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strxngemxgick · 2 years

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Dead On Your Feet

October 4, 2022, Day 4

Prompt: Dead on your feet (waking up disoriented, can’t pass out)

Summary: Stephen deviates from the sacred timeline. Love is to blame.

Readers: @cherryfinolahobbes @shieldagentnatasharomanoff @mehrere-musen

“Baby boy, you’ve just got the biggest heart.” It was the earliest memory that he had of his mother; her kind words were soft as she murmured them against his head, pressing sweet kisses to his temple. Her tone was as gentle as her touch, her hands soft against his cheeks, her smile bright and warm. He couldn’t remember what he had done, necessarily, to warrant such regard, but as a child, Stephen didn’t think he would ever feel so proud as he did then. He would cling to the delight in Beverly Strange’s sweet voice, heavy with familiar midwestern twang. “So full of love. Sweetest little thing.”

He vaguely remembered her warning him, shortly after. She advised him to be careful with that big, overflowing heart of his. Keep it open, but keep it guarded, because it would be a surefire way to get himself hurt.

Stephen didn’t immediately take that much in; he was too busy reveling in the idea of how happy he’d made one of the most important people in his life.

He hadn’t considered her advice until much later, when the hurt had already begun to sink in. His childhood had been fair, with hardly any room for complaints. He had been happy, healthy, and safe, so what reason did he have to bar himself from the world? If kindness spread a joy like he had seen in his youth, wouldn’t it be better to spread that sort of feeling wherever he went? Didn’t everyone deserve at least that much? He thought that, maybe, he would be content to go through the remainder of his life that way, but reality didn’t make such selfless love easy in the face of grief.

Donna’s death had hit him hard. Had closed the first window to his heart and instead opened the door to the drive of success. He parted from his family, his friends, his home, to focus more on his upcoming career - because he refused to consider it a potential career, because he was determined to make a name for himself in the medical world. To an extent, he imagined that he could still say it was love that fueled him. He remembered the feeling of Donna’s body in his arms. The heavy stiffness of her limbs. The way her frozen lips almost stuck to his as he attempted rescue breaths. The way her ribcage felt uncomfortably brittle as he attempted chest compressions. He remembered the hopelessness of losing someone so dear to him, and the hollowness that came with knowing not only would he have to try and continue a normal life without his baby sister, but that he could have done something about it if only he was better.

His mother was the next to go. He was comfortable in his career by then, starting to prove himself as somebody. Surgery had become second nature to him, wielding a scalpel coming as easily as breathing, and his success rate was, to that point, unblemished. It should have been ill advised for Beverly to approach her son for medical aid, but by God, they had been through thick and thin already, and if she trusted anyone with her life, it was her son. Her Stephen. Her sweet, sweet boy.

It was cruel of her to ask, in hindsight.

Glioblastoma.

Particularly aggressive.

Inoperable.

Stephen had to shut down when he told her that trying to remove the tumor was more dangerous than even leaving it tether to her brain. Really, he had been petrified. There was no winning in a situation where he had to tell his mother that he couldn’t save her, because he would only risk killing her faster. And he had to completely shield himself from the vulnerability in her gaze. The hurt. The betrayal. And still, the love.

She didn’t have much longer.

Eugene Strange had grieved himself to death not long after. The scars of his broken family were just too much.

Stephen never let go of his drive. His desire to be the best, so that maybe, one day, he could make sure no one would feel his pain again. He told himself that if he had just been a little bit better, then maybe, he could have cut the cancer right out of his mother. Fixed her. Saved her. His dreams made it so easy to lose himself to his work, and in doing so, he realized that he never quite opened himself back up. He hadn’t bothered to throw those doors to his truest self open, and really, why should he bother? Who did he have left?

He hadn’t realized that Christine had managed to worm her way in until after the car wreck. After his entire purpose had been stolen from him. Broken and lost, he had chased her away. What would she want with an empty man? Devoid of love? If she ever needed, he couldn’t keep her safe. Hell, he could barely keep himself alive. It was easier to be alone, to wallow, than to risk opening up the floodgates and letting her back in.

It wasn’t until Kamar-Taj, and his true journey of healing in the mystic arts, that Stephen truly began to remember himself. The Ancient One’s words had settled deep into his soul, weakening the barrier he had erected around himself with one easy blow.

“It’s not about you.”

Selflessness. Kindness. Love.

He had been those things, once. He wanted to believe that he still could be.

Saving the world from the oppression of Dormammu and the influence of the Dark Dimension had been an easy decision. Second nature. Like breathing. Like love. The knowledge that he had been a doctor for the entirety of Earth settled in his chest with that familiar warmth of his youth. It made the nightmares worth it. It made those sleepless nights mean everything. It made the sunrises more magical. It made all of the hurt mean something.

“You’ve got the biggest heart.”

He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten the warmth of such knowledge. The satisfaction of doing something genuinely good, even if thankless. It was an utterly addictive feeling, and Stephen spent the bulk of his new career as a sorcerer chasing that rush. Wong was the only one who ever said anything, worry making his frown lines more prominent as he patched up his companion, but there was no denying the joy Stephen had felt, and that was enough.

The suffering was fine. He knew what to expect; his mother had already warned him of that much when he was younger.

Thanos made him remember it with startling clarity, though.

The Time Stone brought it all home.

And Tony Stark had been the catalyst.

Stephen hadn’t been much of a fan of the man from the very beginning. Even before the days of heroism and the Avengers and Iron Man, there had been plenty not to like. His name in the arms industry had stood against everything that Stephen stood for. The preservation of life, cut down in the wake of weapons of mass destruction had always left a sour taste in the former doctor’s mouth. And it certainly didn’t help that Stark was an incurable prick. Cocky and flirtations and narcissistic, he mirrored the worst qualities that Stephen saw in himself, and it made their interactions all the more painful. For a genius, Strange had seen him as simple-minded, incapable of seeing the bigger picture as the Time Stone was consistently put in harm’s way, and Stark seemed intent on putting it there. It was a difficult decision, being willing to sacrifice the wellbeing of one of the world’s most beloved figures and a sweet, bright-eyed teenage boy for the sake of the universe, but one didn’t become Sorcerer Supreme without having to make the hard decisions. It put him back in the mindset of that cold, calculating surgeon all over again, and the sensation of having to shut down for the sake of humanity had made his skin crawl.

Of course he blamed Tony Stark. The man had backed them into a corner, and the Mad Titan was closing in by the second. They had to act fast, and they had to act smart.

A time loop had saved him once before. He didn’t think it would make matters any worse.

Fourteen million, six hundred and five.

Entire lifetimes had passed by in the span of seconds, but Stephen remembered all of them.

Had lived all of them.

With the knowledge that he had time, that the end of the world could wait a little longer as he strategized in his carefully crafted dream, it became too easy for Stephen to let his guard down.

Peter was the first one he found himself getting attached to. The young hero truly had a heart of gold. Optimistic and genuine and entirely too soft, Peter Parker made himself easily likable. His intellect made it easy to converse with him. His empathy made it easy for Stephen to be himself around him. To care. To love. He was a constant across the would-be realities that the sorcerer explored, and though it was never easy to watch his inevitable demise, it was always a pleasure to be with him.

The Guardians were easy enough to get used to. Their jovial nature and borderline naivete made them rather refreshing company. In the realities where they left Titan and returned to Earth, which were surprisingly many, Stephen found himself on amicable terms with many members of the fractured Avengers, as well.

But surprisingly enough, none had garnered his affections quite like Tony Stark.

With time came understanding, and it was inevitable that they would eventually come to know each other as they were. Stephen came to truly grasp the inner workings of the former arms dealer. Where there was cockiness, Stephen saw a defense mechanism, and good humor, and humbleness masquerading as egotism. Flirtation gave way to an overly friendliness, made necessary because Stephen was able to see just how much Tony craved affection and validation. Narcissism came from the need to be the best. To prove himself. To make something of himself to please his father, to please the world, and to try and please himself. Iron Man, which Stephen had seen as a means of new clout and a reckless hyperfixation had been legitimate. A need to protect. Defend. A means of penance for the lives his creations had taken. Tony had just wanted to do the right thing, in the end, and he was willing to die for it in a heartbeat. (Stephen saw much of himself in Tony, though as time passed, it didn’t hurt so much anymore.)

And die for that cause, he would. Many times. An unfathomable number of demises for the sake of saving the world. For love.

There wasn’t a single outcome where Tony was given his legitimate happy ending, and it hurt so much, tearing Stephen up inside in a way that he hadn’t expected.

He was pulled from his visions before he could complete his venture through the fourteenth million, six hundred and sixth possibility. Chaotic, and bloody, and still so close, yet, not for Tony. Never for Tony. And as the other man had come to Stephen as he hyperventilated and grieved and fought the unbearable urge to cry, he knew what had to be done.

It was easy to give his life for Tony the first time. He would do it again in a heartbeat, he decided.

His chance came five years later.

Everything was going according to plan. The Battle of Earth had waged fiercely on the scorched land, amidst the rubble of the once proud Avengers compound. The scales were still capable of tipping one way or the other as heroes from all corners of the galaxy played keepaway with the stones, before it had finally wound up between Thanos and Tony. Right there, at their feet, as blows were traded and blood was spilled. And there was Stephen, on the sidelines, unable to do anything as his heart ached for his dear friend - and oh, how he tried not to think about how such a companionship was actually one-sided. It wouldn’t change his mind, but the stirrings of insecurity were frustrating. Would Tony be more or less angry if he knew how close they had become in every timeline but that one? Would he feel any better about what Stephen was going to do?

Probably not. Because Tony loved as easily as he did.

It didn’t take hardly any prompting for other sorcerers to come to Stephen’s aid, forcing back the wall of water that threatened to end their forces as easily as the army around them. They were capable mages, certainly able to keep everyone safe as the struggle was ended once and for all.

He was vaguely aware of Wong calling his name as he sprinted across the field, the Cloak carrying him the rest of the way when it looked like time might be running out. It wasn’t happy about its master’s decision, but it, too, felt the urge to protect.

When Stephen scooped up the gauntlet, he was sure he felt his fingers brush Tony’s.

When he slipped it on, he could barely see both comrade and adversary regard him with wide, wild eyes as the pain became blinding.

And when Stephen snapped his fingers, even the misery of his damaged nerves couldn’t compare to the sheer torture of being ripped apart, molecule by molecule.

Or the desperate fear and anger burning in Tony Stark’s gaze.

“Hey, Merlin! Strange! Damn it, you bastard, come on!”

The world filtered in through a fog. A haze had settled over Stephen’s gaze, painting the world in muted colors, everything out of focus. His mouth was dry, his throat on fire. He couldn’t feel the right half of his body, but he could still smell it burning, almost tasting it as he tried to draw weak, choked breaths through his mouth. For a moment, it was impossible to remember what time he was in, reality meaning nothing when he had lived and died and done it all over again. He thought, briefly, about going back under, losing himself to the ebb and flow of his loop because surely it wasn’t a winning timeline he had found. He hurt so much that he didn’t hurt at all, his body shutting down around him.

“Don’t you dare. Wake back up.”

That voice…

Tony…

For all of the futures that Stephen had seen, never had Tony managed to outlive him. Much to Stephen’s chagrin, Tony had never allowed it. Self-sacrificial bastard. The resulting petulant glee in knowing that he might actually die before Tony Stark was entirely unjustified and completely morbid.

His gaze, though still unfocused and half dark, finally settled on familiar features. Roughened. Aged. Tony had carried the entire world on his shoulders, even in the blessed peace of retirement for the past five years, it would seem. And the growing panic mounting in his features only made it worse. Brown eyes were brimming with it, gaze shifting almost manically as he took in Stephen’s weathered body. His hands were a little too rough, as if trying to keep the sorcerer pieced together, like he might otherwise fall apart. Stephen didn’t realize until then that he was being held.

“Hang in there, alright? I can fix this. I can help you. You’ve just gotta stay awake.” So like Tony; he’d do anything he could to make things right. Stephen just hoped that he wouldn’t blame himself for too long. “Hey, look at me!”

Stephen’s eyelids lifted. He hadn't even realized he had closed them. Wong came into view in the corner of his vision. Stephen couldn’t make out his expression, but his posture was tense. He caught a glimpse of Peter, crouching next to Tony with a somber expression. The dirt of his cheeks, still round with youth, was streaked, like he had been crying. Funny, considering Stephen didn’t think they had grown close enough to warrant Peter’s tears. The kid must have been exhausted. Stephen knew that he certainly was.

“Why would you do that?” Stephen almost thought it was his memory providing those words, rather than Tony repeating them to him after so long. The same hollow desperation in his voice. Barely controlled as everything finally caught up with him. Stephen wasn’t sure which of them was fighting harder to breathe, his own coming in pathetic wheezes, while he felt Tony’s muscles quiver against him as he fought not to hyperventilate. “Nuh uh, not yet.” A tingling of his nerves as Tony squeezed him. Not pain, but a sensation enough to keep him grounded for a moment longer. “You gotta answer me first. You owe me that much.” A pause. “Strange.” Another. “Stephen.”

Stephen realized something then as his body grew too weak to even function - his heart too tired to beat, his lungs too weary to try and draw air. It was, likely, the first time that Tony would remember calling him by name.

It was alright.

Even with the pain of too many memories and too many lifetimes, Stephen could feel content with all of the other times it had happened. The tiny bits of good intermingling with the bad. The quiet moments with Wong. The tender moments with Peter. The camaraderie with Tony. He would take those memories with him.

“So full of love. Sweetest little thing.

“Just be careful, baby; that kinda love just might do you in one day.”

And it was fine.

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