Stephen Strange had stopped measuring time.
Minutes meant nothing here.
Hours meant less.
The sky above the endless violet jungle changed color without any apparent connection to day or night. Sometimes it burned a bruised orange. Sometimes it darkened to something close to black. Once, for what Stephen suspected had been several hours, it had turned an unsettling shade of green and rained warm water that smelled faintly of cinnamon and dissolved one layer of his left boot.
Time did not behave properly here.
Neither did distance.
Neither, apparently, did anything else.
Stephen was injured.
Disoriented.
Feverish.
Exhausted.
And thoroughly, comprehensively done with interdimensional botany.
He staggered through another wall of enormous blue-veined leaves, one hand clamped against his ribs while the other held a trembling golden shield behind him.
Something crashed through the undergrowth.
Stephen didn't bother looking back.
He flicked two fingers.
The shield detonated outward.
A creature shrieked.
Trees cracked.
Stephen kept running.
Or tried to.
At this point, running was a generous description.
It was more of a determined stumble performed by a man whose body had submitted seventeen formal requests to lie down and die.
Stephen rejected all seventeen.
There was only one thought left in his mind.
Home.
Get home.
Home.
His left leg nearly buckled when he hit uneven ground.
Stephen caught himself against a tree trunk.
The tree immediately hissed.
Stephen jerked his hand away.
"Of course you do."
The tree hissed again.
"I'm not in the mood."
Something moved above him.
Stephen looked up just in time to see a six-legged predator peel itself away from the bark.
"Oh, come on."
It dropped.
Stephen threw himself sideways.
Golden bands snapped out from his hand, wrapped around the creature's torso, and slammed it through three enormous ferns.
He didn't wait to see whether it stayed down.
The Cloak yanked hard at his shoulder.
Stephen stumbled in the direction it pulled him just as something enormous crashed into the place he'd been standing.
"Thank you."
The Cloak gave a tired flutter.
Poor thing.
It looked terrible.
One corner had been torn almost halfway through. The usually immaculate red fabric was covered in sticky silver sap, mud, charred patches and the blue blood of at least three species Stephen had no desire to identify.
Part of the collar was bent.
One edge dragged slightly.
Stephen looked at it with genuine guilt.
"I owe you."
The Cloak drooped.
"A cleaning."
It drooped further.
"Professional cleaning."
A faint twitch.
Stephen sighed.
"Premium fabric conditioner."
The Cloak perked up slightly.
"And softener."
Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, negotiating laundry benefits with his sentient cape while being hunted for food.
He was having an excellent week.
A roar echoed behind him.
Stephen started moving again.
The Avengers Compound
Tony Stark pulled through the gates of the Avengers Compound while privately asking every deity he did not believe in for patience.
Not understanding.
Not forgiveness.
Not inner peace.
He wasn't greedy.
Just patience.
Enough patience to make it through one meeting without putting a repulsor through somebody's sternum.
Preferably until Vision arrived.
That seemed achievable.
Maybe.
Tony tapped the steering wheel.
"Friday?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"Message Vis."
"Ready."
Tony stared at the Compound growing larger through the windshield.
"Tell him I need him here."
A pause.
"Exact wording?"
Tony thought about it.
"Get your shiny red ass to the Compound. Parental emergency."
Friday paused.
"Sent."
"Good."
Tony exhaled through his nose.
He needed backup.
He needed someone in that room who wouldn't make him want to commit a felony before appetizers.
Preferably one of his children.
Vision qualified.
Vision was polite.
Vision was calming.
Vision could physically phase Tony through a wall if Steve Rogers became too Steve Rogers.
Useful skill.
Tony pulled into the Compound grounds.
For several seconds he stayed in the car.
Hands resting on the wheel.
Head lowered.
Stephen.
When are you coming back?
Not if.
Tony refused the word.
He had allowed it into his mind exactly once.
It had nearly broken something.
So they were not using if.
When Stephen came back.
When Merlin finally stopped being dramatic.
When he portaled in with that insufferably smug face and complained that Tony had touched something in the Sanctum.
When he came home.
Tony inhaled slowly.
Then looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Fear stared back.
No.
That wouldn't do.
Very few people inside that building deserved Tony Stark without the armor.
Most of them had proven that repeatedly.
So Tony reached for an older suit.
Not metal.
Something better.
The smile.
The arrogance.
The bored eyes.
The easy sarcasm.
The public Tony Stark mask slid into place with practiced ease.
"Showtime."
He opened the door.
Rhodey was waiting outside the main conference room.
Tony saw him and immediately felt something in his chest loosen.
Just a fraction.
"Platypus."
"Tony."
There was no answering joke.
That was the first warning.
Rhodey took one look at him and his expression changed.
Because Rhodey had known Tony before the armor.
Before Iron Man.
Before Afghanistan.
Before half the world learned how to interpret Tony Stark's smiles incorrectly.
And Rhodey knew exactly what fear looked like behind Tony's eyes.
"Come here."
Tony opened his mouth.
"Don't."
Tony closed it.
Rhodey grabbed his arm and steered him past the main conference room.
"Rhodes, kidnapping billionaires is technically frowned upon."
"Shut up."
"Very hostile workplace."
Rhodey pushed him into a small side room and closed the door.
Then he hugged him.
No warning.
No negotiation.
Just arms around him.
Tony froze.
For half a second, every joke disappeared.
Then his forehead dropped against Rhodey's shoulder.
"Hey," Rhodey said quietly.
Tony swallowed.
Rhodey held him tighter.
"What can we do?"
Tony didn't answer.
"Me. Pepper. Happy. Anybody. Tell me what you need."
Tony shook his head against him.
"Nothing."
"Tony."
"I mean it."
He pulled back enough to breathe.
"He's got regular portals, weird portals, the Mirror Dimension, probably some mystical airport lounge nobody bothered telling me about." Tony's voice tightened. "Science can't find him, Honeybear. I've tried. Friday's tried. Wong can't even find his magic."
Rhodey watched him.
"Science can't help me here."
Saying it hurt.
Tony Stark didn't say that.
Science could always help.
Science was the thing that stayed logical when everything else went insane.
But this?
There wasn't a sensor array he could tune.
No satellite network to expand.
No equation he could solve.
Stephen wasn't on Earth.
Possibly wasn't in their universe.
And Tony hated helplessness more than almost anything.
"So do me a favor."
"Anything."
"Help me keep believing he's okay."
Rhodey's face softened.
Tony's voice went quieter.
"Rhodey..."
how did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"When I got kidnapped."
Rhodey stilled.
Tony's voice became smaller than either man liked hearing.
"How did you keep going when nobody knew where I was?"
For a moment, Rhodey was back in Afghanistan.
Sand.
Heat.
Destroyed convoy.
Tony gone.
Weeks without certainty.
Weeks of waking every morning knowing his best friend might already be dead somewhere he couldn't reach.
Rhodey pulled Tony into another hug.
"I never stopped believing you were alive."
Tony's breath hitched.
"Not once?"
"Not once."
Rhodey leaned back enough to look him in the eyes.
"And I would've turned that whole damn desert upside down to find you."
Tony blinked hard.
Rhodey squeezed his shoulder.
"Stephen needs the same thing from you now."
Tony didn't answer.
"He needs you to trust him," Rhodey continued. "Trust that he's fighting. Trust that he's trying to get home."
"And from what I've seen of Strange, the universe itself is probably having a bad day right now."
A tiny sound escaped Tony.
Almost a laugh.
Rhodey smiled.
"There we go."
"Don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Rhodey finally let him go.
Then straightened Tony's jacket.
"Come on, brother."
Tony sighed.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
"Can I fake appendicitis?"
"You don't have your appendix."
"See? Very serious case."
Rhodey ignored him.
"Put the mask back on."
Tony's smile returned.
Sharper this time.
Polished.
Safe.
Rhodey opened the door.
Then paused.
"One favor."
Tony raised a brow.
"Don't punch Peter Quill."
That got a barely genuine smile.
"No promises."
"Tony."
"I said what I said."
The Meeting From Hell
The meeting went about as well as mustard gas in a gas chamber.
Which was to say Tony hated everyone by minute seven.
Not literally everyone.
Rhodey was fine.
Bruce was fine.
Thor was fine.
Vision, once he finally arrived, became Tony's emotional support synthezoid.
Nebula was unexpectedly delightful because she appeared to dislike everyone at approximately Tony's current level.
And Bucky Barnes, somehow, had spent most of the meeting sitting silently at the far end of the table and minding his own business.
Tony was almost impressed.
Everyone else?
Grating.
Fury was Fury.
Rocket had asked whether Tony's armor could be disassembled.
Tony had told him only once.
Gamora was sensible enough to be tolerable.
Mantis had looked at Tony for approximately four seconds before saying, "You are extremely frightened."
Tony had immediately pointed at her.
"No touching."
She hadn't even touched him.
He wasn't taking chances.
And Peter Quill...
Rhodey had been right.
Tony wanted to punch Peter Quill.
There was something about the man that felt specifically engineered to sandpaper Tony's last nerve.
Maybe it was the swagger.
Maybe it was the constant talking.
Maybe Tony simply resented another human named Peter entering his life when he already had a perfectly good Peter at home.
And then there was Steve.
God.
Steve.
Tony had forgotten how much more irritating Captain America's voice became when coated in self-righteous sincerity.
"We need to work together."
"We need to rebuild trust."
"We can't let personal history divide us."
Tony's fingers flexed beneath the table.
Interesting philosophy.
Would've been useful in Siberia.
But apparently Steve had discovered emotional maturity after smashing a shield into Tony's chest and lying to him for years.
Good for him.
Growth.
Beautiful.
Tony considered stabbing himself with a pen.
Rodey sat to Tony's right, calm and attentive.
Vision sat farther down.
Thor occupied Tony's left side and had already demolished half the snacks.
Bruce kept giving Tony looks that translated roughly into:
Please don't start anything.
Tony kept answering with looks that translated roughly into:
No.
The briefing moved into defense coordination.
That was manageable.
Supply routes.
Stone locations.
Thanos's forces.
Flight capability.
Black Order tactics.
Things Tony could solve.
Things with numbers.
Predictable variables.
Then Steve looked across the table.
And ruined everything.
"Stark?"
Tony looked up.
Steve was watching him.
"What?"
"I asked about Strange."
Everything inside Tony went still.
Rhodey's hand shifted subtly closer.
Steve continued, oblivious.
"Where is Stephen? When is he joining us?"
Tony's jaw flexed.
Steve frowned.
"It was his idea to involve the Guardians. If we're moving forward with his strategy, he should be here contributing instead of hiding away while everyone else handles the planning."
Silence.
Tony saw red.
Not metaphorically.
Actual targeting overlays tried to appear because Friday interpreted the spike in his vitals as a possible combat event.
He shut them down.
His first thought was completely rational.
Jump onto table.
Run across table.
Armor on halfway there.
Hit Steve Rogers in the face.
Hard.
Repeatedly.
Potential downside: Steve was enhanced.
Potential upside: Tony had a will.
Rhodey could take care of the boys.
Stephen was already listed as co-guardian, assuming Stephen wasn't dead in another universe.
No.
No if.
Tony's hand twitched
Rhodey caught it.
Rhodey grabbed it beneath the table.
Hard.
Tony looked at him.
Rhodey's expression was perfectly neutral.
His grip was not.
On Tony's other side, Thor's enormous hand settled over Tony's wrist.
Tony slowly turned.
Thor did not look at him either.
He simply stared at Steve with thunder beginning somewhere behind his eyes.
Tony inhaled through his nose.
Once.
Twice.
Steve looked between them, confused.
Rhodey spoke before Tony could.
"Strange has his own work."
His tone was calm.
"We're handling the planning here. He'll join us when his side is ready."
Steve frowned slightly.
"But if we coordinate earlier—"
"Steve."
Rhodey's voice hardened.
"Mind the planning we're doing here."
Translation:
Mind your damn business.
Tony loved that man.
Then Friday spoke.
Her voice came smoothly through the conference room speakers.
"Captain Rogers?"
Everyone looked up.
Steve blinked.
"Yes, Friday?"
"Please fuck off and mind your own business, Mister Captain America, sir."
Silence.
Absolute.
Perfect.
Silence.
Tony's eyes widened.
Vision slowly turned his head toward the nearest speaker.
Bruce covered his mouth.
Rocket made a choking noise.
Nebula's eyebrows lifted with what Tony was fairly certain was approval.
Bucky looked down at the table.
His shoulders moved once.
Thor's mouth fell open.
Steve stared at the ceiling.
Fury closed his one visible eye.
Tony...
Tony had never been prouder in his life.
"Baby girl."
"Yes, Boss?"
"Daddy loves you."
"Thank you, Boss."
Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose.
Fury stood.
"Coffee break."
Nobody argued.
Somewhere Very Far From Coffee
Stephen had run out of good options.
Then acceptable options.
Then bad options.
He was now operating entirely on the category labeled:
Things That Might Delay Being Eaten.
The creatures had learned.
That was the problem.
They'd watched his shields.
Adapted to portals.
Learned the timing of the Crimson Bands.
They were testing him.
Herding him.
Stephen staggered backward into a clearing.
Immediately knew he'd made a mistake.
Movement surrounded him.
Left.
Right.
Behind.
Above.
The jungle rustled with predators.
Stephen raised both hands.
Golden light flickered around his fingers.
Weak.
Too weak.
"No," he whispered.
The nearest creature stepped into view.
Four legs.
Two arms.
A jaw that opened sideways.
Blue saliva ran from its teeth.
Another emerged.
Then another.
Then six.
Stephen swallowed.
The Cloak floated in front of him protectively.
Its movements were sluggish.
"No."
The Cloak ignored him.
"Absolutely not."
It spread itself wider.
Stephen almost laughed.
The poor thing was torn, filthy, bleeding fabric threads and still prepared to fistfight an entire alien food chain on his behalf.
"You're getting the expensive detergent."
The Cloak twitched.
"Imported."
Another twitch.
Stephen summoned a shield.
It formed.
Shuddered.
The creatures circled.
He knew exactly what would happen.
He'd cast until there was nothing left.
Then he'd fight.
Hands.
Feet.
Broken branches if necessary.
Surgeon or sorcerer, Stephen Strange had always been stubborn enough to keep moving after reason told him to stop.
But eventually...
Eventually strength ended.
Eventually magic ended.
Eventually the jungle won.
A creature lunged.
Stephen's shield caught it.
Cracked.
He redirected it into another.
Something struck his back.
The Cloak yanked him sideways.
Claws caught fabric instead of flesh.
The Cloak tore further.
Stephen shouted.
Not from pain.
From fury.
He slammed both hands forward.
A blast of magic ripped through the clearing.
Three creatures flew backward.
Two hit trees.
One vanished into brush.
Stephen fell to one knee.
His vision blurred.
Golden sparks fell weakly from his fingertips.
The jungle moved again.
More.
Of course there were more.
Stephen looked at the Cloak.
The Cloak looked at him.
Or somehow managed the emotional equivalent.
"I'm sorry."
It brushed his cheek.
Stephen closed his eyes for half a second.
Tony.
His boys.
Home.
He could almost hear Peter talking too quickly.
Ned asking seventeen questions at once.
Harley calling Tony old man.
Shuri correcting everyone.
Tony pretending his kitchen wasn't becoming Stephen's kitchen too.
He was not dying here.
A roar answered that thought.
Stephen opened his eyes.
"Fine."
He pushed himself upright.
"Come on, then."
Something warm touched his wrist.
Stephen froze.
Not claws.
Not poison.
Not blood.
Warmth.
Thin.
Precise.
Golden.
His eyes dropped.
A thread.
A single impossibly fine golden thread had wrapped around his left wrist.
Stephen stared at it.
For one second his fevered brain refused to interpret what he was seeing.
Then understanding hit him so violently he laughed.
Actually laughed.
Half hysterical.
Half relieved.
"Oh, Anthony."
The thread pulsed.
Stephen knew this magic.
Binding chains.
Ancient connective relics.
Pairs or sets.
Designed in cultures where distance between bonded partners could mean years, planets, dimensions.
Lovers.
Spouses.
Life-bonded companions.
A means to find one another no matter where existence scattered them.
Stephen's laugh became breathless.
"You beautiful idiot."
Of course.
Of course Tony had wandered through a forbidden artifact room.
Of course he'd touched something.
Of course Tony Stark was exactly the sort of man who could accidentally get magically married while looking for his missing friend.
No one else would have done it.
Well.
Peter might.
Stephen's expression immediately darkened.
If anyone ever accidentally bound themselves to Peter Parker in this manner, Stephen was going to investigate them, interrogate them, and potentially remove them from several planes of existence.
Later.
Currently surrounded by teeth.
Stephen wrapped his hand around the thread.
The completed binding hummed.
And beneath it he felt something else.
A direction.
A presence.
Home.
Tony.
Stephen's throat tightened.
The relics had a return function.
That was their purpose.
Distance did not matter.
Planets didn't matter.
Realms didn't matter.
Even dimensions didn't matter.
If both ends existed...
The bond could close the distance.
All Stephen needed was magic.
That was inconvenient, considering he'd just spent most of his.
A creature rushed him.
Stephen looked up.
Smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
"I'm married."
The creature understandably did not care.
Stephen raised his hand.
The remaining magic inside him surged into the thread.
Gold ignited.
The clearing exploded with light.
Coffee Was Not Enough
Tony returned to the conference room with a bottle of gin.
And a glass.
Rhodey stared at him.
"No."
Tony sat down.
"Yes."
"Tony."
"Listen, honey bear, if I'm being forced to sit through another hour of group therapy disguised as strategic planning, my brain needs to be operating at sixty percent."
Bruce stared.
"That's not how alcohol works."
"I know how alcohol works, Brucie."
Rhodey reached for the bottle.
Tony moved it away.
"Touch my coping mechanism and lose a finger."
"That's my line," Nebula said from across the table.
Tony pointed at her.
"See? Blue Meanie gets me."
Nebula frowned.
"I do not know what that means."
"Doesn't matter. We're bonding."
Peter Quill leaned toward Gamora.
"Why does everyone like her?"
Nebula turned.
"Because I know when to stop speaking."
Quill leaned back.
Fair.
Tony poured himself a drink.
Rhodey looked deeply offended.
Before he could steal it, Steve started again.
"We should decide how we're going to approach the Stones if Strange isn't here to explain the Time Stone's limits."
Tony's eye twitched.
Steve continued.
"If he's unavailable, maybe Wong could—"
Tony looked at the bottle.
Then Steve.
Then bottle.
Trajectory was clean.
Good weight.
Glass construction.
Seven meters.
Potentially worth it.
He lifted the bottle.
It vanished through his hand.
Tony stared at his empty fingers.
Slowly turned.
Vision sat beside him holding the bottle.
It had phased directly through Tony's grip.
"Father," Vision said.
Tony gasped.
"Betrayal."
"You intended to throw this."
"I intended to move it enthusiastically."
Vision placed it behind himself.
"You intended to move it at Captain Rogers's face."
"Allegedly."
Tony still had the glass.
He lifted it.
Thor calmly plucked it from his hand.
Tony looked left.
Thor drank it.
"Point Break!"
Thor smacked his lips.
"Acceptable."
Tony looked between them.
"I am surrounded by treachery."
"I technically am not," Thor said.
"Not with that attitude."
Rhodey slid coffee toward him.
Tony glared at it.
Then at Steve.
Then at the coffee.
He reached for it.
Both hands finally free.
The gold thread around his wrist suddenly burned.
Tony gasped and finally noticed it.
Not pain.
Heat.
Recognition.
The thread tightened.
Light exploded.
Everyone in the room moved at once.
Thor stood.
Vision phased forward.
Rhodey reached for Tony.
Fury's hand went toward his weapon.
Wanda's magic sparked.
Tony barely saw any of it.
Because reality folded directly in front of him.
A golden tear opened in the air.
And a body fell through.
Tony caught him.
Pure reflex.
Arms wrapping around shoulders and waist as the full weight slammed into him.
"Whoa!"
Tony stumbled backward.
Rhodey caught his shoulder.
Thor caught Tony's back.
For one impossible second nobody understood what had happened.
Then Tony looked down.
Stephen.
His Stephen.
No.
Not his.
Not important.
Stephen Strange was in his arms.
Alive.
Barely.
His robes were torn nearly beyond recognition. Blood covered one side of his face. Bruises darkened his throat and jaw. His hair was wet with sweat, his skin burning with fever.
The Cloak hung around him like something dragged through several wars and one particularly vindictive car wash.
Stephen's left hand was locked around Tony's wrist.
Around the golden thread connecting them.
Tony forgot the room.
Forgot Steve.
Forgot Thanos.
Forgot everything.
"Stephen?"
Stephen's eyes opened.
Barely.
Blue-grey.
Unfocused.
But alive.
He looked at Tony.
And somehow, impossibly, smiled.
"Hi, honey."
Tony froze.
Stephen tightened his grip weakly.
"I'm home."
Then his eyes rolled shut.
His body went completely limp.
Tony caught him tighter.
"Stephen?"
No response.
"Merlin?"
Nothing.
Tony's mask shattered.
"Stephen."
End Chapter 46