Work Text:
It was dark out when Stephen opened up the portal to Tony’s lab—night had long since come, to the point where it wouldn’t be long until it was arguably morning again. And yet, as the portal spun into existence, there was Tony, his figure hunched over his work table, soft blue holograms illuminating him in the otherwise dim room.
He looked almost ethereal.
Whether he noticed the portal or not, Tony didn’t react. Didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch at the faint swoosh of Stephen’s arrival. He just kept working, engrossed in whatever project he was working on.
The lab was a mess, coffee mugs littered every available surface, the room cluttered with wires, tools and spare parts, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of oil, ozone, and burnt wires.
Tony’s disorganised, genius chaos.
And yet what was most obvious was how active it all was. Tony had been down here for a while; that much was beyond evident.
You would think he’d be more cautious, taking a break for once in his life, but no. In typical Tony Stark manner, he was, once again, working late.
It had only been a week since Tony had been dismissed from the hospital. He was technically still supposed to be on bed rest. Not down here. Certainly not working this hard or this late. Certainly not supposed to be putting so much strain on his still-healing body.
Even after the world’s greatest villain had been defeated, he wouldn’t stop.
Even losing an arm wouldn’t stop him.
Even nearly dying couldn’t.
After a while, Stephen spoke up. Tony was clearly bordering on exhaustion, head slumping every now and then, even as he continued to poke at the holograms, sending random diagrams flying through the air.
“You should be resting.”
Tony didn’t even flinch. Evidently, he knew Stephen had been standing there then.
“You should be minding your own business,” Tony replied, his words harsh even through the complete apathy of his tone. Even then, he didn’t look up.
Stephen shrugged, as though Tony could see him. “It becomes my business when you create some dimensional rift,” he teased, tone light, gentle, something he’d thought impossible of himself.
Tony tensed, shoulders drawing tight. When he spoke again, his words were clipped. “What do you want?”
No snark. No humour. Just cold words falling flat.
Whatever he’d said, Stephen had struck a nerve. Almost as though his words had really, really stung.
Almost as though Tony thought he'd deserved the insult.
Stephen felt his gut twist, a sense of unease twisting in the back of his mind.
He pushed past it though, extending another olive branch to the stubborn idiot working himself to death. He winced; not a great choice of words from his subconscious.
“At least eat something,” he suggested when the silence took over once more.
“Too busy to cook.” The reply was fast. An obvious dismissal. A ‘leave me alone’ written out as clear as day.
But Stephen pushed onwards once more. If the man insisted on working when he should be resting, he could at least do it with some semblance of healthiness.
He spun his fingers, reaching through to grab a couple of boxes and sending them to land on Tony’s desk in front of him.
Tony finally looked up, regarding the takeout box cautiously, but then Stephen was sitting on the desk beside him, handing him a pair of chopsticks and gesturing to the box directly in front of him, and even Tony had to admit it smelled heavenly.
Stephen watched in strange fascination as Tony pulled open the box, eyes widening slightly. Kung Pao Chicken.
“Didn’t think you’d get me the good stuff, doc,” he joked, and god was Stephen glad to have that lighter, teasing tone back in Tony's otherwise expressionless words. “I might not even protest so much next time you come down here.”
Next time?
Tony couldn’t just go throwing those sorts of promises around. Except he could. Because all he’d said was a meaningless, throwaway comment. How was he to know what that did to Stephen?
The false hopes it built.
Truth was, after fighting together, after nearly dying together, after watching Tony sacrifice himself over and over and over in countless futures.
After coming so close to losing him in this one.
It would be insane for Stephen not to have felt something.
So maybe that’s why he dared ask.
“There's gonna be a next time?”
Tony looked up, a mouthful of noodles half hanging from his mouth, eyes widening once more, as though he’d said something he shouldn’t have, as though he had said far too much.
Up this close, his exhaustion was so much clearer. Dark rings shadowed Tony’s eyes, his face pale, his hair just a little too greasy to be okay. The left side of his face was a twisting mess of scar tissue, carving patterns from his jaw to his eye, and yet he was still Tony Stark. Still the man he’d met on that battlefield all that time ago.
His left eye was glassy, watching him too cautiously, the pupil not quite as focused as the right—damaged, but not broken. A perfect metaphor. His right side wore the pain and scars of a difficult life, too— brow slightly more crinkled than it once had been, greying hairs dotted amongst the brown.
And yet, he was beautiful.
So utterly and completely beautiful.
And then the shock faded from Tony’s expression, eyes shutting in a long blink—too long. When they opened again, he was looking away, gaze fixated on his food.
They ate in silence from then on, with only the sound of eating and the faint hum of machinery in the background.
It was soothing; Stephen understood why Tony spent so much time down here.
Or maybe he just liked that this whole place screamed Tony. And maybe that thought should have scared him more than it did.
As soon as his box was empty, Tony turned away again, attention solely fixated on his projections.
The message couldn’t be clearer.
Stephen picked up the empty boxes, tucking them under his arm and backing away to the corner of the room.
He glanced over once more at Tony, heart sinking when the other man didn’t even look up, didn’t even say goodbye.
Almost involuntarily, he felt himself sigh. A deep exhale, air flooding out of his lungs. He raised his hands, tracing a circle through the air.
“Wait.”
It came so quietly, almost lost in the whir of sparks and machinery. So quiet that Stephen thought he’d imagined it.
But that one word, that one impossibly quiet word, it made him pause, hands stilling their motion mid-air. He swallowed harshly, feeling the way a lump rose in his throat, heart suddenly pounding—
But there was only silence.
He felt that tiny ounce of hope collapse and swallowed back the wave of fresh pain sweeping over with it.
He had to go.
Had to get out of here before it was all too much.
Had to leave before he got hurt.
So with trembling hands, he began to trace those same circles in the air again, orange sparks appearing at his fingertips.
“Wait.” That same word, but this time louder. Undeniably, Tony had spoken.
“Wait, Stephen,” Tony murmured. He heard a shuddering breath from behind him. “Don’t go.”
His hands faltered mid-circle, sparks fizzling. He couldn’t possibly have misheard Tony that time. His heart thrummed harder, loud in his ears.
His hands lowered on their own accord. And in that moment, he knew—he wasn’t going anywhere.
Nothing in that moment could have taken him from that lab.
“Don’t go,” Tony whispered again, “please.”
And suddenly, he was back on Titan, and he was watching millions of different futures fly by. Watching Tony beg over and over again as he held Peter close. Watching in some cases as Tony fell to his knees in front of Stephen himself.
‘Please’
He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip.
‘Don’t go.’
He bit harder, teeth digging into the skin. Hard enough to draw blood, his mouth filling with the familiar metallic taste. Hard enough to draw him back out of the hell of living memories.
That one word. ’Please’. It was such a simple word, had been spoken so quietly, and yet its impact was… astronomical.
Stephen let the sparkles of his portal fade completely, taking a deep breath before he turned to face him. Tony wasn’t looking at him, not exactly, instead staring at his own feet, but he had turned towards Stephen, holograms shut down, work forgotten.
Stephen took a cautious step forward. Tony didn’t move away. So he took another step. Then another. Then he was right in front of Tony, and Tony was looking up at him, eyes wide with such a myriad of emotions.
Uncertainty.
Doubt.
And yet so open and so, so very vulnerable.
So… scared.
Stephen felt his heart clench.
“Are you okay, Tony?”
Tony opened his mouth, as though to reply quickly, to just say yes, to brush it off, but then he was closing it again, falling silent once more.
And then he shook his head, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible, and Stephen felt his heart break.
He reached out, arms opening ever so slightly, stepping even closer in a silent offering, and he waited.
And he waited.
And then suddenly, Tony tumbled forwards, and Stephen wrapped his arms around him, holding him so close and so tight, as though he was supporting the weight of Tony’s whole world.
The hug was something different—imbalanced. Only one arm snaked around his back, yet Tony clung on so tightly with it, bunching the material of his robes in a tight fist. And Tony—he was so warm against him, so firm, yet he was still shaking.
So Stephen held him tighter, cradling the other man in his arms, and Tony finally snapped, falling apart in Stephen’s arms.
A quiet sob jolted out of his body as he buried his face further into Stephen’s shoulder, and Stephen’s heart broke all over again.
He’d seen Tony fight gods, fly into the jaws of death without hesitation. But here, in his arms, Tony Stark felt breakable. Human. And Stephen realised he’d do anything to keep him from shattering.
Stephen had never been good at comforting people, but comforting Tony in that moment, it felt so natural, so right. He ran his hand up and down Tony’s back, whispering murmured reassurances into Tony’s hair.
“I’ve got you, Tony,” he murmured, “It’s all going to be okay.”
Tony let out another choked sob.
“It’s okay.” He whispered again. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
He hesitated only a fraction of a second, then bent his head, brushing his lips into Tony’s curls. The gesture was so small, but it felt enormous, like crossing a threshold he couldn’t step back from.
“It’s okay. You’re not alone anymore.”