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Every single night.
Every damned night this week he’d woken up to another stupid fucking nightmare. Heart racing, chest aching, throat burning, tears running. He was sick of it.
He’d already fought the battles, so why the hell were they following him into his sleep? He’d served his time, done his duty and this? This was just getting old.
Breathing heavy, heart still pounding, Tony clambered out of his bed, kicking back the mess of covers.
He squeezed his eyes shut, heel of his palms pressing down as he sucked in another breath.
The tower was quiet. Almost silent in fact. Only the hum of the air conditioning and the lull of New York breaking through. It was disconcerting. The tower used to be so full of noise and chaos, but now it was silent.
He was so used to Thor's booming laugh, Clint scuttling through the vents, Nat’s humour and Steve’s—
He felt his heart squeeze, his already tight chest excruciating. He wouldn’t think about Steve—couldn’t.
But they’d all gone. All left him. Even now, with Thanos gone and everyone back ‘together’, he couldn’t bring himself to be around them too long.
So whilst they all lived in the compound, rebuilding a ‘team’ he just couldn’t feel like a part of, here he was living alone at the top of the tallest tower in the city.
But that was just how it had to be. He couldn’t sleep with them near—not that he could sleep anyway.
There were always upgrades to be made—of course, there were—his team demanded everything from him all the time. But the countless nights in the lab, binging and drinking coffee until he was going to break from shaking so badly, had finally caught up with him.
He just couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t do… anything.
Couldn’t stay up late. Couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t be a team. Couldn’t be alone.
Fucking useless.
He shut his eyes once more, willing sleep to take him, wanting nothing more than to be sucked under. It wasn’t coming.
Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet, all but stumbling into the bathroom. The cold water hit him like a shockwave. It jolted him awake, though, and that’s what he’d needed.
As he turned off the tap, he didn’t dare look in the mirror. He knew he looked a mess. Eyes no doubt so heavily shadowed they might as well be black, hair a jumbled mess, greased spikes all over the place. He didn’t need to see that.
He stepped back out into the hallway, stumbling to the kitchen.
“Fri, light please,” he mumbled, feeling his way towards the coffee machine.
“That stuff will kill you, you know.”
Tony flinched, hands slamming down onto the counter to support himself.
Deep breaths.
Take deep breaths.
In and out. In and out.
He turned his head slowly, gauntlet forming over his hand as he did so. As soon as it had, he spun around fast, hand outstretched, already powered up.
It was the fucking wizard. Lounging at the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around a mug of something, watching him carefully, not the least bit worried about the world-class weapon pointed at his face.
He lowered his gauntlet, not yet deactivating it. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding, mind racing a mile a minute with the adrenaline.
“What do you want, Houdini?” He wanted to sound intimidating, his words a threat, but he just sounded so, so… exhausted.
The wizard just cocked his head, taking a slow sip of whatever he was drinking.
“That stuff will kill you,” he repeated. What the hell was he on about? The coffee?
“Whatever,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes. It wasn't like that would be the worst thing ever. Probably wouldn’t even make the top 5.
He turned back to his machine, making himself an espresso, triple shot just to prove a point.
Just as he was reaching to take the mug out of the machine, there was an orange fizzle and a portal, and then it was gone.
Portals.
Space.
Darkness.
He wasn’t going to make it home.
He wasn’t going to make it back. He wasn’t going to—
To—
“Stark?”
He gasped, lurching forward, breath heavy and ragged. He was in the tower. He was in the kitchen. The portals were closed. He was awake. Everyone was okay.
But were they? He certainly didn’t feel okay.
Fucking wizards.
“Get out, Strange.” His tone was cold, words almost spat, but still he refused to turn around and face him, refused to let the man see the tears drying on his cheeks.
There was a moment's hesitation, as though Strange wanted to protest before he heard the chair scrape, then the fizzing of those damn portals, and he was gone.
Tony was alone again.
*****
He bolted awake, hand slamming onto his chest, straight onto the nanohousing, fully suited before he’d even fully untangled himself from the sheets. Gauntlets raised, eyes scanning the darkened room except…
There was nothing there.
Another fucking nightmare.
He deactivated the suit, collapsing heavily onto the bed, rubbing his temples as though he could banish the dreams away.
There was no point trying to go back to sleep, not after a dream that bad. He hadn’t activated his suit in weeks. No, there was no point at all.
What he needed was a coffee and—
And what? What did he actually want? What actually brought him joy these days?
Peter. Peter’s lab visits were the highlight of his week. But he couldn’t possibly wake the kid up at this hour.
Rhodey. Except Rhodey was out on a mission this week. No that wasn’t an option either.
Pepper. Except she didn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. Wasn’t that the whole reason she left? Because he was too much.
Too fucking broken.
No. He’d be dealing with this night alone again. Him, his thoughts and coffee.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He sighed, traipsing to the kitchen, lights flickering on as he went.
Tony spotted him first this time. The wizard was back sitting at the kitchen table, this time reading a fucking book as though he owned the place.
There were two mugs in front of him, one in front of himself and one opposite, handle pointed towards the door. Towards where Tony had just appeared from.
“What do you want.” Tony dropped the jokes from the night before too fucking tired to do anything more than exist.
Everything was aching, his muscles his mind and worst of all his chest. The phantom pain of a lump of metal in his chest had never left.
And just like the night before, Strange completely ignored his question instead gesturing to the mug in front of him.
“I made you a tea.”
Tony eyed it suspiciously, staying put on the other side of the room.
“No thanks, I don’t drink that herbal crap.” He eventually replied. Strange shrugged, almost infuriatingly apathetic, turning his attention back to his book.
He made no move to leave, though. So Tony ignored him, moving to make his coffee. He braced himself as he reached for it, waiting for Strange to take it from him.
Nothing.
He took a sip almost spluttering on the stuff. Decaf. Strange had switched his beans to fucking decaf.
He spun around glaring at said man, who hadn’t even looked up.
“What the hell do you want? Why are you here?” He demanded. Because there had to be a reason. Was he just here to ruin Tony’s life?
Stephen looked up slowly, setting his mug back down. “I can leave if you’d like?”
Tony was nodding before he’d even considered it.
Stephen nodded, getting to his feet and disappearing out of one of those fucking portals again.
And Tony was alone again. Why’d he done that?
He didn’t want to be alone.
*****
The next night, he didn’t even jump at the wizard's presence, instead giving him a half-hearted, bleary glare.
But once again, there he was, two mugs of tea set out in front of him, reading another damn book.
“What did you put in it?” He asked, staring at the mug. There had to be something in it. Strange had to want something.
Strange shrugged, drinking from his own as though to prove a point. “It’s just tea,” he murmured quietly.
Just tea.
Tony shook his head, suppressing the laugh threatening to escape. He was delirious sure. Sleep-deprived, yes. But did Strange seriously think he was stupid?
He made his way over to the coffee machine except—he hadn’t replaced the decaf yet and hell if he was drinking that shit.
Sighing in defeat he grabbed a bottle of water instead, cracking it open and immediately downing about half. He refused to turn around. Refused to give the stupid wizard who kept breaking into his house any attention.
He completely missed the triumphant grin spread across Strange’s face.
Tony moved over to the couch, throwing himself down and flicking on the TV. If Strange insisted on being there he really didn’t have the energy to kick him out again.
So he stuck on the first film to pop up on Netflix and let his mind wander.
He didn’t even notice when Strange moved from the table to sit at the other end of the couch.
Completely missed the blanket draped across him.
Didn’t feel himself drifting off or the TV getting shut off.
And by the time he awoke, the sun was peeking over the clouds, and Strange was gone.
His back ached and his muscles were stiff, but he’d slept.
He’d actually slept.
*****
He stumbled into the kitchen, eyes wide and manic, immediately zeroing in on Strange.
“You—“ Tony stuttered, pointing a shaky finger at the man.
“You fucking cast a spell on me, didn’t you?” He laughed, a hysterical, pained sound, as he stumbled further forward. Stephen leapt up, whether to help, or to run, or to fight was anyone’s guess.
“Stark, I didn’t—“
“Shut up! Just— shut up!” Tony interrupted. His head was throbbing, eyes stinging. But he couldn’t close his eyes.
Closing his eyes brought the images. Peter—
God. Peter. Disappearing in his arms. Disappearing and it was all—
It was all. His. Fault.
Dutifully, Strange hadn’t spoken, expression as emotionless as ever.
“Get out.”
Strange grimaced, finally a hint of something behind that exterior, before he nodded, spinning open a portal.
Tony flinched, stumbling back until his hands hit the counter. Strange looked up, stepping toward him as though he wanted to help.
Tony tightened his grip, knuckles white against the counter, and Strange froze. Then he was stepping away again, through the portal, and he was gone.
Tony collapsed, crumbling to the floor, head between his knees.
And the images came back. Like a tidal wave, unstoppable in their force.
Peter. Dead.
Strange. Dead.
Everyone. Fucking. Dead.
And it was all his fault.
They were all gone and he was stuck here, alone.
Always fucking alone.
*****
The next night, when he stumbled out, Strange was nowhere to be found. Tony sighed in relief, deactivating the gauntlet he had outstretched as he made his way to the coffee machine.
Plain, old regular caffeinated coffee. He downed the mug.
Everything was back to how it should be.
But as he looked up, gaze fixating on the empty chair at the table, it didn’t feel quite right.
He shook his head, ridding himself of the stupid thoughts before making his way over to the couch.
He didn’t need Strange. He didn’t need anyone.
He was doing just fine. Absolutely, fucking, fine.
*****
Strange didn’t come back the next night.
Or the night after that.
Then again until it was like he had never been there at all.
And the nightmares? They plagued him.
Tormenting him in the night, haunting him through the day.
He’d passed out in the chair beside Peter in the lab, shaken awake when the dreams began.
He hadn’t been able to look Peter in the eye for the rest of the day. Not with the way the boy kept shooting him anxious glances, opening his mouth to speak and then thinking better of it.
Peter was just a kid. Tony shouldn’t be bothering him with this.
This was his problem.
And then he’d had to visit the compound. The building was filled with all his ex-teammates. Except they’d been more than that.
They’d been his friends. Maybe even in some twisted way, his family.
But like the line across his chest and the constant pain in his artificial sternum, some scars never healed.
But there was Rhodey. Thank god Rhodey was there.
He met him at the car, giving him a quick once-over before pulling him into a hug.
Tony felt himself crumple slightly before he could stop himself, but Rhodey held him strong.
Rhodey. The man who’d always been strong for him.
Until he’d let him fall.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
In. Out. In. Out.
Rhodey was fine. He was there, right in front of him, holding him up.
“You okay, tones?” Rhodey whispered. He just nodded, too exhausted to do anything else and ignoring Rhodey's worried stare, he led the way to the meeting room.
There they all were.
Clint. Nat. Cap.
Fuck. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be here right now.
It was too much. Seeing them was just—
It was too god damn much.
Someone brushed past him, breezing into the room. Yet their touch had felt deliberate. Not an accidental bumping of shoulders. No.
More like they’d meant to pull him out of this spiral. Like they’d meant to get his attention.
He lifted his gaze finding who had hit him.
And there he was.
Strange.
Watching him already, head tilted slightly to the side, a small smile twisting across his lips. As though he found the whole thing funny.
He was always so fucking frustrating. Couldn’t he just leave Tony alone?
He pulled his gaze away, eyes fixated on the floor as he traipsed into the room sitting down beside Rhodey. Except Rhodey was right at the head now, right next to Cap and Nat.
Team leaders.
More like team leavers.
Tony mentally patted himself on the back. The only one of the three who deserved to be up there was the one with actual experience. Not some phony who was nothing more than a brand name and a traitorous bitch who had clearly never broken the cycle of her training.
Maybe that was too harsh.
Nat didn’t deserve that. But she’d—
Fuck.
Everything just sucked. It really, really fucking sucked.
The meeting finally started as Rhodey stood up, immediately demanding the respect of everyone in the room.
Except the wizard. The wizard was still staring at him.
Tony refused to look up, refused to give Strange the attention he so clearly craved, but his stare was excruciating, burning into his skin in its intensity.
Cap got up next, because of course he did. Essentially repeating everything Rhodey had just said, but in that infuriatingly self-righteous way. As though all of these completely original thoughts were his own and therefore obviously had to be the right way to do things.
He stopped listening very soon after Captain Perfect-teeth opened his mouth.
He didn’t even notice when Nat started speaking. Wouldn’t even have noticed everyone leaving if it weren’t for Rhodey nudging his thigh with his own, drawing him back to the present.
Rhodey eyed him cautiously, worry so crystal clear in his gaze. And Tony ran. Well, he sped-walked out of that meeting room as fast as he could without looking like he was running.
He didn’t want to face the questions. He didn’t want to face the pity and the concern.
He just wanted to be alone.
Except…
Did he?
Alone was safe. Alone was comfortable.
Alone was… lonely.
No. That was the simple answer. He didn’t want to be alone.
But this place? This stupid, perfect building he’d designed for— for his family. He couldn’t be here.
And so he left.
Jumped back in the car, took off too fast, but then he was in the treeline and the compound was disappearing from view, and finally—finally he could breathe again.
But without the noise and without the panic. He could think again.
And thinking?
Thinking was unpleasant.
*****
Aliens.
Darkness.
Portals.
Thanos.
Snap.
He jolted upright, heart pounding as though trying to break out of his ribcage.
Nightmare after nightmare after nightmare. He was so sick of it.
When would it end?
He just wanted it to end.
Crawling out of bed and tumbling to the kitchen, he grabbed a glass left out. But he was shaking so badly, he couldn’t even fill it, couldn’t even turn the tap.
Something shattered.
A sharp pain sliced through his hand, red pooling down his wrist.
He’d dropped the fucking glass.
Useless.
He was Ironman. The Ironman.
He couldn’t even get a glass of water.
“You should get that checked out in case it needs stitches.”
Tony whirled around, eyes darting through the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice. He was shaking still, heart racing still, but his vision was blurred and he couldn’t—
Why couldn’t he—
“Breathe, Tony. Breathe.”
Who the fuck was in his house? He wanted to scream. He wanted to hide. He wanted to run.
He didn’t want to fight.
But he activated his gauntlet anyway, lifting his hand…
Except his hand felt like lead. Far too heavy to keep in the air, and he was still shaking, how was he gonna—
His hand was still shaking, except it wasn’t his tremors anymore. Cold fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, gently lowering the gauntlet back down, and he let them.
Because what else could he do?
He was powerless.
Utterly useless.
“Tony, it’s Stephen, okay?” Said the voice. “I’m going to need you to open your eyes.”
They were open weren’t they? It was just— dark in here. Right? But, how—
His eyelids felt like they were being held down by cinder blocks. Or perhaps some sort of glue, the strongest in the world.
Maybe even Peter’s webs? Chemistry wasn’t his strong suit but that kid was a genius for sure.
Peter.
He gasped, the movement suddenly forcing a lungful of air into his throat, and he coughed and spluttered on it as though it were choking him. But he could feel the oxygen. He could feel himself breathing.
Slowly, so slowly, he peeled his eyes open.
The wizard.
The wizard was crouched beside him, hand wrapped tight around his wrist even as it shook violently, eyes so filled with unbridled concern.
“That’s it, Tony,” he encouraged, offering him a gentle smile. “Keep breathing. That’s it.”
Gentle?
Tony?
He hadn’t woken up yet. He was sure of it. He had to still be fucking dreaming.
Because this wasn’t Strange. This wasn’t the same man who would give up Tony’s life for the universe.
Except he hadn’t.
But that was because there had only been one way.
Only one way.
He squeezed his eyes shut again, feeling his pulse quicken once more.
“Tony.” Stephen was talking again. Stephen? When had he become Stephen?
He was—
He was Strange.
He forced an eye open, squinting at the man before him. He still hadn’t let go, still smiling at him.
Now Tony was convinced. This had to be a dream. Except his wrist ached, a sharp stinging pain, and that's when he finally looked at it, the blood gushing down his arm.
And just like that, it was like a damper had been taken off; the pain rushed over him all at once, and he felt it all. He bit his lip, fighting down a cry.
Stephen was still there. Stephen was still watching him. He couldn’t cry in front of Stephen.
What was he still doing here?
“Get out.” Was that him? He sounded so uncertain, his voice barely more than a shaky whisper. Why was he saying that?
“No.”
What? Tony felt his brain short-circuit.
“What do you mean, no?”
And so Stephen repeated it, as though it were that simple. ”No.”
There was suddenly something else wrapping around his wrist, its material soft, yet firm as Stephen pulled his own hand back. That weird-ass floating carpet thing.
He wanted to crawl away from it, rip his hand out of its grip. But then he saw. Stephen tried to hide it, but Tony saw it anyway. The flinch of pain as Stephen cradled his hand to his chest.
“Let me help you, Tony.” It wasn’t a request. He could see that just from Stephen’s face, from the tone of his words.
But what was help? If help was—
If help was portals, and magic and—
Crap. He couldn’t spiral again. He wouldn’t.
As though sensing his trepidation, Stephen smiled once more. “Relax, just good old-fashioned bandages. You don’t need stitches.”
Tony bit his lip. He looked so earnest. So keen to help even when he was so very clearly in pain himself.
“I used to be a doctor, you know.”
Tony rolled his eyes, eliciting a laugh from Stephen. What the hell?
“Fine,” he finally murmured, casting his gaze downward.
He hated this. Hated asking for help. Hated needing to rely on someone else.
Not when everyone else had—
A soft hand once more on his wrist, and then a bandage, wrapping around tight, tied off neatly before Stephen finally sat back some, giving him some space. But then Tony saw it again, the wince as Stephen cradled his hands.
His fault.
His fucking fault that Stephen was hurting.
He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the way Stephen jumped up, protest dying on his lips. And then he pulled open cupboard after cupboard door, searching until…
There it was. His heating pack. It was heavy and flat, made for resting on his chest when it ached particularly badly, but it would do.
He switched it on, watching it heat in seconds because Stark tech was the best, thank you very much, before placing it on the counter beside Stephen.
Stephen eyed him weirdly, but then he caved, resting his hands on the warmth of the pack. His eyes widened, expression instantly softening, creases on his forehead all but melting away.
“Thank you,” he murmured, smiling at Tony. Tony just shrugged. He hadn’t done anything except return a favour. Even after this, they probably weren’t even yet.
Leaving Stephen there, he traipsed to the couch, collapsing onto it and switching on the TV.
Stephen followed not long after, curling up around his heat pack on the other end of the couch.
Tony watched him for a while, the sound of the TV fading out before he felt his eyelids drooping. And he let them.
*****
It was morning again. He’d somehow slept through the night again. And Stephen was, once again, gone before he awoke. But so was his heating pack, and he couldn’t help the smile slipping across his face.
He’d be back. Tony was sure of it.