Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stephen Strange rolled his eyes as he stepped through the portal.

This was the fourth time in as many months. The fourth time he had done a quick check on Tony Stark, to check that the engineer was staying out of trouble, only to find he was doing exactly the opposite. This time, he was chained to a wall in some dank basement, bruised and bloodied, and looking like he might not last the night. Stephen hadn’t wasted a moment in summoning the Cloak of Levitation and going to his rescue.

Again.

The moment the portal closed, Stephen knew something was wrong. He looked down at the patterns carved into the stone floor—patterns he was standing right in the center of.

The door to the basement banged open and three men appeared. Two went to Tony, each putting a gun to his head, as the third approached Stephen. He was a short man, bald, and moved with a deliberate nature, like a spider approaching a fly in its web.

“Welcome, Strange,” the bald man said. “I am Yax Holman.”

“I don’t care,” Stephen shot back, raising his gloved hands and stepping forward, his toe brushing the edge of the circle.

It was like touching a forcefield. A horrible energy cracked into him, making him see black for a moment before he stepped back, gasping, trying to summon a portal. Nothing happened.

“Nasty, isn’t it?” Holman said. He moved closer and Stephen took in how pale the man was, how deep the shadows under his eyes ran. “I apologize. But if you give me what I want, you and Stark can be on your way.”

The Cloak flew at the man, only to be hit with the same force Stephen had. It cowered in pain, taking shelter behind Stephen like a kicked puppy.

Stephen glanced over to Tony, whose eyes were fixed on Stephen. “He means nothing to me,” Stephen stated.

“And yet you’ve continually come to his rescue,” Holman said, noting Stephen’s surprise. “We’ve been watching you for quite some time, Strange. And every time Tony Stark is in trouble, you’re there, saving the day.”

Tony’s eyes had narrowed now, as though he were running calculations. Stephen kept his eyes on Holman as he said, “He has importance in a larger war that is to come. As do I. You, however, do not. So if you’d be so kind as to remove whatever half-assed magic this is and let me take him home, the universe would be grateful.”

Holman smiled, revealing metal teeth. They glinted in the basement’s dim light, reminding Stephen of a shark. “Of course. After.”

“After what? Do speed this up, I have more important places to be.”

“After you teach me your magic.”

Stephen huffed at that. “My magic takes years of training.”

“I do not require all your knowledge. Only a select part."

Stephen tucked that information away. "It also requires an exceptional mind.”

“I have trapped not only you but the infamously brilliant Merchant of Death.” Stephen saw Tony flinch at the nickname. “Do not underestimate my mind, Strange. Or what I am willing to do to make you cooperate.”

He snapped his fingers and one of the men by Tony put away his gun and pulled out a hammer instead. Stephen felt his heart stop as the man spread Tony’s hand out along the wall, hammer at the ready.

“I know all about your accident,” Holman said in a low voice. “All that talent, all that promise—wasted.”

Stephen could feel his own hands shaking and clasped them behind his back to hide them.

“How do you think Stark will feel if we break his? Do you think you could fix them? Or will they stay broken forever, like yours?”

Stephen searched for a comeback, and couldn’t find one. He was back in a hospital bed, opening his eyes to see machinery piercing his skin in a dozen places—

“Or,” Holman continued. “You can teach me. The choice is yours.”

Stephen hesitated, thinking fast. Tony hadn’t been gone that long, but it would only be a matter of time before his people were searching for him. He couldn’t teach Holman all he wanted before they found them and dragged him off to whatever jail cell the Avengers had access to these days. He could stall. 

He also couldn’t give away even one of the secrets he had learned in Kamar-Taj. He had sworn it.

Holman took his hesitation for a no, because he nodded to the man holding the hammer.

“Wait!” Stephen held up his hands, showing surrender, hating how they were trembling “Okay. I’ll teach you. Let him go.”

“Stark stays here with us,” Holman replied. “He’s leverage until I am satisfied. Understood?”

“Perfectly. Although, it would be productive to know what you required this magic for."

Holman ignored the request. "Collect your thoughts, Strange. We begin in the morning.”

The moment the men were out of the room, locking the door behind them, Tony spoke. “What the actual fuck?”

Stephen started to examine the markings on the floor, looking for a weakness.

“Hello!” Tony called over to him. “Sparkles? I’m talking to you. Are you even real?” He jangled his chains, clanking them against the wall as he yelled at the closed door. “What the fuck did you give me? Because hallucinogens are fine in your twenties but nowadays—”

“Stark!” Stephen snapped at him. “Shut up.”

“Did a figment of my imagination just tell me to shut up? Actually, no, that sounds about right. Wizards are a new one though. Is this one of those dreams that have a secret meaning? Like when your teeth fall out?”

“I assure you I am not part of your mind, Stark. I am very real, as is the fact that now we’re both trapped down here.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my fault. Look, if you’re real…fuck it, there’s nothing else to do while I wait for Rhodey to get his shit together and realize I’m not back at the Compound. Let’s say you’re definitely real. If you came waltzing in here without a plan, and now you can’t get back out, that’s on you.”

Stephen took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “You always do this,” he griped, finishing his inspection of the trap. Nothing—not one weak point he could exploit.

“I’m sorry? What do you mean always?”

“Every time I rescue you you’re such an ass about it. Can’t you just swallow that ego of yours for five seconds and say thank you?”

“Every time…what do you mean every time?”

Stephen sighed, pulling himself into a meditation stance. If he could still his mind, he could focus enough to think of a way to get them both out before Holman came back.

“Hey, Gandalf. Hello? We were having a conversation!”

Stephen gave it up, both eyes shooting open.

“Welcome back. Nice of you to join me again. You were saying something about every time you rescue me? I don’t get rescued. I escape.”

“No, you get rescued. By me,” Stephen snapped at him. “You just don’t remember. But I do. And every time—”

“No, no. I’m doing the talking now. I’ve never seen you before in my life. I’d remember. It’s not a forgettable look you have going there. The cape is a bold move.”

“It’s a cloak.”

“It is moving?”

“I told you, you don’t remember. I wipe your mind after.”

“You do what?”

“It’s necessary.”

“It’s—whatever. If you’re so good at this rescuing thing, rescue us then.”

“I’m trying.”

“By taking a nap?”

“By meditating!”

Tony let out a snort as he leaned back against the wall. “Great. Yes. Nothing says escape plan like sitting still and thinking about nothing.”

“That’s not what mediation is. But you said you had people coming?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “They better be. And sure, you can come too, if you’re a good boy and don’t freak out the Avengers. Okay?”

Stephen sighed, settling for getting as comfortable as he could in the circle.

Tony saw. “So just checking,” he continued. “Your daring escape plan is to wait for the people who would have come for me anyway and hope you can tag along?”

“I can’t believe you save the universe,” Stephen grumbled, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

“I what? I mean, I can believe that, but how would you know?”

“Because I do. I don’t know how. I just know it happens. Unless you die before then, which I can’t allow, and you make preventing very difficult.”

“I’m doing fine on my own, thanks.”

“No, I just make you forget so you think you’re doing fine.”

“I’m sorry—why am I here again? Because I did get a little suspicious when there weren’t any demands for money or weapons or anything on the usual ‘kidnap-Tony-Stark’ checklist. What was it Dr. Evil said? So you could teach him how to wave a wand?”

Stephen winced, taking in Tony’s various cuts and bruises. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Tony blinked at him, the sincerity in Stephen’s voice taking him off guard. “I didn’t know…I didn’t foresee this.”

“You can foresee that I’ll save the universe but not when I’ll get kidnapped as leverage by some C-class villains?”

Stephen gave a wry smile. “Looking into the future is not a simple practice. It is—”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop you there. You didn’t look into the future. That’s not a thing. Although the sparkles thing did intrigue me. How did you do that?”

Stephen’s annoyance returned in full force. “We protect the secrets of magic for a reason, Stark. We do not teach them to those not worthy—and I certainly wouldn’t teach them to you.”

“I don’t need fairytales. I have the real thing.”

“Your armor? I don’t see it.”

Tony rolled his eyes at him again. “Well, I have War Machine’s armor. Not on me, of course, but any second now, he’s going to come bursting in. Any second. Any moment now. In five…four…three…Okay now. Okay, five…four…three…”

Stephen let out a long sigh of resignation as he tried to block out Tony’s voice. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The night passed with no sign of rescue.

Stephen didn’t sleep. The basement was lit only by a single lightbulb that flickered out a couple of minutes after Holman had left. Whether the man was trying to save on power or if the thing had just given up was unclear, and Stephen was still trying to keep the creeping fear at bay as the hours wore on.

He’d faced fear before. His first astral projection. The mountain top. Dormammu.

And even going toe-to-toe with a primordial inter-dimensional entity hadn’t matched the moment of waking up in the hospital to see his hands in ruins.

So really, being held captive shouldn’t be an issue. They weren’t going to hurt him—probably. Tony, maybe, but Stephen could probably mollify them to prevent it from being too bad before what remained of the Avengers showed up. He felt a small pang as he remembered that Wong was in Nepal on Sanctum business, and wouldn’t be back for days. No one would notice he was gone.

Sometimes he really wished he’d worked harder to keep in contact with Christine.

Even so, this was going to be fine. It had to be fine. He was going to be fine.

“Hey, Dumbledore. I can hear you thinking from over here and some of us are trying to sleep. So unless you’re formulating a marvelous and magical escape plan—knock it off.”

Stephen gave himself a moment to make sure his voice wasn’t shaking before he shot back, “You can’t hear thinking.”

“I’m pretty sure I can.” Tony gave a fake gasp. “Does that make me magical now? Are we magic buddies?”

“No. We’re not buddies, Stark. You’re not even going to remember me after this.”

There was the clank of chains and a low cuss as Tony shifted his position. “Yeah so, about that. Can we go back to the part about me saving the universe?”

“I thought you were trying to sleep.”

“I am. Tell me a bedtime story. Featuring me.”

Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, a headache starting to throb behind his eyes. “I don’t know how it happens. I just know that it does. If you survive.”

“So your job is to keep me out of trouble? Wow, well done, top of the class.”

“I already said I was sorry.”

Tony huffed, the chains clattering again. Stephen felt a touch of sympathy penetrate the annoyance. At least he was able to lie down in his circle of runes, albeit curled up with his knees tucked against his chest. The Cloak had curled up under his head like a pillow, but he was debating asking it to switch to lying across him blanket style instead. The basement wasn’t getting any warmer.

“I’ll try and stop them hurting you,” Stephen said quietly. “As much as I can.”

Tony was quiet for so long that Stephen was half sure he’d fallen asleep before— “The magic they want from you. Is it dangerous?”

Stephen exhaled. “I don’t know which parts of my knowledge Holman wishes to learn. But I can’t give him what I know. I swore an oath.”

“Jesus, did I end up in Camelot? Speak like a human.”

“I speak perfectly fine.”

“Like a human from this century. Where are you from, anyway?”

“New York.”

“Recent New York? Because you wouldn’t be the first fella around here from a bygone era.”

“I assume you’re talking about your captain.”

“Not my captain,” Tony muttered.

Stephen sensed that was a subject best left avoided. “I’m from New York. This century.”

“But you know…magic. Not that it's really magic, right? It’s like Thor’s schtick. We used to think it was magic, but really it was just alien technology our primitive ancestors’ minds couldn’t understand.”

“No, it’s magic. Not all of us had primitive ancestors.”

He heard Tony snort in what might have been amusement or frustration, he wasn't sure. The darkness was weighing on his eyes, growing oppressive. “Well, whatever it is—don’t give it to Holman.”

Stephen craned his neck up in surprise. “He’ll hurt you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m used to it. I mean, usually I’m on the other side of this equation and the person I’m talking to is leverage to get me to give up the nasty stuff, but the principle remains the same. Don’t give the bad guys more toys to play evil with.”

Stephen thought back to 2008 when every news station was broadcasting the kidnapping of Tony Stark. “Guess you’d know.”

It came out sharper than he’d intended it, but Tony just sighed and said, “Yeah. Guess I would. So, we’re in agreement. No giving the bad guys bad stuff.”

“I won’t relent and give our enemies potentially harmful knowledge.”

“You’re the worst, Strange. It is Strange, right?”

“Doctor Strange.”

“Worst. Superhero name. Ever.”

“Go to sleep, Stark.” Stephen curled in on himself, nudging the Cloak until it shifted to be on top of him instead. It helped a little, and not just against the cold.

He managed to grab a few snatches of sleep as the night wore on. The one time he actually managed to slip into a restful state he was woken not from cold or dread or cramp, but by a harsh, gasping sound from the other side of the room. Hampered breathing, contracted airways. Someone was hurt, he needed to—

Stephen reached out, even as he felt an odd tugging on his arm a second before a shock of pain rocked him from head to toe and he withdrew back in on himself with a cry.

The harsh breathing abruptly cut off, the room going quiet again. The tugging continued, and Stephen realized it was the Cloak pulling his arm away from the invisible wall of his prison. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The Cloak wrapped back around him, this time going beyond blanket duties and trapping his arms firmly at his sides in a way that should have felt constraining, but the idea of getting another shock was enough for him to accept it with a wry smile, only to remember what had woken up him up the first place. “Stark? You good?”

He didn’t get a response, but as Tony’s breathing had evened out, and he didn’t sound like he was in any immediate danger, Stephen settled back down and tried to rest the best he could for whatever was waiting for them come morning.

“Are you ready to teach me your magic, Strange?”

Against all odds, Stephen had managed to drop off again towards the early hours of the morning, although by the way his head was pounding it felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Something clunked to the floor an inch from his nose and he flinched, wrenching himself free of the Cloak as he scrambled half-upright.

The object turned out to be a bottle of water, which was followed by a couple of energy bars and a bucket. Stephen ignored the latter, eyeing the other items warily.

“They’re not drugged,” came a voice from above him, and Stephen reluctantly looked up to where Holman was looming. “Wouldn’t want anything to interfere with our lessons. See for yourself.”

Still cautious, Stephen examined the water and food, seeing that the cap on the bottle had not been broken; that the wrappers on the bars hadn’t been tampered with. He jerked his head over at Tony. “What about him?”

“That depends,” Holman retorted. “Are we beginning our lessons today?”

Stephen looked over at Tony who, despite being exhausted and worn, was still managing to look defiant. He shook his head at Stephen.

Stephen’s mouth went dry. He knew he couldn’t give Holman any of the secrets he had learned at Kamar-Taj, but he didn’t feel comfortable throwing someone under the bus to keep them either. He tried a different tactic. “I told you. It takes years of training. You cannot keep someone like myself or Tony Stark captive for that long—you must know that. Let us go now, and we won’t seek retaliation.”

Holman grinned at him, showing the glint of silver teeth. “I don’t like being refused, Strange, but as it’s our first day I’ll be lenient and give you a second chance. Make myself clearer, if you will.”

There was a rustle of movement to his right, and Stephen didn’t need to turn his head to know that Tony was back at gunpoint. “If you kill him, you have no leverage against me.”

Holman cocked his head. “Fine. Abel, shoot through Stark’s hands.”

“I wouldn’t do that either.” Stephen forced himself to keep his voice even.

“No? So you’re going to teach me, then?”

Stephen fought the urge to glare, instead keeping his face neutral. “You forget that I have no personal attachment to Stark. My interest in him lies only in my duty to protect this reality and his future role in it. Due to his prowess with technology, and his urge it seems to jump into every battle headfirst without a plan—”

“Says Mr. Let-Me-Rescue-You-Oh-Wait-I-Got-Caught-Too,” he heard Tony say, but didn’t let it break his rhythm.

“I have every reason to believe that this action will either be in a battle fought or in a creation of his. It is the same loss to me if you mangle him as it would be if you killed him.” He felt the pain of his own hands flare as he finished, “So go ahead. Shoot. But know the moment you do, your chances of getting anything from me go from very unlikely to impossible.” He twitched his lips up in the way that always used to drive Christine up the wall. “Did you get that, or do you need me to repeat it? Maybe a little slower?”

Holman weighed the words, clearly thrown, before baring his teeth in a grin. “Very well.” He nodded to the two men flanking Tony. “Abel, Cotes—you heard the doctor. Nothing permanent. I’ll be back in a few hours, see if we’ve made some progress.”

Holman turned on his heel and stalked towards the door, as the two men leering over Tony quickly got to work.

Chapter Text

At first there was no finesse to it. Abel and Cotes essentially took turns beating the crap out of Tony. At first, Stephen tried not to watch in an attempt to remain impassive, but just hearing the sound of it was worse. At least when he kept his eyes on Tony he could see that the damage they were inflicting was bloody but superficial. Nothing permanent, nothing life-threatening, as promised.

It didn’t make it any easier to watch.

Stephen expected Tony to eventually break, but the billionaire seemed determined not to give their captors the satisfaction, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out as Cotes sent a beefy first colliding with Tony’s stomach.

That finally got a reaction as Tony bent double, retching with nothing to bring up. The stomach punch wasn’t what got Stephen’s attention, however. It was Tony’s wrists. They were already red and swollen from being shackled for so long, but the sudden lurch forward had been enough to break the skin, sending trickles of blood down Tony’s arms, and Stephen couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Stop.”

Tony’s head shot up, quickly rearranging his features into something that wasn’t a grimace of pain. “Come on, we’re just getting started,” he got out. “You can’t tap out during the warm-up, Doc, or they’re never going to take us seriously. Well, me seriously. That ship set sail for you the second you plucked that getup from your wardrobe. Do wizards have wardrobes? Or do you keep all your bits and bobs in some magical dimension full of fairies and gnomes and whatnots?”

Stephen's heart skipped at ‘warm-up’, but he tried to keep his face neutral. “Sorcerer. Not wizard. And yes, I own a wardrobe.”

“How boring. Unless it leads to Narnia.”

“Shut up.” Cotes, the larger of the two and sporting a thick South African accent, sent a kick into Tony’s side, eyes lighting up when he did so.

Cotes went to repeat the movement, only for Abel to lay a hand on his arm, his eyes on Stephen. “Alright, we stopped. Does that mean you’re ready to cooperate?”

“Actually, your buddy just kicked me,” Tony spoke up. “So technically you didn’t really stop, did you?”

Stephen only just managed to hold back his wince at the second kick, instead indicating Tony’s wrists. “If you don’t see to those, they’re going to get infected.”

Abel and Cotes each looked to the other for what to do, and Stephen had to hold back an exasperated sigh. They hadn’t even been taken by competent kidnappers. Wong was never going to let him hear the end of this.

“If they get infected, he could die, and then we have no deal. That’s as simple as I can make it,” Stephen said, making the words as slow and clear as possible as though he was talking to children, which earned him a snort of laughter from Tony.

Cotes just shrugged, unperturbed, but Abel looked wary. “We should tell Holman. Just in case.”

“You tell him,” Cotes shot back, glaring down at Tony. “I’m not done with this one. Not going to become infected in the next ten minutes, are they?”

Abel hovered until Cotes gave him a firm shove towards the door.

“Stop being useless and go get a first aid kit,” Cotes ordered him. “Disinfectant and bandages.” He raised an eyebrow at Stephen. “Happy?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t call being imprisoned with a bucket for a latrine happy but sure, we can start with the disinfectant and bandages.”

Tony laughed again, revealing bloody teeth. “Oh hey, the wizard has a sense of humor. Good to know I’ve got better conversation partners than Harry and Marv here.”

Stephen braced himself for another blow in retaliation. It didn’t come, Cotes just sending Tony a calculating look as Abel made his way to the door, locking it behind him. Cotes folded his arms as the footsteps receded, and Stephen thought that was going to be it until Abel came back. He allowed himself take a deep breath, trying to analyze how best to make use of this reprieve, no matter how brief.

He didn’t get the chance. The second the footsteps had receded, Cotes had spun on his heel and grabbed Tony by the throat, slamming him against the wall and pulling his gun.

Stephen scrambled to his feet. “Wait!”

“Open your mouth,” Cotes ordered. For a wild moment, Stephen thought he was talking to him, until he clocked that the man’s eyes were locked on Tony, filled with rage and hatred. Tony bit his already bleeding lip, either forcing back another taunt or bracing himself against the strain the position was putting on his bruised and bloody wrists. Whichever it was, his mouth stayed resolutely closed.

Cotes shifted his grip from Tony’s throat to his jaw, trying to squeeze his lips apart, but Tony just glared at him and twisted away just enough to keep resisting.

“You don’t want to open your mouth, huh? Must be a first for you, Stark. I see you on TV. All your fancy speeches that don’t mean shit.” Without warning, he spat right in Tony’s face, before changing the gun’s direction to Stephen. “Now open your fucking mouth, or I’m going to shoot the wizard in the knee.”

Tony’s eyes went wide as he made eye contact with Stephen, both of them coming to the same conclusion at once. This was no longer about Holman, or forcing Stephen to cooperate. This was about Tony.

When Tony still didn’t move, Cotes flicked off the gun’s safety in a clear threat. The Cloak tried to scramble in front of him, but Stephen knocked it back as he found his voice again. “You won’t do it. You’ll piss off your boss, and I’m assuming he’s in charge of your paychecks.”

“Accidents happen,” was Cotes's reply, hardly phased. “Besides, you’re a doctor. You can deal with it.”

Another horrible few seconds passed where the only movement was the Cloak curling anxiously around Stephen’s shoulders until, when it became clear Cotes wasn’t bluffing, Tony reluctantly opened his mouth.

The second his lips parted, Cotes wedged the gun between Tony’s teeth, forcing it to the back of his throat so hard that Tony gagged on it, eyes flying wide with panic for a second before he went rigid.

“Don’t.” Stephen’s lips were moving before he had even decided what he was going to say. “If he dies now, you’re not going to get paid.”

“You think I care about the money?” Cotes snapped. “Please, I would have done this job for free and done it happily.” He shifted his free hand to the back of Tony’s hair and jerked his head backward, resulting in a cut-off choking noise. “Do you know who I am, Stark? Answer me.”

As slowly and carefully as he could, Tony shook his head.

“Of course you don’t,” Cotes hissed at him. “Why would you? Why the hell would the great Tony Stark, the Invincible Iron Man, know the name of some construction worker from Johannesburg?”

Johannesburg? Something sparked in Stephen’s brain; recollections of news footage of a city torn asunder by a green beast and a man in a giant metal suit.

Tony seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because whatever defiance remained drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut. That earned him a slap. “No. You don’t get to look away. I didn’t get to look away. Not when a building came down on top of my wife. Not when it came down on my sixth-month-old daughter.”

Stephen felt his stomach turn. He knew in his line of work he should be more used to death, like Christine had been. In their earlier years of partnership, when he had spent more time in the ER before becoming too busy with exclusive projects, he had occasionally found himself shocked at her callousness of describing the amount of people they hadn’t saved that night. On one particular night of a massive pile-up downtime, when the body count has passed into the teens, she had finished her shift, stripped off her scrubs, and asked him to go get a burger with her.

“You want a burger? Now?”

“Yes, Stephen. I just finished a double shift that was really a triple shift that no one is going to pay me overtime for, and I’m starving.”

“You don’t want to…”

“I want a burger, Stephen. You can come with me or you can go home, I don’t care.”

Later, Stephen learned not to judge—at least as much. It was part of the job description.

He couldn’t help but wonder if being an Avenger was the same. If seeing so much death and destruction—causing it—made you numb. If it made you forget about the people left behind.

Cotes glowered at Stephen. “You think I care about a paycheck? No. I’m here to avenge my family.”

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, as Stephen glanced down at the runes surrounding him. Maybe if he threw his whole body at them, all at once, he’d fall through. It would hurt like hell, maybe even kill him, but it might be enough to—

Before Stephen could make a decision, footsteps echoed behind the door again. Cotes yanked the gun from Tony’s mouth, letting go of his head. With nothing left to keep him upright, Tony collapsed forward on his knees, coughing and hacking. “Would have been too quick anyway,” Stephen heard Cotes mutter, before the door to the basement was opening again and Abel was returning with bandages and antiseptic.

Cotes let Abel do most of it, standing to the side with his gun still drawn as warning. Abel unchained Tony’s hands one at a time, always leaving one bound as he dumped antiseptic on the weeping cuts from the chains before wrapping each of them up in bandages.

Stephen noticed Tony wincing as Abel saw to the second one. “Not so tight.”

Abel paused. “What do you mean?”

Stephen fought back an eye roll, reminding himself that Tony needed this medical care. “Don’t limit his circulation, especially if you’re going to be putting his hands back above his head. It needs to be snug but not pulled as tight as it can go.”

To his credit, Abel didn’t argue, simply redoing the wrappings until Stephen was satisfied, muttering, “Boss says he can lie down now anyway.”

True to his word, Abel left Tony unchained from the wall, although not before he locked one ankle to a ring in the floor. Stephen hoped that would be it, that they wouldn’t put any more pressure on Tony’s wrists, but Abel finished by fishing out a pair of handcuffs too. Tony grimaced, but after one look at Cotes he cooperated, offering his hands out in front of him in an exaggerated surrender motion.

Abel chained one, but before he could get to the other Tony made his move, lunging forward and tugging the handcuffs out of Abel’s grip.

Stephen started forward, only the Cloak grabbing him preventing him from hitting the barrier. Abel fell flat on his ass, cursing and wild-eyed as he scrambled for his gun, only to realize that Tony hadn’t moved any further. More than that, he was laughing.

“Hey now,” Tony held up his hands, handcuffs dangling from one wrist. “Can’t begrudge a guy for trying to find some entertainment down here.”

Abel glared at him, scrabbling to his feet and quickly locking the second cuff into place before slapping Tony up the back of the head for good measure. Stephen winced inwardly at the sound, but Tony took it in stride as he stretched out the best he could in the new bindings. “So. We done for the day or what?”

“That depends entirely on the good doctor,” a voice echoed from the doorway. Holman had reentered the room.

Stephen folded his hands behind his back. “What you are asking of me is impossible.”

Holman didn’t look surprised. “Then your friend will continue to suffer.”

“I’m not his friend,” Tony and Stephen said in unison, then glared at each other.

“Perhaps not.” Holman made his way fully into the basement, so he and Stephen were only a foot or so apart. “But you have sworn more oaths than just those at Kamar-Taj, have you not, doctor? Or perhaps I can call you Stephen now, seeing as we are going to be spending so much time together.”

“I highly doubt that,” Stephen retorted. “Whether you relinquish this folly and let us go or those who are searching for us discover our location, we will not keep company long enough for me to teach you even the basics of the Mystic Arts.”

Holman cocked his head to one side. “Basics I have covered.” He indicated the runes surrounding Stephen. “Be it known, Stephen—”

“Doctor was fine.”

“—that this isn’t the only spell I have in place to ensure your stay here. I’ll leave it up to your imagination what the second one is. A loop out of time. A pocket dimension.” He smirked. “Perhaps I’ve made so that, to the wider world, neither of you has ever existed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen saw Tony flinch, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “If you are able to achieve even one of those, I doubt you would have use for me.”

“Alas, the types of magics I have learned have only gotten me so far. I suppose it is what you would refer to as black magic.”

“Sure, if you want to be primitive about it”

Holman’s smile dropped. “Give Strange more food and water, but nothing for Stark. Let’s see if the doctor has a new answer for us in the morning.”

“I can assure you I won’t.”

Holman was already halfway to the door. “We’ll see. Everyone has a breaking point, and you are a doctor after all. You speak of oaths—what of the Hippocratic Oath you bound yourself to? “I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm”, I believe it goes.”

“I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

Holman indicated Tony. “Any harm done to that one is on you. Either way, you will end up breaking one of your oaths. So I suppose now it’s just a question of whose breaking point we find first. Yours, or Stark’s.” Then he left, locking the door behind him, and leaving Stephen and Tony alone once more.

“So you’re actually a doctor.”

The piercing darkness was back. Stephen had concluded that the lightbulb worked, Holman just switched it off at night. At least they had a way to measure time. “Once.”

“Doctor Strange isn’t just some half-assed superhero name. It’s your actual name.”

“I’m not a superhero, Stark.”

“Right. Just some doctor guy who happened to learn how to make sparkles. Got it.”

Stephen sighed as he tried to curl into a more comfortable position. After more than twenty-four hours locked up in the rune circle, his muscles were cramped and sore, and he was wishing that Tony’s supposed rescue party would hurry up already.

Stephen was also trying very hard not to dwell on the implications of the fact that no one had come yet—that Holman almost certainly had some other insurance policy in place against their escape. He had known how to trap Stephen, and gotten his hands on Tony, after all. Stephen made a mental note to not underestimate their kidnapper, before Tony interrupted his thoughts again.

“He called you Stephen.”

“I believe it’s a normal practice for people to call other people by their names, yes.”

“Dr. Stephen Strange.”

“According to my degree from Columbia, yes.”

“Of course you went to Columbia.” Tony sounded halfway disgusted.

“Yes, I went to Columbia. Unlike all the Silicon Valley wannabes who crawl their way into MIT.”

There was the clink of chains as Tony turned over for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. The sounds were grating on Stephen’s nerves, but he didn’t complain. He knew Tony was moving around so much because he was cold, because Stephen was feeling it too under the robes and the Cloak. Tony wasn’t wearing anything except jeans and a t-shirt so old half the print had worn away. Stephen wondered if he could convince their captors that hypothermia was enough of a risk to warrant giving them blankets.

Tony wasn’t done. “So, all those other times you supposedly rescued me—”

“There’s no supposedly if it really happened.”

“—did it usually take this long?”

Stephen huffed. “Those were all situations you got yourself into, you know. I only stepped in to—”

“Save the universe, yeah yeah.” Tony turned over yet again, sending the chains rattling. “By which you really mean me. You save me. Because I save the universe.”

Stephen fought back the taste of envy those words brought. He’d improved, he knew that, but still. Did it really have to be Stark that got that final blow? “Supposedly.”

“Hey, that’s my word. No stealing.”

“You can’t own a word.”

“With the amount of money I have, I think I can own anything. Maybe I’ll trademark it.”

Stephen buried his head under the Cloak, which had been doing its best to keep him warm as the temperature continued to drop. The movement brought him in contact with the bottle of water Abel had dumped at his feet, trapped like he was by the barrier, and felt a pang of worry. How long was Holman going to leave Tony without water? “I’m sorry about today. The beating.”

Tony snorted. “I can take a beating, Doc, don’t sweat it. Can take tomorrow’s too, so don’t lie awake all night fretting. No sweating or fretting in this household. The boss has ruled it so.”

Later, Stephen would blame the freezing temperature and stress for what he said next. “Yeah, well, you’re not the boss of me.”

“Wow.” Tony drew out the word. “Are you five?”

“No. Because I’m actually taking this situation seriously.”

“What, and I’m not?” Tony snapped back at him. “Because I’m the one who had a fucking gun in his mouth today, asshole.”

The next words left Stephen’s mouth before he realized what he was saying. “His baby died.”

There was an awful silence, followed by a cacophony of metal that sounded like Tony was scrambling as upright as he could get. “Right. Because that was my fault?” Then— “Okay, maybe it was. And maybe that wasn’t the only child either. You think I don’t know that? But whatever your opinion is, save it, because I’ve heard it. I’ve heard every variation of it. I’m still out there risking my ass anyway. At least I try to save people.”

The unlike you went unsaid, and Stephen felt a rush of resentment. He knew Tony was here because of him, but Stephen was doing his best to limit the damage without risking something greater. “We both agreed to keep dangerous information out of Holman’s hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, saving the universe, sure, I know. You’re a swell guy, Doc, really. Good moral compass.”

The bitterness in Tony’s voice was unmistakable. Stephen was tempted to argue further, before putting it down to a day of misery and pain and discomfort. “Go to sleep, Stark.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Who cares? You’re just going to make me forget.” The next bit was so indistinct that Stephen was half-sure Tony didn’t mean him to hear. “You could wipe out a few more things in there while you’re at it.”

“I think that would count as using magic for a selfish purpose. Which I swore an oath—”

“If you say the word ‘oath’ one more time, I’m going to lose it.” Tony sighed. “So no selfish purposes, huh? That’s in the rules?” The words sounded almost mocking.

“That’s the idea.”

“Sure.” In the silence that followed, Stephen could hear Tony’s teeth chattering. “So in your whole magic thing—is karma real?”

“We do undertake some beliefs and practices from Buddhist tradition, including the idea that the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence can affect—”

Tony groaned. “Oh god, forget I asked. Oh, wait. I’m going to forget I asked.”

“We are supposed to meet a predestined time. If you remember us meeting before then, it could jeopardize the fate of the universe. Do you comprehend that?”

“Been thinking about nothing else for the past six years,” Tony muttered. “Still don’t love the idea of you rooting around in my head. Usually considered a no-no on our side, you know. Even Maxmioff knocked that shit off after she joined up.”

“That would be Wanda Maximoff?”

“Yep. Hey, she can make the sparkles too. Maybe you guys should run off and do your little hocus pocus acts together.”

“She is an individual we have been keeping an eye on.”

“Well, don’t expect me to do introductions. That ship has long since sailed. In fact, I don’t think that ship was ever even in port. I don’t know. Maybe there’s something to that karma thing. Maybe we both deserve this, at least a little.”

Stephen poked his head out from under the Cloak. “We?”

“Come on, Dr. Stephen Strange,” Tony scoffed. “I’m not a saint, I’ve always been the first in line to admit that, but don’t pretend you’re any better. Like you haven’t made mistakes in the field.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, given a patient has never died under my watch.”

“And I wonder why.”

“Because I’m a damn good doctor, that’s why.” Was a good doctor, he reminded himself. He tightened his hands into fists under the Cloak, the Cloak curling around them protectively.

“So I’m sure your record proves. And then what, being a doctor wasn’t good enough? You ran off to become Glinda the Good Witch instead?”

Stephen brought his hands closer to his chest. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Stark. Or about the sacrifices I’ve made for this reality to keep existing.”

“No? Then let me ask you this, Doc—where the hell have you been?” Tony’s voice was rising. “If you’ve been watching me, and Wanda, and you’re supposedly oh-so-powerful and self-sacrificing and you live in New York, where were you? When Loki attacked? When HYDRA nearly killed millions of people? When we had to stop Ultron crashing Sokovia into the earth and wiping out humanity? Where were you then?” He didn’t stop to let Stephen answer. “Because I know where I was. I was on the front lines, fighting those wars and you know what happens when you fight wars? Casualties happen. We don’t get to bow out and keep our perfect record.”

Perfect record? “I have had my own battles to fight—ones you couldn’t comprehend the enormity of.”

“No offense—actually, screw that, offense totally intended—but that sounds like one big fat cop-out to me.” Tony sighed, suddenly sounding exhausted. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

The shuffling and clanking after proved anything but, but Stephen didn’t exactly want to continue that conversation, so he let it be. The words perfect record kept floating around his head. It was true he had turned patients away because he didn’t want to fail, but he would have remembered if one of those patients was Iron Man.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the choice of words had been a coincidence.

Even so, Stephen was awake late into the night, wondering if he had ever refused a medical request from anyone close to Tony Stark.

Chapter Text

That night, the harsh breathing came again.

Stephen hadn’t been sleeping, mind too busy alternating between pouring over patients he had passed up that could have been associated with Tony, and cursing at himself for caring so much. The past was the past. Yes, he had been arrogant. Yes, he had seen himself as invincible. Yes, he had paid the price for it.

And screw Tony Stark of all people to assume to know anything about him.

A cramp suddenly spasmed up Stephen’s leg. He kicked out before he could stop himself, only the Cloak’s restraining position around his body preventing him from getting shocked. He did, however, knock the precious remaining bottle of water away from him.

His hand shot out, only to snag the end so close to the invisible barrier that he could feel the hum of it against his skin.

He didn’t think he had made that much noise, but it must have been enough for Tony to clock that he was awake again, because the harsh breathing cut off. Slowly, Stephen dragged the water back towards him, calculating. It was pitch black, but it wasn’t rocket science to deduce that the water bottle had gone through the barrier and had remained intact.

Okay. So Stephen and the Cloak couldn’t pass through without getting hurt. But that didn’t seem to apply to non-magical, inanimate objects. When Holman had tossed in the food and water earlier, Stephen had assumed that had gone one way—that the barrier could be entered from the outside, but not the inside. But it seemed that wasn’t the case.

Stephen edged the bottle towards the rim of the runes again, feeling the slight buzz of energy as it passed through. Interesting. And useful. Stephen still couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear Tony’s now calmed breathing, giving away his position. He lined the water bottle up in that direction, tried to estimate the distance, and threw it.

The dull thud and subsequent string of curses told Stephen that he had hit his mark. There was the clank of metal as Tony roused himself, muttering annoyed insults that abruptly cut off, which Stephen hoped meant that Tony had realized what had just hit him.

A few seconds later, Stephen heard the telltale snick of a plastic cap being removed, followed by desperate gulping. Feeling about twelve percent better about their situation now he knew that Tony wasn’t going thirsty, Stephen settled back into the Cloak, and managed to grab a few hours of sleep.

It felt as though he had barely drifted off when the door to the basement was crashing open, the lightbulb sputtering back to life. A small part of Stephen wanted to just keep lying in the exact same spot, cold and miserable and sore as he was, but the defiant part of him that demanded he meet his enemy on his feet won out. He pushed himself upright, noting Tony doing the same thing, hampered as he was by the cuffs and ankle chain.

Tony looked even worse than he had yesterday. The swollen skin from the beating had turned into purple and black bruises, and he was favoring his right side. Even so, Tony’s face split into a grin as Holman, Abel, and Cotes entered the room. “Morning, gentleman. I assume you’re here to take our breakfast orders. Now, very important question—what are your gluten-free options?”

Holman ignored the quip, instead indicating the empty water bottle lying at Tony’s feet and tutting. “Didn’t your mother tell you that you shouldn’t take things that aren’t yours?”

Stephen’s heart sank. Of course there was going to be a punishment. He found his voice. “I gave it to him. It was my choice.”

Holman turned to look at Stephen, one eyebrow raised. He signaled something to Cotes, who smirked at Tony as he left the basement. “And why would you do that, Stephen?”

“Because you left a man longer than twenty-four hours without water which, to be frank, isn’t a very smart way to treat your hostage.”

Holman cocked his head to one side, his next words aimed at Tony. “My apologies, Stark. I didn’t realize you were so thirsty.”

Tony made a move as if to fold his arms behind his back before the cuffs stopped him. “What can I say? Getting the shit kicked out of you leaves one a bit parched.”

Footsteps echoed down the stairs, indicating Cotes’s return. It sounded like he was carrying something heavy. “Well then, why didn’t you say?” Holman said, mock innocent. “If you want water, we can get you water.”

Cotes burst back into the room, arms straining from the weight of carrying what looked like a large fish tank. The sloshing sounds splashing through the room indicated it was close to full. Cotes dumped it at the center of the room, so close to Stephen that water slopped over onto the runes. Tony had suddenly gone very white and very still, all bravado dropped. He didn’t even fight when Cotes undid the ankle cuff in order to grab him by the collar and shove him to the floor with barely disguised glee, holding his head a couple of inches away from the surface of the water and tightening his grip when Tony tried to squirm away.

Holman approached Stephen. “Say what I want to hear, and this doesn’t happen.”

Stephen forced himself not to look at Tony, fearing that if he did so, he wouldn’t be able to get the next words out. “I’m not teaching you magic.”

Holman signed with fake disappointment, looking back towards Tony. “What about you, Stark?”

Tony tried for a second time to wrench himself out of Cotes’s grip, getting nowhere. “What about me?”

“Anything to say?”

Tony mustered up enough strength to glare at him. “If you’re expecting me to beg then, with all due respect Jaws—crawl back into the 1970s and fuck right off.”

A muscle twitched in Holman’s jaw. “Fine. I’ll be back in a few hours to see if we’ve made any progress.”

He stalked out of the room, leaving Tony in Cotes’s and Abel’s hands, and Stephen could do nothing but watch as Cotes forced Tony’s head under the water.

Stephen didn’t know how much time had passed. He usually had a knack for that kind of thing—had always been able to estimate the time within minutes even before he had sold all of his precious watches to get him to Nepal. And then, at Kamar-Taj, his senses had only grown more acute after learning to measure days by sunrise and sunset.

He quickly learned that it was hard to measure a minute when those sixty seconds were spent with an ally unable to breathe.

For the first few trips under the water, Tony kept it together. The snark and defiance were long gone, but he kept his shoulders rigid as Cotes dunked him again, and again, and again, holding him down for increasingly longer increments with shorter rest breaks in between. When Cotes forced him down, Stephen could see Tony’s hands twitching in their bonds, the drops of blood soaking through the bandages underneath, but it wasn’t until Cotes held him down for what seemed an impossibly long time that Tony really began to thrash and struggle.

“Stop,” Tony gasped, when Cotes at last hauled him back to the surface. His eyes were far away, as though staring at something the rest of them couldn't see. “Stop. I’ll do it, okay? I’ll build it, just stop.”

Cotes tightened his grip in Tony’s hair, but his eyes were on Stephen. “That’s not up to you, Stark.”

Stephen folded his arms, feeling the Cloak give his shoulders a quick squeeze of reassurance. “No.”

Tony didn’t even seem to hear him, still trying to free himself from Cotes’s grip. Cotes shook him, growling at him like he was a dog, finally noticing the blood that had soaked through the bandages. “Abel? Go grab us some fresh bandages.”

Abel peered around Tony, wrinkling his nose when he saw the blood.

“His wrists will be fine,” Stephen said quickly, not wanting them to be left alone with Cotes again. “The cuts are disinfected and covered. If you’re going to keep those handcuffs on him, there’s no point.”

Cotes’s response was to pull Tony further away from the tank. The movement must have been agony, with Cotes using Tony’s hair as a handhold, but Tony visibly relaxed when he realized he was being moved away from the water. “Bandages. Now.”

Abel shrugged. “The doctor says they’re fine.”

“And I said,” Cotes snapped. “Go get new bandages.”

“It’s a waste of resources,” Stephen stepped in, keeping his voice level. “You’d be better off letting me check his wrists myself.”

The faraway look was thawing from Tony’s eyes as he seemed to lock back onto Stephen’s voice, expression turning to one of confusion. “Where—”

He cut off as Cotes shook him again. “Bandages. Don’t make me ask again.”

Stephen already had a counterargument ready to go, but Abel just shrugged. “Whatever. Need a smoke break anyway.” Then he left, leaving them alone with Cotes.

Stephen already knew there wasn’t anything he could say to stop the man. He’d seen the manic glint in his eye when he’d forced the gun into Tony’s mouth yesterday. He knew reason wasn’t going to work.

He tried anyway. “Before you do something everyone in this room is going to regret, why don’t we just talk?”

Cotes ignored him. Stephen risked a look at Tony, who was dangling weakly from Cotes’s grip, but at least he seemed to know where he was again. Cotes kicked the tank. “Dangerous thing, using water for this stuff. You got to get the balance just right. Get them down long enough to make it effective, but not so long that they get water in their lungs. It’s a tricky line to walk. Very easy to get wrong.”

Tony had gone rigid, his breathing harsh, gaze fixed on the tank of water in front of him.

“And then what?” Stephen demanded. “You think Holman is just going to let you walk away?”

Cotes shrugged. “He’ll find another way to convince you. Probably not another hostage though. That method doesn’t seem very effective.” He hauled Tony forward until his head was held an inch above the water. “Do you know why we took Stark in the first place?”

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Because I kept turning up to pull his ass out of trouble. You knew I’d come.”

“Yes,” Cotes admitted. “But also—we couldn’t find anyone else you cared about. No partner, no family, no friends. The best we could do is someone who, before a couple of days ago, didn’t know you existed and, if he didn’t hate you already, I’m guessing he’s really hating you right about now.” Cotes suddenly shoved Tony’s head down and Stephen started forward, but Cotes stopped just as the tip of Tony’s nose brushed the water. “So what does that say about you, Strange?”

Stephen folded his arms. “That I take my duties very seriously.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” And Cotes forced Tony’s head under the water, just as Tony wrenched his hands up to grab onto Cotes’s wrist.

It happened fast. One moment Cotes was plunging Tony into the tank and the next he was stumbling, Tony twisting his wrist while also kicking out at his ankles, and the next Cotes was crashing stomach-first into the tank.

The glass shattered, water spilling across the floor as Tony struggled to his feet. Spluttering and gasping, Cotes made a grab for him, but a kick in the head from Tony was enough for him to lie still. Tony wrenched his t-shirt over his head, getting it as far down his wrists as he could with the cuffs. He used the material as a handle to scoop up one of the larger shards of glass as he snatched up Cotes’s gun with the other.

Stephen’s breath caught. This was it. Tony was getting out. And while that probably meant that Holman would be turning his persuasion techniques directly on Stephen, that had to be better than watching it happen to someone else.

But Tony didn’t run for the door.

“What are you doing?” Stephen demanded as Tony dropped to his knees beside the rune circle, laying the gun aside in order to have a free hand.

“I was hoping you would tell me.” Tony ran a hand over the runes, then retracted the fingers with a hiss. “Alrighty, so touching makes them mad.”

“Go,” Stephen urged him. “They’ll be down here any minute.”

Tony ignored him. “Come on, give me a clue here. The creepy symbols are your area of expertise, remember?”

Stephen shook his head, hearing footsteps approaching from outside the door. “This isn’t magic I recognize.”

“So make a guess, we’re on the clock here!”

Stephen glared at him. “You don’t think I would have broken out of this circle on the first day if I knew how?” The footsteps were nearly upon them now and, behind Tony, Cotes was beginning to stir. “Stark, I mean it. Get out of here.”

Tony met him with a level glare. “You’re not the boss of me.” Then he shoved the shard of glass into the circle, tugged his t-shirt back on, and raised the gun towards the door as it burst open.

Stephen didn’t get the chance to see what happened next. One moment he was watching Tony getting ready to fire, and then next he was on his knees as pain rocked him from head to toe.

He was dimly aware of voices, of “Stand down” and “Drop the gun,” and then the pain shut off and he was slumping forward into a heap on the ground. By the time he had fully regained his senses, Tony was chained to the wall once more, the chance at escape lost.

“That was stupid, Stark.”

Stephen had feared there would be some kind of retaliation for the escape attempt, but all Holman did was leave them without food and water for the night. It made the cold even more present, and Stephen knew it was worse for Tony, whose clothes were now soaking wet, but Stephen hadn’t dared to protest. He was still feeling the effects of whatever magic Holman had used to hurt him and therefore get Tony to stand down. Apparently, the circle had more uses than just containment.

“You should have run when you had the chance.”

There was a muffled groan from the other side of the basement. “You’re welcome.”

“For what? I’m still stuck here. You’re still stuck here. You didn’t achieve anything except putting yourself at risk of hypothermia.”

Tony’s response was a weary sigh followed by, “Has anyone ever told you that your bedside manner sucks?”

“Yes. Many times.” Mostly Christine. Stephen’s response had always been that he was a surgeon, not a nurse. His duties had been in the operating room, not in the before and the after.

He heard Tony snort. “Good to know. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t...that you didn't keep doing the doctor thing.” It was clear that he had been about to say something else, before changing his mind.

Stephen could have left it. A logical part of him was telling him to leave it. He also knew that he definitely was not going to leave it. “Who was it?”

“Who was what? Just because I’m coming to terms with the whole magic thing doesn’t mean I want to start answering riddles.”

“Who did I turn down? When you reached out to me for help—who was it for?”

That was followed by a long silence, so long that Stephen was sure Tony wasn’t going to answer. Then—

“Dear, Mr. Stark," Tony began, adopting a falsely cheery tone. "We regret to inform you that Dr. Strange is unable to involve himself in Colonel Rhodes’s recovery at this time. While Dr. Strange has a perfect record of patient recovery even in extreme and unusual situations, some cases are unfortunately beyond the best medical help. Despite this decision, we are attaching a list of alternate doctors for you to contact, should you wish to still pursue treatment.” And then, with so much venom that it took Stephen off guard, “We wish you and Colonel Rhodes the very best on the road to recovery.”

Stephen squeezed his eyes shut. A headache was growing behind his eyes, although he couldn’t tell if it was from stress or dehydration. Probably both. “Those were…different days.”

“What did I just say about riddles?”

“Your friend. Is he okay?”

That got him a derisive laugh in response. “No, Doc. He’s not okay. I’m sure your perfect record is though, right?”

Stephen felt his hands starting to throb, and pulled them closer to his chest. “Was this recent?”

Tony sighed. “It feels recent.”

Stephen chose his next words carefully. “I haven’t been able to operate for some time now.”

“Right, right, you've been off in magic land. Sure.”

Stephen flexed his fingers. He had come to terms with the injury long ago, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. “It’s not that I stopped operating. It’s that I can no longer operate. It’s why you would have been sent a list of alternate doctors. They were all vetted by me, I’m sure any of them would have—”

“What? Helped?” There was a rattle of metal as Tony tugged on the chains. “Here’s the funny thing. Hilarious, really, when you think about it. Apparently, when the oh-so-renowned and talented Stephen Strange declares that even he, with all his brains and talents, can’t operate on a patient, every doctor worth their salt decides that they don’t want that failure on their record either.”

Stephen’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“Turns out you set a pretty hard-to-overcome precedent, Doc. Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

“I…I didn’t.” Stephen turned onto his back, staring up at the darkness. “They all said no. Because I said no?”

“That seemed to be the way of it.”

Stephen’s chest clenched. He’d always gone for interesting patients, turning down those too pedestrian or too broken for him to, as he had thought back then, waste time and talent on. He had always assumed those patients had found care elsewhere. He hadn’t dreamt that the line would stop with him. “I’ll talk to them,” he found himself saying. “I meant it when I said when I couldn’t operate anymore, but I’m sure if I explain to them why—”

“It’s too late. The window for the surgery has closed.”

Stephen let his eyes fall shut again. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“I am,” he insisted. “I know what it’s like to be desperate for a cure. So desperate that you’d try anything.” When Tony didn’t reply, he asked, “What was the injury?”

For a few moments, Stephen was sure he wasn’t going to get an answer. "Extreme laceration in the spinal cord,” Tony said finally. “He’s paralyzed from the waist down. It happened after…after a free fall. My fault."

Stephen tensed his hands, taking a few moments to find the courage to say, “Mine was a car crash. My fault.”

After a moment, Tony said, “Your hands.”

Stephen folded them against himself. “Yes. Operating after that was…not an option.”

Tony let out a long breath, and Stephen braced himself for more accusations. Instead he got, “Sorry. That’s hard.”

“I’ve learned to accept it.”

“I don’t think I would,” Tony muttered. “If I couldn’t build, if I couldn’t make things…” He let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I don’t think I’d handle that very well.”

“It took me down a better path.” Stephen curled himself in tighter. He could hear the gentle clinks of the chains from Tony’s incessant shivering.

"So you didn't take Rhodey's case because you were in a car crash." 

"If it was within the past two years, yes. That would have been the reason."

"Oh. Okay, well now I kind of feel like an ass."

Stephen sighed. “Even if I could have operated on your friend, I probably wouldn’t have. Not back then. But if I could go back, I hope I would make a different choice now.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. “Don’t we all.”

The conversation ended there, with Stephen trying to find some warmth as the temperature kept dropping. As the Cloak wrapped around him, he felt something caught in its hem, and realized he still had the shard of glass from the fish tank.

Chapter Text

This time when the harsh breathing came, Stephen was ready for it.

“Hey,” he called out and, as he predicted, the breathing stopped, as it had every time Tony had been found out. “I can’t sleep.”

He didn’t get a response. He wasn’t expecting one.

“So I’m just going to talk for a bit.”

He gave it a couple of beats, to see if Tony was going to interrupt him. When he didn’t, Stephen launched into any story he could think of that didn’t involve anything after the crash which, in the end, mostly resorted to tales in the ER with Christine. The man who had almost had his organs harvested alive before Stephen had stepped in. The time they’d had two mugging victims in the same night who had turned out to be identical twins who had never met. The woman who had driven herself right to the door before calmly handing over an ice bag containing three of her dismembered fingers.

Stephen paused after that last one. It had been the tale he’d brought out most at dinner parties when he had been after horrified but delighted squeals from his audience. Then he'd declare that his ER days were mostly in the past, and he'd move on to discussing his more prestigious patients.

“If you’re worried about my delicate stomach, Doc,” Tony’s voice pierced the darkness. “I can assure you I’ve seen about a hundred times worse.”

Stephen rolled over, pleasantly surprised by getting a response. “I doubt it.”

“You ever tried to fix a broken bone that pierced right through the skin?”

Stephen scoffed. “Please. Child’s play.”

“Yeah? And how about when the individual has a stupidly advanced healing factor and the muscle has already healed around the cracked bone because the idiot didn’t get help fast enough?”

Stephen felt his lips twitch. “You know, I don’t think many people get to call Captain America an idiot.”

There was a pregnant pause before Tony said, “Yeah, sure. That was about Rogers.” He exhaled. “You have good stories, I’ll give you that.”

“Most doctors do.”

After a moment, Tony said, almost sheepishly, “Got any more?”

Stephen cast about. He was out of the ones good for gore and shock value but… “Yeah. I got one.” He tried to settle into a more comfortable position. The nights of sleeping on the hard ground were not being kind to his back. “So one night, we get a patient that Christine is triaging, and she asks if the patient is on any drugs. The patient says no, he’s been clean for five years—ever since he came into the ER for a drug-related problem and the trainee doctor outlined exactly what his life would look like if he stayed on that path. He said he signed himself into rehab the next day. No prizes for guessing who that trainee doctor was.”

“I’m guessing her first name started with a C.”

“Dr. Palmer. She’s one of the best.” Stephen suddenly felt a wave of sadness and regret replace the nostalgia.

“She sounds important to you.”

“She was.” The past tense hung heavy in the air.

“Is she…you know.”

"No, she’s not dead. We just lost touch.”

“Maybe you should get back in touch. And for the record, I’m only giving that advice so your future foes will have someone to kidnap who isn’t me.”

Stephen huffed. “This isn’t an experience I intend to repeat with anyone.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. “That’s what I always say too.”

Right. Afganistan. “We’ll get out,” Stephen called across the basement, finding it easier to make the words sincere in the dark. “We’ll figure it out. Or your friends will show up.”

“Rhodey always does.” And then, softer, “Even though maybe sometimes he shouldn’t.”

Stephen recalled every time Christine had shown up at his doorstep. Making sure he got to classes at Columbia on time. Checking on him after a heavy night of drinking. Trying to drag him out of his misery and self-pity after the car accident. “I know what you mean. And yet they come anyway.”

“We’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

Stephen was really getting tired of seeing Yax Holman’s face. “This might be controversial,” Stephen retorted. “But I’m pretty certain that beating and waterboarding a man is the wrong way to do anything.”

Holman didn’t rise to the bait, instead reaching into his pocket and bringing out a photo. He passed it to Stephen while being careful not to touch the barrier. Stephen’s heart skipped when he saw that the photo was of a young girl, no older than eleven or twelve. Holman wasn’t going to start threatening children, was he?

“Her name is Avi,” Holman said. “She is my daughter.”

Wary, Stephen passed the photograph back. “Okay. And?”

“And a few years ago, she was in a car accident. We both were. It’s how I got these.” Holman bared his lips, showing off his metal teeth. “She was not so lucky.”

Stephen glanced behind him, sharing a quick look with Tony. Holman had brought him dry clothes at least, including a sweater, but Tony was still shivering. His ankle was chained back to the floor, his hands now cuffed behind his back.

“Paralysed from the neck down. I believe you know what happens next, Stephen,” Holman continued. “The search for a cure. Losing everything and finding nothing. And then, one day, I hear about a man. A man who was in a wheelchair, diagnosed inoperable, who was suddenly up and walking again. A man by the name of Johnathan Pangborn. I believe you’ve met.”

Stephen kept his face blank. “We’ve met.”

“So I tell him my story. He directs me to Kamar-Taj. And you know what happens then?” Holman took a step forward, so he was as close to Stephen as he could be without touching the runes. “They turn me away and say I am not worthy.”

“Wait.” Everyone in the room turned to look at Tony, but Tony’s eyes were locked on Stephen. “You learned about magic because you wanted a cure for your hands? From a guy in a wheelchair who learned to walk again?”

“It would seem that Stark understands my predicament,” Holman continued. “Frustrating, isn’t it? To know there is knowledge in the world to help those you love. And those too selfish and self-righteous to share it.”

“I swore an oath.” The words weren’t for Holman. Stephen forced himself to meet Tony’s furious eyes as he added, “The secrets we guard are dangerous. I cannot give them away, not for anyone.”

Tony tugged on his restraints, more out of anger than actually trying to get free. “Right. So much for hoping to make different choices.”

“I am making a different choice,” Stephen argued. “I wouldn’t have helped your friend in the past for selfish reasons, and this is exactly the opposite.”

“Enough.” Holman cut through their conversation, nodding to Cotes. The man started approaching Tony, duffel bag in hand, both Tony and Stephen eyeing it warily.

“If you put Stark through torture again, he won’t last another a day,” Stephen tried to reason. “He’s injured and dehydrated and borderline hypothermic. I’ve seen how fast those conditions can turn deadly.”

Holman wasn’t phased. “Oh yes, I think we can agree that physical torture isn’t a good idea until Stark has had a chance to recover.”

Cotes and Abel had both moved as one, with Cotes tugging Tony up to his knees and then forcing him up against his legs, bracing his shoulders so Tony couldn’t move away, while Abel went for the bag.

“I hate to do this, you know,” Holman said with mock sympathy, as Abel pulled a long scarf with a thick knot in the middle from the bag. “Just when you two were becoming such pleasant conversation partners.”

Tony seemed to cotton onto what the scarf was for a split second before Stephen did, because he was staring daggers at Holman as Cotes used his thumb to force Tony’s jaw open. Tony made a token snap at Abel’s hand as he shoved the knot between Tony’s teeth, but both he and Cotes managed to get the gag tied securely at the back of Tony’s head without losing any fingers.

Stephen tried to cover up the increasing unease with a laugh. “If you think rendering Tony Stark unable to speak is incentive for me to work with you, I can assure you it’s quite the opposite.”

Holman cocked his head to one side. “Now, now, Stephen, don’t lie to me. It was quite the lovely chat you two had last night, after all. Heart-warming really.”

Holman had been listening? Tony’s eyes were already roaming the basement, no doubt looking for hidden microphones, but Stephen just looked down at the runes surrounding his feet. They had already proven to do more than just contain. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that they could eavesdrop as well.

Abel was bringing something else out of the duffel bag, a second strip of material that made Tony start. Holman noticed, smirking. “Ah, I see know you what this is already. Good.”

Stephen squinted harder at the material. It was a thin strip of black fabric, crisscrossed with strands of what looked like metal.

“Military-grade blackout material,” Holman explained. “Reinforced with titanium steel. Not a hint of light can get through.”

Tony tried struggling again in Cote's grip, but the man just braced him tighter against his legs.

“You had to have known the water yesterday wasn’t a coincidence,” Holman went on. “Reports on your time in Afghanistan are varied, but they all report common themes. Waterboarding. Surgery without anesthetic—not one we figured out how to replicate here without too much risk, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear. And lastly, months in a dark cave.” Holman tapped the center of Tony’s chest where Stephen supposed the infamous arc reactor had once rested, making Tony flinch. “Bet you were pleased to have a nightlight when you came home, right Stark?”

Tony’s eyes had been fixed on a spot on the far wall, but now he turned to fully glare at Holman.

Their captor just chuckled. “I’ve figured out your little secret. I’ve heard you at night. When it gets cold. When it gets quiet. When it gets dark.”

Abel approached with the blindfold, but Holman raised his hand to indicate for him to wait. “Show him the last bit first.”

Abel shrugged, nonplussed, then brought the last two pieces out from the bag; a roll of duct tape and a set of noise-canceling headphones. There was no missing the white lettering plastered over the side that read Stark.

Tony’s eyes flew wide, struggling even harder in Cotes’s grip, which only resulted in a burly arm wrapped around his throat, cutting off his airway. Tony was effectively immobilized as Abel wrapped the blindfold around his eyes and knotted it tightly at the back of his head.

“I’m going to put the headphones on now, Stark,” Holman said, but his eyes were on Stephen. “And they’re going to stay on, along with everything else, until the doctor here gives me what I want.” Then he stepped back, letting Abel tape the headphones over Tony’s ears, so that no amount of shaking or fighting would throw them off.

“We’ll start with twelve hours,” Holman announced, and Stephen knew it wasn’t coincidence that he had waited until after Tony was deafened to give them a time frame. Tony would have no idea if this would go on for minutes, or hours, or days. “See if you’ve changed your mind then. And if not, then…well. Then we’ll check in again after the hallucinations start.” He put a gentle hand on the top of Tony’s head, making the engineer flinch at the unexpected touch. “Or you can just give me what I want now?”

Stephen steeled himself. “How many times—no.”

“Come on, Stephen.” Holman had started running his hands through Tony’s hair, which Tony was clearly finding unnerving as he tried unsuccessfully to squirm away. “I’m only trying to help my daughter. Help me now, and not only does no more damage come to Stark, but you get to give a little girl her life back. Seems like a good deal to me.”

Stephen didn’t back down. “Here’s the thing, Yax. I don’t think you’ve ever seen that girl in your life. I think she’s a stock photo you pulled from the internet with some invented sob story to get me to give in, and it’s a pretty pathetic attempt at that. I don’t care what you to do—to me, to Stark, to anyone, because there was one part of your story that I did believe, and it’s that you went to Kamar-Taj and they turned you away. And it isn’t hard to see why. You will never be worthy to guard the secrets that I do, and I am never giving them up to you.”

Holman’s response was to send a kick into Tony’s side, who gave a muffled yell of protest in return before his whole body tensed for another hit. “Cotes. Abel. Stay here. Give Stark a nudge or two every so often. Make it as unpredictable as you can." Holman smirked at Stephen, with the look of a man who knew he had won. “Meanwhile, I think I have some research to do on a certain ER doctor by the name of Christine Palmer.”

Chapter Text

That night when the harsh breathing came, there was nothing Stephen could say; no distraction or comfort to offer. And this time, the breathing didn’t stop either. At one point, Stephen couldn’t take it anymore, pressing his hands over his ears and then immediately hating himself for it. Tony didn’t get an out—he shouldn’t take one either.

The twelve-hour mark Holman had offered had long since been and gone. That interaction had been swift—Stephen had been saying no before Holman had even walked all the way in the door. Holman had taken it calmly, deposited more food and drink in Stephen’s circle, and left them for the night with nothing but their thoughts for company.

And Stephen was thinking about Christine.

He was clinging more tightly than he wanted to admit to the hope that Holman had been bluffing. He didn’t want to ask himself what he’d do if given that choice.

A muffled moan, quickly broken off, snapped him out of his spiral. Tony had managed to get himself lying down on his side, hands still bundled behind his back. At first, he’d tried rubbing the headphones against the ground, trying to knock them off. When that proved fruitless, his next move had been to shove at the gag with his tongue in an attempt to dislodge it, but Abel and Cotes had tied it too tightly. Eventually, Tony had seemed to give up, slumping back with a huff and going still.

There was another small groan, closer to a whimper than Stephen wanted to think about. He was one hundred percent certain that Tony would not be making those noises if he could hear himself doing it. Stephen shuddered as he imagined being locked up in his own head, alone with thoughts he couldn’t voice, for hours on end.

He wasn’t sure he’d like what he’d find.

As though sensing his agitation, the Cloak wrapped a little tighter around him. Its movements had been slow and lethargic the last few days, confined as it was to the tiny circle and not wanting to release the grip it was keeping on the hidden shard of glass.

Stephen reached out to pet it, feeling it lean into the touch. “We’ll get out soon,” he muttered, needing to offer words of comfort to someone.

But however close soon was, it wasn’t close enough. Because Stephen needed soon-to-be before Holman located Christine. Before the sensory deprivation started playing tricks on Tony’s mind. Before Stephen started to compromise.

Scratch that. Stephen wasn’t going to compromise. He couldn’t. It didn’t matter if Holman got to Christine, or if Stephen had to listen to Tony shake and whimper as he struggled through his own personal hell. He’d taken an oath. He wasn’t sharing a single lesson that he’d been gifted at Kamar-Taj with that man, not ever.

It wasn’t about him.

That had been a hard lesson to swallow, but he’d taken the Ancient One’s words to heart. He was a protector of reality. That mattered more than he did. His path in the war to come was to guide, to support, to not take the killing blow no matter what form it took. No, that honor was Tony’s, and nothing Stephen did was going to change that.

It didn’t mean that he didn’t resent it, though, just a little. Sometimes more than a little. That he had needed to learn to be humble and serve, so the glory could be claimed by someone just as egotistical and self-centered as he had been.

Then Stephen remembered Tony coming for him instead of running out the door. Which was stupid, and the man should have known better and taken the out. But he hadn’t.

Next time, Stephen would make sure he would. He had to get Tony Stark back in the world, unharmed, so he could go on to create whatever miraculous invention or lead that last final battle or whatever heroes did so their reality could go on existing.

And Stephen wasn’t bitter about that. No, not at all. Not even a little bit.

The door to the basement opened far too early.

Stephen had been unable to sleep, even though he was exhausted. He had enough sense of the passing time to know that it was not yet morning, that Holman’s second twelve-hour window had not yet concluded. The single bulb illuminated their prison anyway, and then Cotes was stumbling in the door.

The sudden intrusion was enough to get Stephen on his feet, immediately on guard, the tension only increased by the fact that Cotes was clearly inebriated. Stephen’s eyes darted to Tony, helpless and unaware in the corner, and then to the large man taking a swig from a near-empty whiskey bottle.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing,” Stephen kept his voice even. “You will regret it in the morning. Walk away.”

Cotes ignored him, slamming the basement door shut. Stephen sent out a silent prayer that the noise was enough to wake someone else in the house as Cotes made a beeline for Tony.

“Don’t,” Stephen warned. “You know your employer won’t like this.”

“Fuck my employer,” Cotes mumbled, his words slurred. “Not here for the money anyway. Here for him.” And he sent a boot crashing into Tony’s ribs.

Tony’s shout was as much from surprise as from pain. Stephen didn’t think he’d been asleep, but he would have had no way of knowing that someone hostile was in the room with them. Tony’s entire body went tense as he tried to scramble to his knees, but Cotes’s boot found his shoulder, pinning him.

Stephen looked down at the runes surrounding him, a desperate idea forming. “Holman,” he said. “I know you can hear us. If you want your leverage alive, you’d better—”

“He’s not listening,” Cotes slurred. “Sleeping.” He pressed his boot harder into Tony’s shoulder, smirking when he got a pained grunt in return. “Not going to kill him anyway. Not yet.”

Stephen scrambled for a way to make Cotes stop. “You’re not just going to lose your payment,” he reasoned. “Holman is dangerous. He got Stark here, he got me here. You have to know he’ll come after you if you interfere with his plans.”

“Don’t matter. Worth it.” Stephen tensed as Cotes reached for his pocket, but the man only brought out his phone. “Smile, Stark.”

Tony had gone rigid beneath Cotes, body tensed for another attack that he wouldn’t hear or see coming. Stephen heard the click of a phone camera.

Cotes grinned at his screen. “Yep. These are keepers.”

“You won’t be keeping anything if you’re dead,” Stephen pointed out.

It took Cote’s booze-addled mind a few moments to figure that out. When he did he turned on Stephen, glaring. “Shut up.”

“Leave Stark alone and I might consider it.”

Instead, Cotes did the opposite, moving his foot down to Tony’s fingers. “I said, shut up.”

Tony gave a shout and tried to move out of the way, then whined with distress when that just made Cotes press harder. Phantom pain flared over Stephen’s own hands, which he raised in a placating gesture. “Alright. Shutting up—as long as you don’t hurt him.”

Unbidden, he couldn’t help imagine Christine’s expression if she heard that someone had finally made Stephen Strange stop talking. It was worth it though when Cotes moved his boot. “Not here to hurt anyway,” he muttered. “Worse for you, Stark, isn’t it? To go after your ego, your reputation.” Cotes blinked a couple of times before remembering that he wasn’t going to get a response. He pocketed the phone in order to reach down and wrench the knot in Tony’s gag apart.

Tony spat it out, spluttering and hacking, but was talking before Cotes could get a word out. “Don’t tell them.”

Cotes cuffed him around the back of the head, apparently having forgotten that Tony couldn’t hear him. “Shut up. This ain’t about the wizard right now. This is about my family, which you—”

“I can take it,” Tony went on, not hearing a word Cotes was saying. “This is nothing, fuck you guys, it’s nothing. Don’t tell them, hear that Merlin? I can take it, don’t tell them, I can take it—”

Cotes's next blow caught Tony across the face, with enough force that the headphones were knocked a little askew. It wasn’t enough to get them off, but it did at least remind Cotes that they were there. He ripped them off, duct tape and all, wrenching a hiss out of Tony.

“We moving on then?” Tony spat at him. “What’s next, bamboo shoots under the fingernails? The rack? An Iron Maiden? Do whatever, because I promise you I’ve been through worse, so hurry up and figure out that Strange won’t be giving you a single damn thing, and if he does I will break out of these cuffs and track down his ass myself.”

And Stephen knew then. Knew that Tony wasn’t going to save the universe by creating some breakthrough technology, or by leading some glorious battle.

He was going to sacrifice himself for it.

Tony was still talking, telling Stephen not to do it, but broke off when Cotes seized his jaw. Tony finally went still, seeming to realize that it wasn’t Holman in the room with him.

“Aw, you scared?” Cotes shook him a little, and Stephen had to bite his lip to keep to his promise of staying quiet. “Don’t worry, Stark, I’m only taking a few photos.” Not letting go of Tony’s face, Cotes snapped another picture, and Tony couldn’t hide his wince as he heard the fake shutter click. “Sure the paparazzi would love to get ahold of these.”

Tony’s resolve didn’t break. “Paparazzi? Seriously? What the hell year are you living in?”

Cotes smirked down at his camera. “Maybe if you ask super nicely, Stark, I won’t spread these all over the internet. Wonder how your adoring fans will react to seeing you how you really are—beat down and pathetic.”

Tony hesitated for a moment, and Stephen knew the threat had gotten to him more than he was trying to let on. “Anything can be deep-faked these days and I have a very good PR team. Knock yourself out. You can probably do that just by thinking a little too hard—Holman is obviously the only thing close to brains on your team.”

Cotes glared at him, clearly unimpressed by the lack of fear he was getting. “Maybe those photos shouldn’t be free.” Cotes shoved the whiskey bottle aside, pulling a knife out of his belt, and Stephen broke his agreement to shut up. He knew he couldn’t get Cotes to stop, the man was too revenge-hungry and drunk for that, but if he could get him to change his target—

“Stark’s right,” Stephen aimed at Cotes. “Clearly there are hardly two thoughts to string together up there, and as neither of them are apparently telling you how bad of an idea this is, why don’t you put that away before you hurt yourself?”

It didn’t work. Cotes acted like Stephen wasn’t in the room, bringing the knife to rest on Tony’s shoulder. Tony couldn’t see it, but it was clear that the light touch was enough for him to clock what it was. He froze before the knife could do any accidental damage as it began to slide, splitting open his t-shirt.

“I should get something,” Cotes was muttering. “You took everything, I should get something. There’s people out there who will be able to prove the photos aren’t fake. People out there who will pay for these. And I’ll bet they’ll pay a whole lot more without any clothing in the way, don’t you agree, Stark?”

Stephen was casting about for a new method of getting Cotes to stop, when the door to the basement burst open. It made Cotes flinch, and Tony hissed as the knife opened skin as well as fabric. Then Abel was in the room, surveying the scene with horror. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cotes glared at him. “Nothing.”

Abel pointed at the headphones and gag, now on the floor. “They’re meant to stay on, idiot. Holman is going to be pissed. I need this job, man.”

Cotes wasn’t phased, raising the phone and shaking it at Abel. “Bet these pictures will sell for a pretty penny. I’ll cut you in.”

Abel just shook his head, moving into the corner Tony was chained up in and hauling Cotes away from him. “Holman is paying better than some dumb photos will get us, moron.” He snatched up the gag, ignoring Tony’s protests as he shoved it back in his mouth, acknowledging Stephen for the first time. “You can’t tell Holman about this.”

Stephen indicated Cotes, who had gone back to muttering to himself as he scooped up the whiskey again. “Keep him away from Stark, and this never happened.”

Abel didn’t protest. “Deal.” He slapped the headphones back over Tony’s ears, hastily taping them back into place, then dragged Cotes out by the collar. “Try to cost me my paycheck again and see where it gets you.”

The door slammed and locked behind them. It took another ten or so minutes for Tony to finally trust that they were gone, slumping back on his side with a resigned sigh. A few minutes later, Stephen mirrored his position even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

It’s not about you.

No. Stephen’s job wasn’t to be the glorious victor. It was to be the guide; the one that got Tony to the finish line. Tony Stark was going to give up everything to save the universe. And maybe that meant that Stephen had to give up everything to get him there.

Stephen retrieved the piece of glass stashed away in the Cloak, and started to formulate a plan.

Chapter Text

Stephen had a plan.

He hadn’t slept through the rest of the night following Cotes’s drunken attack, and from the occasional grunts and moans from Tony in the corner, he knew he wasn’t the only one. Stephen would have bet the Sanctum that Tony stayed tense through those hours, not daring to drop his guard an inch as he anticipated a new attack.

There wouldn’t be one. Stephen wasn’t going to let it happen.

He was aware that his plan did, for lack of a more intellectual word, suck. Hard. And he did not have words at all for how much he didn’t want to go through with it.

It’s not about you.

“I know, I know.” Stephen tapped the shard of glass in his hand as the Cloak nudged him, nervous. “Yeah, I hate this too."

But it didn’t matter if Stephen hated it or not. His goal was to get Tony out, and in a way that Tony wouldn’t waste time on trying to save him too. Which would mean that Holman would turn the torture on Stephen or, worse, follow through on his threat to hurt Christine.

It was that last thought that always brought Stephen up short, reconsidering. “Holman’s threatened her anyway,” he told the Cloak. “And besides—there’s no point protecting her if the universe ends anyway because some power-tripping asshole tortured a self-sacrificing asshole to death.”

The Cloak just nuzzled his cheek in response.

“Clingy,” Stephen teased it. Then, more seriously, “I’m sorry I’m not getting us home too.”

He hoped Tony would come back for him, once he was out. Stephen had no doubt that Holman would move them after, and definitely to a place he thought Tony wouldn’t able to find. And he had kept Tony and Stephen down here for days with no sign of rescue but…

But it wasn’t about him.

Stephen stayed awake and ready the rest of the night and, at the first sign of footsteps on the stairs, got himself ready.

The door opened and Holman stepped in, whatever ridiculous villain monologue he had cooked up dying on his lips as he took in the sight of Stephen holding the shard of glass against his thigh. “Enough,” Stephen ordered him. “You’re going to let Stark go, now, or you’re not going to have a sorcerer alive to teach you anything.”

Holman stared at him for several seconds, disbelieving, and then burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

Abel and Cotes followed Holman into the room, the latter looking much the worse for wear. Good. Holman gestured for them to shut the door, walking right up to where Stephen was kneeling. The runes around Stephen began to glow.

“I wouldn’t try to make me drop it,” Stephen said quickly. “If it’s the same pain you inflicted before, it’s going to make me seize. The glass will go right in.”

Holman narrowed his eyes. “No,” he decided. “You gave everything away just to try and save your hands. A man like that would never take his own life.”

Stephen forced away memories of Dormammu, I've come to bargain. “You have no idea what kind of man I am,” Stephen replied cooly. “But I understand that a threat such as this one needs some convincing. I’ve prepared for that.”

At his words, the Cloak swept to one side, revealing Stephen’s other leg. Holman’s eyes widened, taking in the blood slowly soaking into his runes.

“Femoral artery,” Stephen explained. “Not quite as dashing or heroic as threatening to slash my throat, but I assure you it’s still plenty effective. It’s not deep, but it will bleed out eventually.” He pressed the glass shard down, splitting the robes over his uninjured leg. “Much faster if I do this one. Tell me, Yax. How long do you think it will take you to find another magic user as powerful as myself?”

Holman was still staring at Stephen’s leg as though he had never seen one before. “You’re bluffing.”

“Are you sure?”

Something like uncertainty crossed over Holman’s face. “Even if you’re not, if you do it I have no reason to keep Stark alive. If you die, he dies.”

“And you’ll still lose your teacher, and then be tasked with hiding the body of one of the most famous men on the planet.” Stephen tightened his grip on the glass shard. He really didn’t want to do this. He had seen the toll leg wounds could have on the body, too many times to count.

But he had to. So he did.

He shoved the glass down.

“Wait!” Holman started forward, and Stephen pulled the glass back. Blood was flowing from both legs now, but he’d stopped before it had gone in too deep.

Holman was deliberating, torn, and Stephen knew he’d never get a better chance to convince him to release Tony. “Holman,” Stephen said, his voice low. “Let him go. Now.”

Holman knew he had lost. It took him a few more seconds to accept it, wrestling with the decision before he finally snapped at his men. “Get a first aid kit in here.”

“I’m not stitching myself up until Stark is out of here. And you’re not getting the glass until you’ve proven to me that he’s safe.”

Holman huffed, annoyed, but followed the orders. “Fine. One of you get a first aid kit. The other one get Stark.”

Cotes seemed to snap back to life, all signs of the hangover gone. “I’ll get Stark.”

Stephen faltered. “No. Not him.”

Holman actually rolled his eyes, all but stomping his foot in frustration. “Fine, Abel—” He turned around, but Abel had already left. “For god’s sake.” He marched across to Tony, ripping off the headphones first. “Alright, Stark. You’re free to go.”

Tony made a questioning sound as Holman snapped at Cotes for the keys. Reluctantly, Cotes tossed them over, Holman fumbling them before he managed to get Tony’s ankle chain unlocked.

Holman gripped Tony’s chin, forcing his face up to meet his. “You listening, Stark? You better be. You get to go home. Your magic friend is staying with me. You try to fight me or my men on the way out of here, I’m changing my mind and we can substitute the blindfold and the gag for me cutting out your eyes and tongue. And if I get the slightest whiff that you or any of your costumed friends are coming after me, I’ll do the same to Strange. Understand?”

Tony wrenched himself out of Holman’s grip but, after a moment of consideration, nodded.

Still Holman hesitated, and Stephen tried not to show concern as blood leaked down his legs. He hadn’t actually nicked either femoral artery, which would be fatal, but stopping bleeding was always better to do on the sooner side of things rather than the later. Finally, Holman looked to Cotes and said, “Insurance.”

Shrugging, Cotes pulled his gun and aimed it at Stephen. Holman pulled off Tony’s blindfold next, making sure he had seen Stephen’s predicament before unlocking the handcuffs. The second he was free, Tony was tugging the gag out of his mouth, turning his head to spit and cough. Holman waited until he was done before shoving him at the door just as Abel arrived back with the first aid kit.

“Go,” Holman told Tony. “And don’t bother coming back here. We won’t be here if you do.”

The words sent a shiver of fear through Stephen, but he fought not to show it as he and Tony locked eyes. “Go,” Stephen prompted him. “You’re not going to get another chance.”

Tony looked disorientated, still regaining full use of his senses. Even so, Stephen could see the wheels turning in Tony’s mind, knew where they were going to end up. Knew that Tony wasn’t going to leave him without a fight. Knew that, even if he did, Tony was going to come looking for him, and get himself into trouble, and then they would be right back where they started.

“Wait,” Stephen said, eyes not leaving Tony’s. He swallowed down his trepidation, sent a silent apology to Christine, then said, “You need to let me wipe his memories.”

“Um, you need to do nothing of the sort.” Tony’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp, but the indignation was clear.

Holman glared at Stephen, the suspicion returning. “Right. And for that I’d need to let you out of the rune circle. I don’t think so.”

“It’s not a trick,” Stephen insisted. “Keep guns on us, whatever. This way is safer for you too. Which would you prefer—Tony Stark aware or unaware of your existence?”

Tony backed away, only for Cotes to step forward to seize his elbow. Tony cursed and tried to get free, but it seemed as though the days with no food and almost no water had finally caught up to him, because Cotes got an arm around his neck without much trouble. “The wizard’s trying to trick you, boss. Just let me take Stark outside.”

Stephen’s heartbeat accelerated. The plan had been to get Tony free, not leave him alone with a man out for vengeance. He opened his mouth to protest, only for a cut-off gasp from Tony to stop him in his tracks. Cotes had shoved the gun into the small of Tony’s back, out of sight of Holman, and the message was clear. Tell Holman and I shoot him.

“Go,” Holman decided, gesturing to the door. “Get him out of my sight. I need to get ready to move us.”

Cotes started to haul Tony towards the door. Stephen looked to Abel for help instead, trying to indicate the situation, but either Abel was ignoring him or was oblivious to what was happening. Tony was still trying to pull away, either to get away from Cotes or back to Stephen or both, but it was clear he wasn’t going to be successful. It was just as clear that, wherever Cotes was taking Tony, Cotes didn’t intend for him to come back.

So Stephen threw the glass.

Aim and dexterity hadn’t been his strong suit after the accident, but he’d learned more than magic at Kamar-Taj. The makeshift weapon flew true, the sharp end impaling itself right in Cotes’s Achilles tendon.

The man’s scream was drowned out by the gunshot that rang through the basement as Cotes reflexively pulled the trigger. Stephen’s heart leaped, but Tony had managed to dive out of the way. He used the momentum to tackle Cotes, landing on top of the bigger man and bringing him to the ground as they wrestled for the weapon. Tony’s hand had barely claimed it when a second gun was pressed up against the back of Tony’s skull. “Don’t move,” Abel ordered.

The room held its breath as Tony’s hand tensed on the gun, clearly reluctant to relinquish his hold. Cotes was still cursing as a pool of blood spread out around his foot, trying and failing to throw Tony off. “Stark,” Holman said, his voice low and dangerous. “Let. Go.”

Finally, slowly, Tony moved his hand off the weapon. Abel was on him in a second, dragging him back to the corner and locking him back into the cuffs and ankle chain as Holman kicked the first aid kit into Stephen’s circle. Stephen didn’t touch it. “You said you’d let him go.”

Holman looked pointedly at the piece of glass sticking out of Cotes, and Stephen’s heart sank. That had been it. Their one opportunity for a surprise attack. And it hadn’t worked. “Stitch yourself up,” Holman ordered. “And then you’re going to teach me. No more delays.” He bent down, wrenching the gun out of Cotes’s hand. “And you—stop whining.”

“This wasn’t the deal,” Stephen tried, the blood now soaking down his legs growing alarming. “I’ll keep bleeding if you don’t let him go, Holman, I’ll—” He broke off with a gasp as the runes glowed, a warning spike of pain shooting through him.

“You’ll do it, or we’ll knock you out and do it for you,” Holman retorted. “You don’t need to be a surgeon to put thread in someone’s leg, although I’d bet you’d do a lot neater job of it than one of us. So you’re going to do that, and then we’re starting lessons, today, or Stark dies. Final offer.” And he shoved the gun against Tony’s head.

Stephen didn’t drop Holman’s gaze, trying to determine if this was a bluff, and his heart sank when he realized it wasn’t. Holman was radiating impatience and frustration, his hand steady. This was it. He could save Tony or he could break the oath he made at Kamar-Taj. He couldn’t do both.

“Stephen.”

Tony’s voice was low, not looking at him. Stephen braced himself for the usual “Don’t do it,” even though this wasn’t about them, this was about the entire universe, and if one asshole was about to mess up the future of reality, then surely Stephen could—

“I don’t want to die. Please, I…please.”

The entire room went still, even Cotes, who had been raiding the first aid kit for bandages to wrap around his bleeding ankle. Holman broke it first with a disbelieving laugh. “I always wondered what it would take to make Iron Man beg. And this was it? A gun to the head?” Holman forced the barrel tighter against Tony’s temple, breaking the skin. “Pathetic.”

Tony finally raised his head so Stephen could see his face. His entire posture was radiating submission, but when their eyes met, Stephen could read the resolve there. The message Tony was projecting was clear. Trust me.

Holman huffed, annoyed. “This is getting ridiculous. Three seconds, Strange. Then I’m splattering genius brain against that wall. Three…”

Stephen did not, in any scenario, want to say yes to this man. It felt like a betrayal too deep to come back from, but if he didn’t...

“Two…”

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a betrayal after all. Maybe he’d only have to pretend for a little bit, until Tony got them out of here. Stephen felt the old habit of bitterness rise at the idea of Tony managing to work out a successful plan when he hadn’t, but he pushed it away. It wasn’t about him.

“One…”

“Alright!” Stephen transferred his gaze from Tony to Holman. “I’ll teach you.”

“There. Was that so hard?” Holman moved the gun away, and Tony collapsed backward, giving Stephen a short nod of thanks.

“On one condition.”

Holman sighed. “Is the condition that Tony Stark lives? Because that’s the only one you’re getting.”

“Not quite.” Stephen jerked his head at Cotes. “Get rid of him.”

Cotes had just finished wrapping his ankle, looking up in shock. “What?”

“Look at the back of Stark’s t-shirt,” Stephen instructed.

Holman frowned, but did as he was told. It didn’t take him long to locate the rip. “What the hell?”

“Your man hasn't exactly been playing obedient little henchman. ” Stephen went on, getting a grim stab of satisfaction as he saw Cotes’s face drain of color. “He’s been paying us some late-night visits behind your back.”

“That’s not—” Cotes started, but Abel cut him off.

“The doctor’s right.”

Cotes turned on him. “What are you doing?"

”Sorry,” Abel shrugged. “I told you I need this job, man. I don’t need you screwing it up.”

Holman looked between Stephen and Cotes, considering. “Alright,” he decided. “You,” he said to Cotes. “Get out.”

Cotes’s pale face went purple. “You can’t—”

“Abel, deal with him.”

Abel cocked his head to one side, considering. “Does this mean I get Cotes’s half of the pay?”

“Sure, whatever. Just get it done.”

Abel grinned. “Nice.” Then he was hauling Cotes out of the room, the South African man too hampered by the wounded ankle to fight back.

Holman focused on Stephen again. “We start today.”

“Food and water first,” Stephen countered. “And blankets. And warmer clothes for Stark. If you’re really intending to keep us here long enough for me to teach you what you need to know, you need to at least give us the basics.”

“As soon as Abel has dealt with Cotes, he’ll grab all that for you.” Holman shoved the first aid kit back at Stephen, and Stephen wasted no time in disinfecting both leg wounds, beginning the process of closing them up. “You see? If you had just agreed to this in the first place, we could have skipped all this unpleasantness. Everything that has happened is on you, Strange.”

Stephen didn’t deign to answer that, sneaking a look over at Tony as he started in on the deeper of the two cuts. The mechanic was huddled back in the corner, keeping uncharacteristically quiet. His head was down, but the moment he sensed Stephen looking at him, he sat up straight enough to give him the ghost of a wink, so quick that Stephen was half-sure he’d imagined it.

Alright. So Tony definitely had a plan. Now Stephen just had to play along until he executed it.

Abel returned and was tasked with gathering the necessary items to make Stephen and Tony more comfortable. Holman took a seat opposite Stephen, unable to keep a smug grin off his face. “So, teacher. Where do we start?”

Stephen started walking Holman through the basic theory of magic practice, every word tasting like salt. Whatever Tony was planning, it couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Stephen had never done anything that felt quite so wrong as teaching Yax Holman magic.

The man’s knowledge was all over the place, with in-depth understanding in some areas, and a lack of the basics in others. Holman had clearly taken bits and pieces from different cultures and lores, experimenting until he found what worked and what didn’t. And, as it became abundantly clear, what Holman really wanted was a portal to another dimension. 

“I thought you wanted to heal your daughter,” Stephen stated after Holman finally declared them done for the day.

“And I thought you didn’t believe that story.”

“So you're confirming it’s fake?”

Holman ignored that, getting to his feet and dusting off his knees as Abel came through the door, carrying two plastic bags that smelled absolutely heavenly. The henchman had delivered not only clothes, blankets, and water earlier in the day, but two mattresses as well. At Stephen’s request, Holman agreed to uncuff Tony's hands, leaving him only restrained by the ankle chain. “I'm giving you this on good faith. Cross me, or try to fake anything in our lessons, and we go back to how it was before."

“Understood.” Inwardly, Stephen couldn’t help but gripe a little that it was only at the very end of their captivity that they had been given basic human decencies. At least, he hoped that it was nearing the end. Whatever Tony’s plan was, it couldn’t come quick enough.

Holman left them to it, Abel dumping a plastic bag of Chinese food into Stephen’s rune circle, and then a second one in Tony’s lap. “Hope you like fortune cookies. This place gives extra if you ask for them.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Stephen dragged the bag towards him, fighting every impulse not to look desperate as he pulled out a box of what smelled like orange chicken.

Their captors left them to it, Tony tearing apart the bag to get to the food before the door had even closed.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Stephen warned. “Eat slowly.”

He got a glare in return. “I know how to eat after being starved, thanks.” Tony caught the expression on Stephen’s face. “Don't give me that look. I’m the world’s leading weapon designer, an Avenger, and a general ‘piss people off’ kind of guy. There’s a long list of people out for me, so statistically it makes sense that some of them actually get at me. But you know that already, don’t you? Stalker.”

“If you mean monitoring your actions so you don’t die before you’re meant to save the universe, then fine, I’m stalking you. You’re welcome.”

Tony rolled his eyes, starting in on a box of plain rice. “So if I die after I save the universe, that’s fine?”

Doesn’t matter. You’re going to die during. “Yes, your death then becomes entirely your business.” Stephen fished out a pair of chopsticks, trying not to grimace when he didn’t see a fork. After using a bucket as a latrine for the last few days, he didn’t exactly want to use his hands either.

He was just debating whether or not to struggle through or give up enough of his dignity to stab at the chicken with one of the sticks, when something light and plastic clocked him in the knee. A fork.

“I’ve got a question,” Tony called across the room. “How come you don’t use your sparkles to fix those hands of yours?”

Stephen picked up the fork. Tony had even removed the plastic casing for him. “I could, if I wanted to.”

“So why don’t you?”

“More important places to expend the energy.” Stephen clutched the fork in his still slightly shaking hands. “And it serves as an important reminder. Of what…of who I was before. And what it cost me.”

Stephen looked over just in time to see Tony run his hand over the center of his chest. “You know, that doesn’t always have to define you.”

“Not define. Just remind.”

Tony placed aside the rice, digging around to see what else they’d been gifted. “He wasn’t kidding about the fortune cookies." He unwrapped one, cracking it open. “Life is short; enjoy yourself while you can. How uninspired. And vaguely threatening. You do one.”

Stephen opened his own cookie. “This cookie is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down." He blinked at the scrap of paper. "Did this cookie just Rickroll me?”

“How the hell do you know what a Rickroll is?”

“I know what every song is.”

“Okay, that’s decidedly untrue.”

“Try me.”

They passed the time over the next ten or so minutes with Tony trying, and failing, to name a song that Stephen didn't know, and Stephen trying not to let himself be driven insane by not knowing Tony’s plan. Holman could hear them through the runes, so it wasn’t as though he could ask, but Tony wasn’t doing anything either.

Tony caught Stephen staring, which in turn brought the doctor’s attention back to the rice in Tony’s hands. Right. He could let the man eat before pressing him to get them both out of here.

Finally, Tony laid the rice aside with a small sigh, and reached for his pocket. “So. You’re really going to give him magic lessons.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, you keep wiping my memory, so I’m sure the second you get out of here you can wipe his. No harm done.”

“Let’s hope not,” Stephen said, then fought not to start as Tony’s hand withdrew, producing an honest to god cellphone.

Tony offered Stephen a wink before sending off a quick text, and then putting the phone away. “By the way—thanks for getting rid of Cotes.”

He stressed the name, and Stephen cottoned on. It was Cotes’s phone. Tony had grabbed it in the struggle. Stephen felt a small stab of validation that his plan had at least amounted to something, even if that something was just giving Tony the opportunity to save them both.

Well. Maybe that would be good practice for when the real threat came.

“You’re only here because of me,” Stephen offered. “The least I could do is and try and get you out of here in relatively one piece.”

“Yeah, well, Cotes was here because of me,” Tony replied. “And apparently you’ve saved me plenty of times in the past. So let’s call it even.”

Stephen heard the unspoken offer. You’ve saved me before. Let me save you this time.

“Save the damn universe, Stark. Then we can be even.”

“Oh, I will. But not because you told me to.” Tony swapped the rice for a plastic container of mixed vegetables. “You know, it’s almost a shame you’re just going to wipe my memory after this. Remove all this stimulating conversation and bonding time.”

“It’s the way it has to be.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony carefully speared a green bean. “Still a shame, considering I could almost definitely help you with those hands.”

Stephen clutched the fork a little tighter. “I told you. I could fix them myself if I wanted. But they’re a—”

“Reminder, I know. Of what? Past mistakes? The person you used to be?”

“Both.”

“Ever think about, I don’t know, letting yourself a bit more off the hook?”

“Is that what you do? Let yourself off the hook?”

“Oh no, never. Call me a hypocrite.” Tony seemed to decide that what he was eating wasn’t going to come back up, because he tucked into the vegetables with a bit more gusto.

“I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. I’ve shown a particular interest in prosthetics these past two years, I could definitely whip up something for your hands.” Tony paused, choosing his next words carefully. “For the record, I would offer that regardless. But if it helps with your whole charity hangup, even though it’s not charity…maybe we could make a trade.”

Stephen twisted around on the mattress, trying not to look too suspicious. “A trade.”

“Yeah.” Tony sucked in a breath, and then went for it. “Okay, so I’m aware that we've spent the last few days trying to keep your magic out of other people’s hands, and I get that—more than you might think—but…”

“If you’re going to ask for my magic, then we’re about to have a very awkward conversation.”

“No. Gross. And not me. I get that you wouldn’t want to give it to someone like me. James Rhodes, on the other hand…”

“Your friend with the spinal injury.”

“He’s a good man,” Tony insisted. “Annoyingly good sometimes. He was only doing what he thought was right, and he doesn't deserve what happened to him in Germany. And he’d never misuse the power, ever. That’s not who he is.”

“I…will consider it.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Tony sounded sincere about it. “I mean, I guess you could just be faking because you know I’ll forget anyway but—”

He didn’t get to the end of the sentence. Before he could finish, the door to the cell burst open, and a bloodied and bruised Yax Holman was being thrown at Stephen’s feet.

Stephen scooted away even as Tony scrambled upright, his face lighting up as heavy footsteps approached them. “Finally, platypus. I was beginning to think you hadn’t even bothered to look for me this time.”

Stephen swallowed bile as he looked down at the man—no, the corpse—that was leaking blood over the rune circles. And from the looks of the guy’s face, it hadn’t been a quick death either.

James Rhodes: a good man. If what Tony considered a good man could do this, then Stephen had seriously misjudged his character. He wasn’t letting him or anyone at the Compound near his magic, ever, no matter what they—

“STARK.”

Tony swore, loud and creatively, as he dropped back down to try and wrench the ankle chain off. Stephen swallowed his revulsion in order to hastily check Holman’s pockets for a weapon, coming up with nothing as Cotes stormed into the room, hands already red with blood. Tony gave up on the ankle chain and shoved the mattress aside to give himself a better footing, readying for a fight.

“Where’s Abel?” Stephen asked, copying Tony’s action with his own mattress and planting his feet.

“Hiding upstairs. Coward. Just you and me now, boys.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, still in a fighting stance, but a bottle of water and a few mouthfuls of cheap Chinese takeout weren’t going to be enough to bolster him to full strength. Fighting wasn't the best option here. “I’m sorry about your family,” Stephen said.

Cotes turned on him, clearly drunk again, and Stephen sent out a silent prayer that maybe the loss of balance and coordination in the larger man would be enough to even the playing field for Tony. “Shut up,” Cotes warned, the words slurred. “You don’t get to talk about them.”

“Killing a man isn’t going to bring them back,” Stephen tried to reason. “And we have backup on the way, so why don’t you just drop this? Leave now, keep your life, start over.”

“Nice pep talk, Doc,” Tony said. “Think you’re wasting your breath with this one though.” He had the phone clutched in his hand, the only thing close to a weapon in sight. Stephen had to bite back an order not to break the one contact to the outside world they had. If it was him Cotes was squaring up to, he doubted that he’d be holding back anything either.

Cotes lunged, his movements uncoordinated and slow, but Tony was hampered in turn by the ankle chain and having his back up against a wall. He dodged, managing to twist out of the way of Cotes’s punch and slamming the phone into the side of Cotes’s head. It shattered, blood spurting from their opponent's temple, but Cotes either didn’t notice or was too angry to care. He grabbed Tony’s wrist and twisted, Stephen wincing at the subsequent snap and gasp of pain.

The Cloak was shoving at him from behind, urging him to do something, but Stephen was still trapped in the damn rune circle and, short of throwing the plastic fork, he had nothing. Cotes used his advantage to yank Tony into a headlock, pressing a burly forearm against Tony’s windpipe. Tony tried every trick in the book, throwing out blows at Cotes’s insole, his nose, his groin, but even when they landed they had no effect against the bigger man’s unstoppable rage.

The Cloak pushed him again, so hard that Stephen tripped over Holman’s body and almost fell over the runes. “Careful! I’m trying to think of something!”

Tony had stopped trying to throw blows at Cotes and had switched to trying to wriggle a hand in between his throat and the arm crushing it, but he was getting nowhere, and Stephen wasn’t helping, and—

And the Cloak was flying forward, straight over the runes.

Stephen had a few seconds of making vague connections between dead Holman and no more magical barrier before he was sprinting to get to Tony. The Cloak had gotten there first, wrapping around Cotes’s head and was in the process of suffocating him. It wasn’t enough to make him let go, though, and in terms of air deprivation, Tony had a significant lead.

Stephen started by joining Tony’s efforts to put space between him and the arm choking him, but when he proved just as unsuccessful as Tony had, he focused on taking out Cotes instead. The man was growing weaker as the Cloak continued to block his mouth and nose, but that was only increasing his determination to kill Tony before he went out.

So Stephen drew his arm back and thrust the plastic fork into Cote’s throat.

It didn’t go in deep, the handle snapping before it barely drew blood, but it was enough of a shock for Cotes to finally, finally, slacken his grip. Stephen didn’t waste the opportunity, prying Tony from Cotes’s grip and shoving him away from danger, before landing a punch right in Cotes’s solar plexus.

The man doubled over, the Cloak releasing him to give Stephen the chance to grip the nerve point in Cotes’s neck, causing him to fall to the ground. He didn’t get up again.

Stephen turned to Tony. “Are you okay?” He crouched down next to him, reaching out for his wrist. “Let me see.”

“Why bother? It’s broken.”

“I’m the doctor here.”

“And I know what a broken wrist feels like. Nice moves, by the way. Something tells me that wasn’t a class at Columbia.”

“They teach more than magic at Kamar-Taj.”

“I can see that.” Tony rubbed at his throat with his good hand. “Thanks. I owe you one. Come find me when I don’t remember you anymore, make me help with those hands.”

“I thought that was in exchange for helping Colonel Rhodes.”

"The hands are free, no matter what. Does this mean you’ll…you know. With Rhodey?”

“That's complicated. Maybe if I got to know him first, at least, then I could—”

“Don’t move.”

Stephen froze as he heard the click of a gun, Tony spitting out a fresh string of curses. “Oh, come on,” he called over Stephen’s shoulder. “Give us a break!”

Slowly, Stephen turned around, coming face to face with a confused and panicked Abel. “Your boss is dead,” Stephen tried to reason with him. “And reinforcements are coming to cart off your collegue. Why don’t you not be around when they get here?”

Abel didn’t lower the gun. “Reinforcements?”

“Go home,” Tony ordered him, his voice hoarse. “Or go wherever. Just leave.”

But Abel wasn’t moving. “No. I need the money from this job. I need it. I’m in so much debt.” His eyes slid over to Tony, the direction of the gun following. “Bet your company would cover those costs. Or your fiancée would.”

Tony gave a theatrical sigh, preparing to fight, but Stephen was one step ahead of him. He was free now. He had his powers back. He moved between them, blocking Tony from Abel’s view. “That would be a very bad idea.”

Abel narrowed his eyes at him, opening his mouth to retort. The words never came. A blast erupted from the doorway, slamming Abel into the far wall, followed by an unfamiliar voice. “Boom! You looking for this?”

Tony let out a relieved laugh. “That line didn’t work the first time, and it’s not working now.”

The hulking form of the War Machine suit made its way into the room, the faceplate flipping back to reveal the relieved face of Colonel Rhodes. “Hey, it did work. Ask anyone who doesn’t have to deal with aliens and superpowers on a yearly basis. You know, normal people. It kills with them."

Rhodey made his way to Tony, a single blast breaking the ankle chain. Then the colonel was offering a hand up, which Tony gladly took. “Don’t mean to complain, honey bear, but you’re late.”

“We were looking,” Rhodey insisted, starting to check Tony over despite Tony’s protests. “We looked everywhere, but it was like you had vanished off the face of the earth. I’m guessing the creepy books on summoning some demon upstairs had something to do with that?”

“Summoning demons.” Tony looked down at Holman’s corpse in disgust. “Right, because this world doesn’t have enough problems.”

“Yeah, I figured he was bad news from the fanart upstairs of this devil-like thing called Mephisto. Please tell me he’s not around.”

“He’s not around,” Stephen assured him. “I’d know.”

“Right.” Rhodey looked him up and down. “And you are?”

“Dr. Stephen Strange, but you won’t remember that in about ten minutes."

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Long story,” Tony put in. “And too long to tell if we’re going to just forget everything anyway. It’s fine,” Tony cut off Rhodey’s next protest. “He’s a friend.”

“Am I now?”

“I consider getting captured and tortured together a significant bonding experience, yes. In fact—” Tony broke off with a hiss as Rhodey examined his broken wrist.

“Compound med bay for you,” Rhodey stated. “And then no workshop for a least a week. You’re resting.”

“I am perfectly capable of building anything with one hand.”

“Sure, give Pepper that excuse when you try to sneak off after missing three days of wedding planning.”

Tony groaned, but didn’t complain when Rhodey braced an arm around his waist for support. “Who’s coming to do cleanup?”

“Some of Ross’s people are right behind me. They’ll come in when I give the order.”

“Well, good to know they’re useful for something.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “If you could give that order after I depart, I would be grateful. I would like to take a look at what kinds of notes Holman had on summoning Mephisto upstairs first though.”

Rhodey looked as though he was about to protest that, but Tony spoke first. “Let him. This is his and his caped—”

“Cloaked.”

“—order of wizards’—”

“Sorcerers.”

“—business.”

Rhodey considered for a moment, then gave in. “If it means someone else deals with the weird stuff for once, I’ll take it.” He jerked his chin at the unconscious Cotes. “Is he a…wizard too?”

“Definitely not,” Tony stated. “Just someone with some beef. From Johannesburg. That building I brought down—”

“You checked for signs of life first and then you bought the whole thing outright,” Rhodey insisted. “You did everything you could to avoid casualties in an impossible situation.”

Stephen looked between Tony and Rhodey. “Wait. You bought that building?”

Tony shrugged. “An attempt to spare lives was made. And until this whole lovely excursion, that attempt was believed to be a success.”

Stephen was still confused. “Why didn’t you say?”

“To him?” Tony wrinkled his nose as he looked down at Cotes. “He wasn’t listening to a word either of us was saying. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Not to him. To me.”

Tony shrugged again. “I let people think what they want to think and it’s not my job to teach them otherwise.” He looked back at Cotes. “Anyway. Sometimes the reminder of the cost shouldn’t be avoided.”

Rhodey frowned at the bruises that were forming around Tony’s neck. “If you’re going to justify being strangled over a reminder, we’re having words.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” Tony turned his attention to Stephen. “I’d say it was nice meeting you, but...”

“You’re not going to remember it, and it really wasn’t all that nice. I know.” Stephen put out his hand.

After a moment, Tony took it. “Remember—even if I don’t—that the door’s open.” He glanced at Rhodey. “I hope that’s two-way.”

“I’ll…consider it.”

“And I’ll take that as a win. All the best, Doc. See you when the universe needs saving.”

“Or when your ass needs saving first. Again.”

Rhodey cocked an eyebrow at him. “You trying to take my job?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Colonel. It’s an awful lot of work and gets tedious very quickly.”

“I’m aware. Work worth doing though.”

“Sap,” Tony teased him. “Now, let’s go home. Or really, to any place with a shower and indoor plumbing. I’m not picky.”

“You’re always picky, Tones.”

Tony met Stephen’s eyes. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

“Not really, and the thought of someone rifling around in my head still makes me want to vomit all over those hideous wizard robes, but might as well get on with it.”

“Alright. Brace yourself.” Stephen prepared the memory spell, feeling the rush of having access to his magic once again. “See you in the next life, Tony Stark.”

“Not if I see you first, Doc. The universe is in excellent hands.”

Stephen took in the man in front of him, heart sinking when he considered what the cost of that universe was going to be. “Yes. Excellent hands indeed.”