stephen was handling it with the utmost care, not wanting to screw it up. He had allowed Tony to set the pace, the limits. It had been months of scattered dates and late-night talks, their relationship juvenile by modern day standards. However, when both partners had threats to deal with, meetings with SHIELD, and training apprentices, it worked for them.
Stephen had seen Tony bruised after a battle, had listened to his manic rants about how the Avengers could’ve fought better as a team, and had cleaned the blood smeared over his teeth as he’d smiled in victory.
This Tony Stark was defeated, broken.
He didn’t know how to act or what he needed to do for Tony. Stephen wanted to shout at him for being so hurt, to wrap him in his arms, the conflicting concerns confusing him, crippling him.
‘It’s a little distracting, staying in the suit,’ Stephen told him as he approached, folding his arms and looking down at him.
Tony Stark, a marvel of gleaming technology and renewable energy was nestled against the backdrop of ancient artifacts and crackling parchment. He was a distortion in the serenity of the archaic building, innovation clashing against tradition, and it was Stephen who had brought him in, who wanted to forge an alliance.
For them to merge and become something greater than themselves.
‘The suit stays on,’ Tony rasped out, opening his eyes and glancing around the Sanctum, seeing invisible foes in the shadowed corners.
‘If that makes you more comfortable,’ Stephen reassured, crouching down in front of him, praying the wheezing in Tony’s breath had something to do with the suit and not his lungs.
Tony met Stephen’s gaze, the first time he’d done so since knocking on the Sanctum’s door. He was a wounded animal, trying to lick his wounds, and Stephen was reminded of being back in Nebraska, of coaxing colts to him with apples and gentle words.
‘You did the right thing, refusing to join us.’ Tony’s smile was uncomfortable, like he was out of practice.
Stephen wanted nothing to do with the Avengers, their mess, their glory, and the absolute shit storm that was the Accords. He was glad he’d slapped aside Iron Man’s offer of friendship.
Tony’s, however…
‘What happened?’ Stephen dared to reach out, touching his knee, hoping Tony would feel it somehow despite the armor.
‘I trusted him,’ Tony whispered. ‘He knew…they were friends, I don’t understand.’
Tony had the kind of eyes that you thought about in the middle of the night, how expressive they were, how the skin crinkled when he laughed, and Stephen wanted to be the reason behind that softness that shone within them.
Haunted brown eyes looked past Stephen, hugging his arm close to his chest.
This wasn’t an enemy attack, Tony had already reassured both of them.
Something sinister had happened.
Stephen had watched the footage in Lagos with his hand over his mouth, as if he could somehow stuff the horror back inside, the loss of life staggering. He’d tried to reach out to Tony, knowing how guilty he would feel, the conflict between collateral damage and human lives. That was an issue Stephen had needed to come to terms with, but Tony hadn’t wanted to talk, only offering the occasional text message as he struggled with the media backlash against the Avengers. After the bombing in Vienna, Stephen wasn’t able to contain his fears any longer, opening a portal directly to Tony, uncaring if he was discovered.
Thankfully, Tony had been alone in his bedroom, and he accepted Stephen’s fussing without complaining, allowing his probing fingers as he reassured himself that Tony was unharmed. He hadn’t even been in Vienna, but he explained the facts to Stephen as he offered him a drink, not wanting to influence him one way or another, but he’d been distracted, checking his phone, his gaze distant.
It hadn’t been his place to tell Tony how to handle the tension within the team, to ask how he was feeling after Steve Rogers had publicly made his official stance known. No matter how much he ached to fix the problem, to hide Tony away, he could do nothing but stand behind him.
Wong was right. This wasn’t like, not anymore.
‘Trusted who, sweetheart?’ The endearment slipped out easily, but Tony was deaf to it. He stretched out his hand to take the metal ones, enticing Tony back to the present moment, back to him.
‘He knew he killed them,’ Tony murmured. ‘And he…protected him.’
He wasn’t making sense, and Stephen struggled to hear him over the chattering of his teeth.
Shock? Or injury?
‘Show me how to remove the suit from the outside-’
‘Why?’ Tony snapped, ripping his hand away to point it at Stephen. There was a faint whir of energy as the suit tried to power the repulsors, and the Cloak wrapped around Stephen’s shoulders, ready to shield him.
Shaking his head at it, Stephen heard the splutter as the suit failed, the arc reactor flickering.
Whatever attacked Tony knew exactly how to incapacitate him.
Or whoever.
‘Tony, I need to assess the injuries to your body.’
‘Do it from there,’ Tony hissed.
‘Talented as I am, I can’t look through metal.’
Tony didn’t move.
‘You came here for a reason,’ Stephen encouraged. ‘Remember, the Sanctum is a place of safety, that’s why you came-’
‘Not the Sanctum, you.’ Tony dropped his hand. ‘Sorry, everything feels a bit swimmy.’
‘Not sure that’s a word, but alright.’
Possible concussion.
‘FRIDAY? Give Stephen the rundown on my injuries…FRIDAY?’ His voice wobbled, and he swore under his breath, frantically patting his broken arc reactor.
‘Tony?’ Stephen carefully cupped his face in his hands, waiting until their gazes met, taking a deep breath and waiting until Tony followed it. ‘You said you trusted me. I need you to remove your suit.’
Tony held his gaze for a long moment, his face crumpling as he fought his internal fears.
There was a hiss of sound, a mechanical whir and then a grind of metal against metal that had Stephen’s hair standing on edge. Pieces began to shift, panels at the legs and arms, clattering onto the floor, but the chest piece didn’t move. No matter how Tony struggled with it, his left arm useless, he couldn’t remove it.
Moving slowly so Tony could see his hands the entire time, Stephen carefully fitted his fingers around the edge of the armor, feeling how thick it was, the strength in the metal. What manner of foe could damage it in this way?
How close had he come to losing Tony?
Stephen swallowed thickly, saying, ‘On the count of three?’
There was a little huff of breath that might be mistaken for a laugh, and they both moved on two, the chest piece snapping away.
Stephen prided himself on having a good poker face, keeping his expression neutral no matter what he was faced with, be that a doctor or a Master of the Mystic Arts. He drew on that strength now, looking down at Tony as he would a patient, assessing the damage.
Aside from the obvious damage to his face, parts of the armor had pierced Tony’s skin from where it had bent back towards his body, tearing through the undersuit and flesh. Quickly searching for any that needed immediate attention, Stephen was relieved to see that most had stopped bleeding, but the dark, slow spreading stain over Tony’s ribs was concerning.
Without thinking, he opened a portal to his bedroom.
‘Well, I don’t know Stephen, this is all moving a bit fast for me.’
There he was, there was the Tony he knew.
‘No matter how many times I’ve lectured you on your posture, you still curl up like a shrimp. Either lie on the bed, or the floor, but I need to see what I’m dealing with.’
‘What, not even a please?’
‘No, get up.’
Even without the armor weighing him down, Tony struggled to get up, and Stephen watched him before he offered a hand.
‘Accepting help isn’t a weakness,’ he said, all sarcasm aside as he waited.
‘It can’t get any worse.’
Ignoring the muttered comment, Stephen gripped the hand in his, the other going to his elbow to help him to his feet. He positioned his shoulder for Tony to lean against, waiting before they hobbled towards the portal.
He’d lost weight, Stephen had suspected the last time they’d seen each other, but the evidence was leaning into him now, and he had to resist the urge to fold him into his arms, to shake him and demand to know what had happened.
‘Wait,’ Tony gasped at the last moment, his hand trying to hold Stephen’s arm, and he noticed the lack of strength in the grip, confirming Stephen’s suspicion about further damage to his left arm.
Tony swallowed thickly as he beheld the shining circle, his eyes wide. He knew what Stephen did, had compared it to Wanda’s powers and then laughed at Stephen’s outrage, but Tony had never seen what he could do, never experienced it.
‘It’s just a means of transport. Stepping from one room to another.’
His concern was understandable. For Stephen, magic was a fundamental part of him, a relatively new part, but something he performed without thinking. It would be disconcerting for anyone to see a portal. Christine had been scared the first time she’d experienced it.
That wasn’t fair to Tony, comparing him to a past love, but Stephen hadn’t felt the need to reassure Christine, too preoccupied at the time with everything that had been happening. With Tony, he found himself moving, so he was blocking the threat, a wall of safety.
‘You’re safe with me,’ he swore, watching those brown eyes dart about, trying to get up on his tiptoes to look around him, straining against Stephen’s hold.
‘Can’t I just get on the floor here?’
He could, Stephen had no objections, but his gaze went over Tony’s shoulder to the top of the staircase, the smaller man turning in time to see Wong disappear.
‘No privacy,’ Tony muttered to himself.
‘He’s worried about you.’
‘If this closes on me, will it slice me in half?’ Tony ignored the concern, his gaze back on the portal, flecks of amber reflected in his eyes.
‘Yes, but it won’t. I’m holding it open.’
Tony’s mouth opened on a silent word, before closing it and then trying again. His eyes became clearer as he watched Stephen. ‘You’ve never been afraid to tell me the truth.’
‘Nope.’
He watched Tony consider it, his uninjured hand clenching the material of Stephen’s hoodie.
‘Tony, I won’t hurt you.’ He wasn’t entirely sure what prompted the reassurance, an apprehension that he didn’t want to look at, couldn’t allow himself to believe.
Tony knew the person who had hurt him.
With one last clench of his fist, Tony hobbled forward, refusing to stop.
Revealing the shredded suit clinging to his back.
His lack of interest in Stephen’s bedroom revealed more clues to his mental state, usually Stephen couldn’t deflect his curiosity about everything and anything to do with his life. Bending to the floor, Stephen picked up Tony’s helmet, thumb stroking over the dents, as his magic collected the rest of the suit. Sending a request to the Cloak, Stephen stepped in after him, turning at the last minute to give Wong a hard look as the portal closed.
Tony was an absolute contradiction, a huge personality that demanded to be seen, heard, but small in stature, crippled perhaps by Afghanistan, broken but mighty. Stephen looked down at the helmet in his hands, the piece of technology at complete odds with the interior of his bedroom.
He brushed aside the books on his desk, the pieces of parchment so he could set it down carefully, glancing around his room and wishing he’d had time to make it more presentable, that Tony wasn’t sitting on rumpled, crumb infested bed covers.
Knowing it wasn’t important, Stephen joined Tony on the bed, the scent of honeysuckle and stolen sticky buns on his bookcase tangling with Tony’s hair. He brushed the fine strands back, feeling where it was matted with blood, mindful of his injuries. Holding his free hand out for the Cloak, he murmured his thanks for the first aid box, gently shooing it away as it peered at Tony.
‘Sweetheart, can you lie back for me?’
Tony did so, and the utter compliance, the lack of any sort of suggestive quips frightened Stephen, but he stuffed that and any other feelings aside as he sat beside him. He carefully pried free the scraps of Tony’s undersuit, revealing burgeoning bruises spreading across skin like paint over water.
There was no reaction from Tony, not even when the fabric stuck to the wound Stephen was most concerned about. Swearing under his breath, he held his hand out for the Cloak to place the saline solution in, wishing there was a painless way to do this, holding his breath as he poured it over the fabric, peeling it from the skin.
Tony didn’t flinch.
Without seeing Tony’s medical files, it was difficult to know what was historical damage and what was new, but whichever it was, Tony’s sternum made his stomach twist, and there was a deformity over the collarbone, which suggested a fracture.
‘Tony, I think we need to go to the hospital-’
‘No. Do what you can.’
‘Sweetheart, I-’
‘Do what you can!’ Tony snapped, gritting his teeth.
Stephen opened his box, pulling out what he needed, refusing to be baited, to acknowledge how his hands trembled more than usual. He would focus on what needed to be done and then send Tony on his way. Sterilizing his hands with a spell, Stephen refused to acknowledge the hurt that was festering inside him. So what if Tony hadn’t called him after the bombing, hadn’t explained why he had a black eye from before today, that he was injured now. He didn’t owe him anything, they hadn’t spoken about exclusivity, hadn’t even-
‘I’m sorry,’ Tony whispered, snapping him free of his fury-induced spiral.
Stephen looked down, noticing that he was Tony’s focus, that his hand had crept over the bed to rest on his thigh.
‘You need stitches,’ Stephen told him, his anger lingering, not willing to let it go yet.
‘Can you do it?’
Stephen hesitated.
‘Please?’
‘It’ll hurt.’
I don’t want to hurt you any further.
Tony just smiled at him, the movement making the cut above his lip ooze blood down onto his teeth.
‘I know,’ he whispered, answering Stephen’s internal thought. Using his fingers to wipe away the blood, Stephen held his gaze for a moment before sighing in aggravation.
Checking he had the thread needed to make the sutures, Stephen searched in his box for his needle, breath whistling from clenched teeth in frustration before creating one out of thin air, using his magic to thread it. Tony said nothing about the glowing needle hovering, but his hand twitched on Stephen’s thigh.
Snatching the needle, Stephen channeled the magic into his hands instead. It was better this way. He could be sure of the precision, how much force to use. He bent down to examine the gaping wound, the saline solution clearing most of the blood, revealing that no poison or debris had been left behind.
There wouldn’t be if it had been created by the jagged shards of the suit.
‘Do you remember the first thing I said to you?’ Stephen asked, hating himself when Tony hissed at the needle.
‘Not interested,’ Tony answered, watching him. ‘And then you shut the door in my face.’
That wasn’t the entire truth. Before superheroes were even a thing, before magic and alternate dimensions, they had met. It had only been for a few minutes, a blip in Tony Stark’s life, but Stephen remembered vividly.
‘You know, when I first saw you, I expected the arrogance, your perfect smile for the camera,’ Stephen murmured, threading the skin together, falling back on muscle memory. ‘I was being paraded about, a new and upcoming neurosurgeon, all but begging for funding.’
‘Fundraisers can be like that,’ Tony muttered.
‘I watched you. You knew how to work the room, how to create soundbites for the media, who to take photos with.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Tony said.
‘You talked to me,’ Stephen whispered, careful with how much he offered, still feeling the weight of Tony’s stare.
Tony had been torn in all directions with people clambering for his attention, but he had held his hand up for silence as he spoke to Stephen, refusing to let security jostle him into moving on.
‘That speech I gave you, I’d practiced it for days. In front of the mirror, pacing in the penthouse, dreaming about it. You had people fighting to speak to you, and for those few minutes, you focused entirely on me.’
He hated how soft his voice was, how much it gave away.
Tony Stark had given him his full attention.
Stephen had never forgotten that. No matter how many years passed.
Years later, when Tony had knocked on the door of the Sanctum, had continued to knock after Stephen had said no, Stephen still remembered those handful of minutes at the conference.
‘I’ve been made aware of a whole secret organization right here in the heart of New York. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?’
Those were the first words Tony had spoken after Stephen finally left the door open, a moment of weakness that forever changed things between them.
‘The fact that you’re on Hydra’s shit list makes you very interesting, Stephen Strange. Or are you still Doctor Stephen Strange?’
‘Privacy obviously means nothing to you.’
‘Privacy is why I’m here as me, not as a SHIELD or Avenger representative. Last time I saw you, you were all excited about neurons. That sort of passion doesn’t disappear because you’ve become a magician.’
‘And then you remembered me.’
‘Course I did, pretty thing with eyes like yours,’ Tony whispered, looking down at his wound as Stephen finished.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ Stephen asked, pulling out the saline solution again along with cotton pads.
‘I never asked what your thoughts were on the Accords.’
‘Do they matter?’ Stephen questioned, pouring solution onto a pad to begin the slow process of cleaning Tony’s facial wounds. ‘I don’t know where to touch you without hurting you,’ he murmured, holding the pad against his jaw, his grip on his control slipping. This was all he could do, the only healing he could offer, and he used his thumb to stroke over Tony’s skin, hoping the limited contact was a comfort.
‘Your thoughts always matter,’ Tony told him.
‘I’m part of a secret organization of…what did you call us? Magicians.’ Stephen thoroughly wiped away any blood Tony had missed, the tiny pieces of rubble embedded in his skin. ‘I understand why Rogers has concerns about Government corruption influencing the Avengers.’
‘You’re not influenced by political agendas or bureaucratic bullshit,’ Tony agreed.
‘Governments are corruptible. But then, so are people who have been in trusted positions for decades,’ Stephen amended, remembering how the Ancient One had bent the rules. ‘We have leaders too, a hierarchy of people we answer to, but if we take on Rogers’s point of view, does that mean the only people we should ever trust are ourselves?’
Tony glanced away, and Stephen watched his tongue push along the inside of his cheek.
‘Who do the Avengers answer to then? Themselves?’ Tony asked after a few moments.
Stephen didn’t have the answer. He had his own concerns regarding Wanda, where she drew her abilities from, apprehensions he’d only shared with Wong. This wasn’t the time to voice such doubts.
‘Did you know that when Fury first asked me to be a consultant, I didn’t trust any of them, not even when I became part of the team. Wanted them to feel welcome, built their tech, but trust-’
‘You don’t trust anyone,’ Stephen interrupted, finally examining the nasty gash on his head. Whatever dressing he applied to the cut wouldn’t adhere with Tony’s hair in the way, and Stephen made a mental note to monitor it for infections.
‘I trust you.’
Stephen didn’t have an answer for that.
‘I had escape routes all planned out if I needed them. Created the Hulkbuster armor, had ways to disable those fancy new arrows I built for Clint-’ He started coughing, struggling to breathe, and Stephen dropped the cotton pad in a panic, helping Tony sit up, holding him steady.
‘I think you might have a sternal fracture. Your collarbone is definitely busted.’
‘I think Pepper already fills the job of mother hen,’ Tony wheezed, waving off the painkillers Stephen fished from his first aid box.
‘Take them, or it’s the hospital. Your choice.’
‘You know the one person I didn’t protect myself from?’
Stephen shook his head, watching Tony’s throat, reassuring himself that he was swallowing the pills and not hiding them in his mouth, ready to spit out.
‘I always felt guilty for protecting myself against the team, but he was right. Take away the suit, and what am I?’ Tony gestured down at himself, his upper lip curling. ‘Banner could pulverize me, Nat could snap my neck with her thighs, but I never thought to counter him, never thought I needed to protect myself against him.’
The hand which Stephen had been rubbing over Tony’s shoulders stiffened.
‘Did…did one of your team-’
‘God, I even know how Steve fights and I still…even with FRIDAY helping me-’
‘You fought with Steve Rogers?’
Stephen drew back to look at Tony’s face, the ugly wound he’d stitched up, the misshapen bump at his collarbone, Tony’s blood on his fingers.
No, this hadn’t been a fight.
‘I tried to kill Barnes,’ Tony seethed. ‘And I still want to.’
‘Barnes? James Barnes…the guy who bombed Vienna?’
‘The framed, brainwashed, lifelong best friend of Captain America.’
It was too much information, too much he didn’t understand, but the same two thoughts kept replaying in his mind.
Captain America did this?
Tony tried to kill someone?
Tony idolized Steve Rogers, loved and hated him in equal measure, a man Stephen had found himself being jealous of. Stephen tried to meet Tony’s gaze, seeing the angry, unshed tears darkening his eyes.
Steve Rogers’s strength was incredible, a superhuman feat of manmade engineering, like Tony’s suit. Beneath that was a fragile, weak, human. No matter his brilliance, his intellect, Tony could not stand beside Rogers when it came to physical strength.
‘Why did you try to kill someone?’ His brain caught on that question first, ignoring the dull roar deep in his ears at the other.
Stephen knew Tony. Knew Iron Man. Despite all the rumors, the speculation, he knew Tony wasn’t as irrational as people thought, that every decision had already been thought out before anyone else had considered it.
He wasn’t a killer.
Tony refused to meet his gaze, shame hunching his shoulders, and Stephen saw it then, this proud, mortal man, who never bent, never gave up, who stood shoulder to shoulder with insane super powered humans to keep humanity safe.
He was in agony. He’d barely reacted to Stephen piercing him with a needle, cleaning his wound, the broken bone, but now, in the safety of Stephen’s bedroom, he struggled under the weight of his pain.
‘I watched him kill my mom.’
‘She died in a car crash,’ Stephen said without thinking, immediately hating himself for voicing his confusion.
‘Barnes murdered her. Strangled her. ’ The emotion drained from Tony, his tears dried, his body lax, but his knuckles were white from where he clutched the suit covering his thighs.
Stephen tumbled from the bed looking down in horror at Tony.
‘Wait, wait a minute…you watched your…you saw her die and then-’
‘Steve knew. He was their friend, was my friend and…’ Tony couldn’t say anything else.
Tony had attacked Barnes. Barnes and Rogers had stopped him.
Two super soldiers had attacked him
‘When Steve said he knew…something just-’
‘Stop!’ Stephen shouted, lifting his hands up as he clenched his eyes shut. ‘You fought with Rogers and Barnes?’
The truth had been in front of him, the destroyed suit, the injuries, his shock, and Stephen had taken this long to figure it out. Fury immobilized him, scalding and raw, his vision darkening around the edges.
The Cloak flew in front of his face, gesturing, trying to free him from the irrational, emotional chokehold. Resentment intertwined with rage, his sorrow for Tony, his own guilt about a loved one lost, twisting harder and harder until it was a black knot lodged in his soul. The Cloak flapped at him again, pointing behind him, refusing to stop even when Stephen’s hand lashed out to make it leave him alone.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ he snapped, refusing to let Tony see how his anger was affecting him, how it was consuming his body, muscle, sinew, bone.
‘I wanted to hurt him.’
‘Not that! Why didn’t you call me?’ Stephen demanded. ‘You didn’t have to do this alone. You don’t need to go into danger alone. You didn’t have to face Captain America alone!’
‘Stephen-’
‘No! You shouldn’t have gone alone.’
‘Cap did a good enough job at stopping me-’
‘I would’ve helped you,’ Stephen spat, finally looking at him.
He understood why the arc reactor had been smashed in, the marks on Tony’s chest. Rogers had been after the power source, needing to incapacitate Tony to get him to stop. What would’ve been going on in Tony’s head? The hurt, grief, fighting Rogers, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t-
‘Stephen.’
A hand clutched his wrist.
‘Why are you so angry?’
‘How can you even be asking me that?’
Tony tugged at him, and Stephen planted his feet, struggling to understand, wanting to weep, to shout, to open a portal to Steve Rogers.
There were a million ways I could make him suffer.
‘Come here, please?’ Tony whispered, the plea drawing Stephen down.
Lurching forward, Stephen wrapped him up in his arms, one hand on the back of his head as he guided it down to the crook of his neck. He wanted to voice all the threats running through his mind, all the ways he could make Rogers and Barnes feel Tony’s pain.
‘I lost my sister when I was a kid,’ Stephen spoke into Tony’s hair, trying to ignore his anger, knowing it wasn’t helpful in this situation, that he needed to support Tony.
How many more times could Tony withstand a broken heart, broken bones, a shattered soul? One day he would heal with Stephen and everyone he cared about on the outside. Safe and alone. He needed Tony to hear him, to show him he understood.
A fierce, urgent imperative to prove to Tony that he was protected.
‘We were skating on the ice, and she fell through. I couldn’t…I couldn’t save her,’ Stephen stumbled over the words. ‘I watched Donna die.’
Tony’s hands reached up to hold onto his back, supporting, understanding.
‘For months afterwards, years, I was furious with the world. Tony,’ Stephen drew him back, hand moving down to cup his neck. ‘I understand what you’re feeling, and I didn’t watch the murder of someone I care about.’ Stephen leant down to press his lips against Tony’s forehead, his lips lingering afterwards.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered against the bruised skin.
Waving his hand over Tony’s body, the torn undersuit was removed, one of Stephen’s oversized T-shirts was draped over him instead.
‘I don’t know where to go from here,’ Tony said, sounding lost.
‘Stay with me, please,’ Stephen pleaded. ‘We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Let the painkillers do their job, let the shock settle and then we’ll come up with a plan.’
‘You keep saying we.’
‘You’ve done this alone too long.’ Stephen forced his tone to stay calm, feeling the dark knot tighten. ‘Tony, listen, grief has a way of removing you from the world, of erasing morals. People do reckless things when they’re hurt.’ He encouraged Tony back into bed, stroking over his head, mindful of his wounds.
‘It scares me, what I’ll feel if I’m not angry at Barnes. Anger feels like I’m in control. Missing her…I don’t know how to cope with that,’ Tony whispered.
‘Do you want some help falling asleep?’
Tony tensed beside him before nodding.
‘Rest now, I’ll keep watch,’ Stephen promised, magic glimmering at his fingertips as he swept them over Tony’s eyes.
Despite feeling Tony’s body go lax in sleep, his body at peace and free from dreams, Stephen waited for a long time, trying to unpick everything he had learnt, his feelings, his rage.
Stephen wouldn’t do anything to hurt Rogers, not physically, but Wanda wasn’t the only magic wielder who could invade people’s minds. Captain America wanted to curry favor with the public, wanted to defend the common man?
Then Stephen would show the world exactly who Steve Rogers was.
Opening a small portal to Tony’s bedroom, he rooted around on the nightstand, pulling through Tony’s watch.
‘FRIDAY? Do you have the footage of Tony’s fight with Rogers?’
‘I do,’ she whispered back.
‘How hard would it be for you to leak said footage?’
‘There are strict safety protocols in place, SHIELD firewalls to prevent such a leak from happening. However, I believe a back door wouldn’t be difficult to find, should the need arise.’
Stephen glanced down at Tony, threading fingers in his hair, catching a trace of blood he’d missed in his initial clean.
‘Can it be traced back to Tony?’
‘No.’
‘Do it.’
Let the world see their hero for who he really was.
The End.
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