Stringless (IronStrange)

Part 3

Stephen pried Tony's hand from his shirt, closing his eyes against the way Tony cried out, reaching for him again. It cleaved his soul in two, but he needed space, needed to think.

He didn't know what had happened at the Avengers fight in the airport, but he knew Tony was afraid of his mind being manipulated. Not only was it one of their conditions regarding their benefits, but Tony's reaction when he'd seen Stephen using magic near his head had led to his frenzied panic, unable to think straight whilst ill.

'Do you wish to know more, doctor?'

The word burned the edge of his tongue, the knowledge just within his grasp.

'No,' he answered, turning to look at Tony in his bed. 'I think I know enough to take an educated guess. I'll wait for Tony to tell me if he wishes to discuss it.' His hands tightened into fists, nails biting into his palms, little fiery crescents branding him.

Taking a few minutes to quell the rage threatening to boil over, Stephen paced in a circle, using breathing techniques he'd learnt in medication to calm himself. He found himself standing back at the head of the bed when he finished, watching over Tony again. The bags under his eyes looked like bruises.

Without thinking about it too hard, he got back into bed, encouraging Tony back into his arms, tucking his head under his chin, the man half laying on Stephen. He pressed his face into Tony's wild hair, inhaling deep.

'Jesus fucking Christ, Tony.'

***

Tony drifted in and out of sleep, his body feeling leaden when he woke up, his limbs aching and his head cracking under the pain. He was aware of cool hands on his face and neck, stroking over his chest, but there was a blurring between wakefulness and his dreamscape.

There were vague, half-remembered reassurances, feeling safe, feeling treasured by someone. Then there were remnants of nightmares clogging his brain, his body frantically trying to fight off his attackers, his limbs weak as a newborn.

He thought he was awake now, his eyes glued shut, his nose blocked, and head stuffed of barbed wire. Voices were whispering above him.

'His fever has broken. The illness needs to run its course.'

'Doctor Strange, you look tired, let me help look after Mr Stark! My abilities let me heal faster, and I don't really get sick, I don't want you to be ill too!'

Tony recognised those voices. His body sunk into the comfort of the bed.

'You have my respect, Stark. When I'm done, half of humanity will still be alive.'

No, no, no he needed to get up to fight. Thanos was still here, was threatening the world.

'Doctor Strange!' The voice sounded panicked.

'I hope they remember you.'

He felt himself claw at his head, nails scrabbling at the hold Thanos had on him, fighting fragments of his memory.

'Tony? It's alright. It's not real. Peter, grab me the medicine off the table, would you?'

That was Stephen.

He shook himself from the vestiges of the past, peering up into aqua eyes.

'Stephen?' he croaked.

'Oh, thank God,' Stephen said in a rush, threading his hand through Tony's hair and pressing lips to his forehead.

This wasn't real. No kissing. No affection. Stephen wouldn't act like that.

Tony fought against the hold lifting him, wanting to scream and curl up in a ball. The images from his past assaulted him, flickering snapshots imprinted on his closed eyelids. Thanos. His parents dying. Steve leaving.