Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All the sorcerer needed was peace.

Peace and quiet, peace of mind, peace where he was seated with his candles and dusty spellbooks, and the only presence he could detect was that of the unseen figure he was trying to conjure. It was a simple spell, but simple spells had become increasingly taxing since he opted to take in a rogue artificer - not to mention, the most annoying, irritating, arrogant prick of a half-elf that all of the lands had seen.

Despite all of that, the artificer was one of, if not the, most talented craftsmen in present times; his creations used by clerics through barbarians. Once a simple blacksmith, he would forge shields for paladins, and great axes for a close, unpredictable, changeling. An orc one moment - an elf another.

One paladin, however, refused each and every shield-sword combo he had presented him with. The sorcerer never questioned him about his relationship with Rogers; all he knew was that they were once in a party and got so close it started to hurt. Hurt like palpitations inching one closer and closer to death, a last breath on the horizon. Perhaps that is why he was so eager to join a new party? A harsh falling out, a final crossbow crafted, and now on his own yet again, all alone with only his tools and nothing to back him up.

Stephen shook his head, his horns strangely heavy on his forehead, the chains wrapped around them bedazzled with eyes and a singular, green stone that rested between his horns and on his forehead, chimed as if the wind had just blown past. It hadn’t. He was just getting distracted.

It wasn’t like him to be distracted, though this was a common occurrence since being stuck at the hip next to Tony Stark. They were both skilled in their own fields, magic, and smithery, and, coincidentally, that happened to be a match made in heaven in terms of their classes; Tony, an artificer who wields armour and an arcane-infused weapon, and Stephen, a sorcerer who fights with magic but on occasion needs to use a dagger or two when his magic was exhausted. One would support the other in both training and resources.

They worked well together. So why was he always so worried about others’ perception of them?

Perhaps it was the whole interracial thing? Tieflings and half-elves rarely hang out together, after all. Besides, elves of all classes, social, that is, typically stick close to their own kind. They are of noble blood, whereas a tiefling is of demonic blood. Perhaps that is why Tony’s old party contained Steve Rogers? A fullblood, high elf fighting alongside a half. Yeah, that made sense. But that shouldn’t be bothering him! Still! Why was he so caught up on this? He was supposed to be practicing a spell, Gods above! This was really starting to get to Stephen. His brows could only furrow so tightly and he feared he may pull a muscle, which is fine, so so so fine, he could heal that in an instant! No cleric required!

“You good in here?”

Struck out of his spiral, Stephen turned back, hands shaking like they often did, a result of a cult ritual in his youth, to face the half-elf who stood behind him. Tony stood as if he were an ancient statue, Apollo Belvedere, with his right foot holding his entire weight while the other hung just above ground, his boot kissing the ground gently like a ballerina, and his left arm taught as he held open the soft fabric door of their shared tent. The light behind him, the light of midday, illuminated around him as if he were his guardian angel ready to grant his one true wish. Beams of light trickled down his pointed ears until it danced across the ruffled collar that adorned his clothing and his eyes. Oh his eyes had never looked more like tigers eye gemstones than they did at present and have they always looked that pretty?

“I’m fine,” Stephen responded, turning back to his candles and books which was followed by a quick snap. The candles went out.

“I called for you three times to see if you wanted to stop by Thor’s for dinner. And here I am again. Waiting for a response.” Arms now crossed and tone pointed, “Do you want to go to the tavern or not?”

Stephen’s tail was tapping the ground as if he were a cat with an attitude, which is what Tony likened him to when he was like this. Pouting and grumpy for no reason other than his arcana tests failed and willing to give him the cold shoulder, now sitting here with a long, leathery tail that was acting like a weapon of its own. Smirking, Tony stepped forward only a little and let his foot rest atop the end of it.

Stephen jolted, darting to meet eyes with Tony, pointed teeth showing in a display of anger, “I will not hesitate to kill you if you inflict any injury on my person.”

“Ooh! Keep talking to me like that,” He cooed, pressing down on his tail a little more in the hopes of getting another reaction, “You know I like it when I’m talked down to.”

Growling, the tiefling pulled his tail free and let it snake around his crossed legs. Away from Tony, “Not going to happen, Stark.”

Laughter engulfed the tent, “Yeah yeah, I know,” A pat on Stephen’s back, “Now, come on, let’s go.”

-

It was the early afternoon, around three o’clock to be exact. The dirt roads leading into the city centre were bustling as ever, this particular street was filled with posts adorned with hitching rings to tie a horse to, blacksmiths, and little stalls where independent potion makers sat. They read tomes while little puffs of smoke and familiars fluttered about. Stephen knew a potion maker and hoped to see her each time they passed a stall like these; he will find her one day. She was a friend from the cult he grew up in, the two of them forming a bond with each other and escaping in intervals not far from each other yet never seeing each other again. She would cross his mind sometimes, however, a scarlet crown and a blaze of red in the corner of his eye. It was slightly cold, but not too cold, but cold enough that Stephen regretted not wearing his hooded, woolen cloak, having packed it one of his bags as they pulled down their tent, and envied Tony with his armour and cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck and down his back, trailing behind him if he were to run.There was a faint gust of wind that blew through the streets, taking grains of dirt and dust and old, orange leaves with it to a place where people would walk over them and make crunchy, crunchy sounds. They’d make a pile somewhere and someone would jump in the pile, making the leaves fly everywhere and away with the wind into another direction where they’d land on a different pile. Stephen smiled softly as he watched a fairy carry one of these leaves away, thinking to himself how he and Wanda would play in piles of crunchy leaves as children.

Did Tony like to do this, too?

Ah, whatever.

He did want to ask Tony about how he ended up a nomad when he was such a renowned blacksmith. Where exactly was he from? Was he born into nobility or was the Stark name built from the ground up? How did he know all of these people in far off places, aasimars and eladrin, not to mention the warforged with a crystal like his own, only yellow. Would he ever find out?

As if on cue, the artificer called out that they had arrived at their destination. Bursting through the doors, a wave of warmth and freshly brewed ale flew by. It was always a busy place, The Asgard, a haven for hobgoblins to mingle with dwarves and elves with no racial tensions between them, only a pint of mead and a feed of quail. There was the occasional fight, of course, that you couldn’t ever separate from tavern culture, unfortunately, and quite often it was between a regular half-orc man and an orc woman who was known for being a master thief. She had clearly had enough of him, yet she hung out with him anyway, opting for his stupidity over her father’s harsh hand.

Those two were not there on this occasion, however, but Tony did meet eyes with one of the two elderly men playing a game of chess - the one he did meet eyes with never once touching the board but letting the metal rook move with his mind. They shared no food, nor talked very often, but Tony was convinced that they had been around each other for long enough that they did not need to speak. Only a few gestures could speak a million words. Their silence was not the only thing that was a little odd about their presence, the fact that they enjoyed their game on the ground floor rather than the top was, too. Ground was where mince pies and gambling took place, and by the fire in one corner of the room live theatre performed by the owner’s melodramatic brother. Bookshelves lined the walls away from the bar itself yet closer to the stairs that lead to the second floor where dice games and chess were played, and couches where children often cozied up on while their parents laughed like court jesters down below. The two older men should have been upstairs, but they weren’t. Perhaps they were so used to the noise of their companions that they felt a certain comfort in smashed glasses and sea shanties.

The tavern was Thor’s pride and joy. Always there to welcome new and old friends, patrons were friends to him, even if they were only dropping in to tune their lutes or check if their maps were guiding them in the correct direction.

“Friends!” A booming voice came behind them, paired with the cling clang of used glasses being stacked on a tray to be cleaned, “How good it is to see you. It has been a while, has it not?”

The tray was abandoned, arms flung around shoulders with enormous strength that it weighed them both down a little. The aasimar often forgot his own strength, especially with the amount of gold which adorned his clothing and the delicately engraved hammer, a slab of stone, at his hip.

“Sure has,” Tony chuckled, trying his best to break from Thor’s grasp without seeming like an asshole, grumbling under his breath as he saw Stephen slip away without Thor noticing. To be fair, Thor wasn’t as close with Stephen as he was Tony - the two only having met a few times in the past several moons.

Stepping away until he reached a place to sit, Stephen let Thor’s warm words drown out with the rest of the tavern’s noise. Once seated, he let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples, lost in his own world until a brooding barmaid dropped a pint of ale in front of him, seemingly mistaking him for someone else. Did he mind? Absolutely not. The ale was cold, the fire was warm, Tony was out of his sight for only a moment. He could finally have a moment of respite.

No one sat in front of him, but a firbolg next to him sharpened his sword, paying no mind to those near him, only his blade. The sorcerer watched him with interest, paying close attention to the swift yet calculated sleight of hand.

It had only been a few moments until the artificer returned with a plate full of roast potatoes and a red meat of some sort with gravy dripping off of the edges and a little pile of thick, white bones filled with marrow. A wine glass rested in his other hand, already half empty and likely filled with the most expensive red on the shelves; one that had been brewed for longer than he had been alive. Sitting, he gestured to the large plate, “I got a bunch of bones for ya’. I know how much you like sucking the marrow out of them, although it does freak me out a bit.”

Stephen snorted at the final comment, “And my blue skin and horns do not?” He picked up a bone and began to suck the marrow out of it, letting the fatty substance melt on his palette like honey.

Tony opted to ignore that question, “Thor wants to commission us.”

“Oh?”

A barmaid passed them, topping up Tony’s glass without question and placing a tab with the words On me! - T written on it at the edge of their plate. She scurried off, likely to put the expensive bottle away before she or someone else broke it.

“He’s got a thief.”

“And that’s our problem, why?”

“Hey! You know as well as I that we need to make some money; now come on! It’ll be easy!”

“I fear there may be a catch.”

“Nope, no catch,” A wide grin edged the wine glass.

The tiefling crossed his arms, raising a brow in curiosity, “So it’s just catch this thief and, what, hand them over to the authorities?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Tony sighed, taking a break to lather potatoes in gravy and feta cheese, “He knows where he is, just can’t make it out there between running this place and his personal life…. You know he thinks of this place like his own child, right? He and Loki entertain guests in their own ways and now it’s the hottest place in town! Anyway, sidetracked, sorry. Nat and Clint found him and were going to finish the task, but now it falls onto us - we gotta go a few towns over, bring him back and cha ching! We get paid!” he rubbed two fingers to emphasise his point, “I help out a friend, you can buy whatever potion you’ve been staring at every time we enter a new town. Easy.”

Stephen jolted a little, not realising that the other had noticed his habit of staring at potion stalls in the hopes of finding Wanda, but was somewhat thankful that he thought it was because he wanted a potion. He didn’t think that he would ever open up about the atrocities he and his old friend went through at that old tiefling cult.

Never ever. Never ever. Never ever.

“Well, when you put it that way….” Trailing off, he thought about it a little further, “And why can’t Clint and Natasha finish the job?”

“Honeymooning in the mountains”

“Ah.”

“So? You up for it?” Tony raised his glass.

Sighing, Stephen raised his glass and let the two clink in acceptance; a small, unnoticed raise adorning the corners of his lips.

-

When the sun rose again, it brought with it birdsong, gentle pitter-pattering of light across their tent, and the crackling of fire under a kettle filled with boiling water, held up with a contraption one had made with only a few sticks and a few pieces of rope conjured from a bag of holding. The bag was never ending. Rope, rope, rope, wild game caught three weeks ago, rope, stone, a potion without the label on it, rope, letter in a bottle.

Letter in a bottle.

Letter in a bottle.

Letter in a….. Letter in a bottle.

The letter held little significance, it being a blank piece of paper for all Stephen knew, but Tony knew what its function was. Charmed by fey magic, when held up against the wind when in the deepest part of the forest, where one could only hear the shifting of leaves and the echo of water rushing by, making its way to a larger body of water, it would show handwritten words. Tony knew exactly what it was - a final letter from home. Maria Stark’s delicate hand framing a letter that bid him well and hoped he would find happiness wherever he went; far and wide, even if he were to travel with or without an elf, she wished him prosperity and love. The letter’s inverse side revealing a few telling notes from his father in his contract-writing hand telling him to not trust those who were not like him; not a single word of encouragement. Only the tone of someone happy to see his own son leave home and likely never return.

And that was the final letter.

Delivered in an ornately decorated bottle. That was the final letter.

Sighing, Tony tried to get the item out of his mind, having shoved it back into the bag as soon as he pulled it out with a piece of rope that had twisted around it. He just needed to think about the job, and not this.

Think of home. This is home. A nomad’s life.

I can build freely when I’m not being stared at with the eyes of expectation.

But that expectation still looms.

The kettle screamed. The half-elf snapped out of his thoughts.

Coffee now, was all he could think as he wrapped himself in a woolen blanket and shuffled over to where they kept their crockery.

-

There lay a vast green blanket, plush in its texture and all engulfing as it twisted and turned throughout the valley. Moss of all kinds climbed to the peaks of trees, making room for toadstools and homes for fairies that appeared as little inlets up the tree; fairies made use of mushrooms that followed their trails up to their homes and used them as extra decoration space or steps for woodland friends. In the distance, a dark pit awaited all travellers from afar, ready to swallow them whole like a mouth open wide. Tree trunks reached to the heavens and spanned larger than arms wide open, bark peeling off of it like a cicada shedding its shell, or the separation of one’s tragedy in favour of happiness. The air was crisp; fresh. Little to no wind disturbed the foliage, but nothing could silence the trunks from speaking as they swayed gently or myriads of birds chattering from all angles.

Under their boots, twigs snapped and grass was pushed aside, frightening some smaller animals at times. Trekking through the forest, the two of them remained gentle with their movements and paying mind to the fact that some fairies that live in the area may not be kind, and because Stephen would cause a problem if Tony did something to destroy this land.

He was something of an apothecary, Stephen was. Always mending with spiritualism and the natural world, less with his own magic and more with the help of a few leaves of kawakawa and ginger tea. It was a valuable skill to have as an adventurer and one that Tony was always thankful of having by his side, but the downside of that was that he was always ensuring that they had left the places they visited exactly the way they found them - save for a few herbs and the likes that he would add to his own collection; a meditation of sorts would happen prior to ensure that the forest knew he would be kind with its limbs.

Tony wasn’t sure when he started taking notice of this little quirk of Stephen's - originally having thought the items were things he bought from specialised stores - but he did notice that he was noticing it. It was quite a beautiful little ritual. He would sit in the lotus position and hover slightly above ground, meditating and becoming one with his surroundings by letting it know that it be not afraid of him, he is a friend, and in turn letting it bring him into a warm, warm embrace. From there, he would move his hands. Waving them in slow movements, the two middle fingers on each hand kissed his thumbs and never left that position. He would move his arms as if the forest’s sounds were his metronome; as if they were in active conversation.

Watching him finish the ritual, his eyes opening after his head bowed, Tony thought back to his father’s letter. This tiefling was so gentle, so kind, to everything he touched; holding things as if they would break if he handled them in just the wrong way; how could his father hope that he interacted only with elves? He would have been happy with Steve, they knew each other personally. But this tiefling, spawn from a demon lineage, blue in skin and black in eyes, evildoer and bringer of bad luck and dark magic, plagues and the end of times? Unbelievable.

As Tony stood watching Stephen carefully prick leaves from the stem of a red perennial, he felt himself slip into a trance. Those softly shaking hands, scared from a cause he never knew and never asked, never joked, took great care in what they were doing. It was beautiful.

Had he always been that gentle? Their bickering, their disagreements, their sparring to show off a new spell they had learnt or weapon they had crafted, always chasing after each other to prove that one could top the other. One was always better than the other.

Had he always been that gentle?

Perhaps he had.

But that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered right now was that they would be stocked up on minerals and bandages for bruises and herbs and spices for dinner.

-

“I’m telling you that there’s something strange about this door!” Came a yawp from the half-elf; hands darting in every direction possible to emphasise his point.

Index fingers rubbing his forehead, Stephen grumbled in a tone that increased in volume as he spoke, “I have used detect magic on it three times now! What do you want me to do, check for necromancy now?!” His arms flew above his head, threatening Fire Bolt but opting for Prestidigitation instead.

Tiny fireworks erupted from his fingertips.

Tony huffed as he crossed his arms and turned away, “No! I just don’t think that it’s all that safe. Goblins live in areas like these and who knows!” His eyes rolled, “One might be a wizard and know how to do shit like that!”

“Just blow it up with one of your hand beams then!”

“No. I don’t want to cause even more trouble.”

“Wow, that’s a first.”

“Hey!” He cried, sounding wounded by the blast, “Fine, let’s just pass through, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you eventually are indebted to a goblin and have to give up your first born child for a copper piece.”

Muttering obscenities to himself as he walked away, Tony led the way to their next destination, hands balled at his sides.

-

When they reached the top of the hill, they gathered tinder and kindling to place in a pile for the fire. It had been a while since they had stopped to rest, so they opted to take the chance here rather than at the next plateau which did not seem to be for a while; hills and mountains spanning the area that surrounded them.

A fire was lit with a simple spell, one that did not deplete too much magic, and they sat in front of it, next to each other, on a mossy log. One did not inch too close to the other, but something in Stephen made him almost want to be closer. Perhaps it was the quietness that finally radiated from Tony; a rare feat that felt almost out of character for him; or maybe it was the twiddling of fingers that never shook, or the musky, woody scent that came from him. The smell of whiskey and sweat mixed with sandalwood and expensive soap.

No. No, that couldn’t be it.

Perhaps it was the wish to patch up his wounds? To bandage the injury on his elbow he had been complaining about since three days ago? To put an end to the whining about how the artificer never took on any healing spells and had no idea how to fix it and that he could just tough it out. But the sorcerer disagreed. If he could just get closer, closer, to the other, he could heal it in an instant; and that is what he was about to do.

But then Tony got out the knife.

Jerking back only a little, not realising that he had leant in at all, Stephen readied his shaking hands to retaliate if Tony were to attack him.

And he waited.

He waited.

He waited.

But nothing.

The knife raised to Tony’s face, the other arm raised so that it was in front of his face, and in one swift motion, he started to shave any stray pieces of facial hair. He was careful not to nick himself, using his armoured hand as a mirror, and ensuring that his goatee looked as perfect as it always did. Sharp, pointed, clean.

Stephen let out a soundless sigh and felt his heartbeat slowly calm down after the initial shock from the knife. Watching him, he began to notice how precise the other was with his movements; ensuring not to cut himself or pull his hand back so far that it caught on his large, pointed ears. The task was not dissimilar to how Stephen kept himself clean, but there was something so delightful about watching Tony make himself look good.

Tony was aware that he had been watching him.

But he wouldn’t tell.

-

They rode into town as if they were free riders. Not a single guard stopped them from entering the walled city, each and every guard knowing one half of the duo as this was where Tony grew up. Peaceful as always, birds chattered from the tops of brick houses and the canal that passed through town homed boats and fish; a few older elves seated on their boats or at the canal’s edge preparing fishing rods with bait. Drums and other fanfare sounded off in the distance, implying a performance or festival of sorts. The beating of the drums at the blacksmith on the next street over, articulated with the trumpet-like yelps of a dog and laughing children playing knucklebones and jump rope created a sense that there was a festival much closer. But of course to Tony this was considered peaceful. He always seemed to like active white noise; never settling for setting up camp by a river unless there were no other options, the river was always too quiet. What Stephen never understood was why a river or a dying fire was too quiet when it was just loud enough for him? Always attributing it to his active mind, but never understanding that he also came from a pretty lively town.

People said hello and welcome back to Tony as they passed through the town centre and looked at Stephen with wary eyes. This was a town full of elves, after all, Stephen being a tiefling was certainly out of place - but he was with Tony, and so they never protested. Stephen did not mind feeling out of place, but what he did mind was being dragged around to each and every location that Tony really really reaaaaaaaally wanted to stop at because I haven’t seen Bruce in a really really long time and I think you would like him! He’s a changeling and can’t really control when he turns into an orc but he presents as an elf to live here. Oh, oh! And Happy and Rhodey and Pep who wasn’t actually from here since she’s a firbolg, but now she lives here because she’s with Happy, but you get the idea – Brucie actually owns a potions and magic wares store if you want to go have a look? I just know that you will like him. I don’t have much left for me here but I do need to stop by a few places because because because

His head was starting to spin. He had no idea where he was at each new minute of the day, and, yes, he did like Bruce, he was a kindred intellectual but his unique experience intrigued Stephen quite a bit. If he were to be stuck in a room with either Tony or Bruce, he would pick Bruce. At least Bruce didn’t want to bite his head off.

But he didn’t know where he was right now and the clucking of chickens nearby disorientated him even more. All he knew was that Tony was off to the side speaking to a man, supposedly a close friend with how long they had been talking, clad in shining, silver armour from head to toe. The tiefling watched them from a distance, hoping that focusing on that one interaction would help him slip back to reality in an almost meditative way.

Stealing a look at Stephen in the distance, acutely aware that he was watching them but thankful he had asked Tony to cast Zone of Silence a little earlier so Stephen could not hear the conversation they were having, Rhodey, a city guard and Tony’s best friend, finally spoke the words he had been aching to voice for months, “Look, Tony. When we got word that you were travelling with a tiefling, I wasn’t surprised. You have a track record of going for non elves.”

And he was right.

Tony tapped his foot in a way that could be mistaken for impatience, but Rhodey knew it was something of an anxious tap. Anxious to be home despite racing around like he was having the best day of his life. That and Tony was always tapping his foot or fiddling with something.

“I think at this point Bruce counts as an elf,” Tony was quick to respond, almost as if he had just served the counter of his own mortal life.

Unfortunately, Rhodey knew Tony’s attitude and tendency to get into debates where, if he were in the wrong, he would bite back like a rabid lizardfolk, “You were dating him when his anger issues were at their worst. You were practically dating an orc..” He crossed his arms and raised a brow, staring him dead in the eyes, “Nothing wrong with that of course, I’m just saying that you have a thing…If anything, Steve was the surprise.”

And he was. His father would have been proud, too.

“And we know how that went. Who says I have a thing for him, anyway? Maybe for once I’m just travelling with someone as a friend, you know, trying to make friends?! Never been good at it but at least I’m trying! And, what? You think I’ve fantasised over him after these few months? ”

“I didn’t say that at all but it pretty much proves my point.” “Do something about it, will you?”

The spell was lifted. Tony finally waved for Stephen to come over and meet his best friend.

-

A map suddenly appeared in front of Stephen; having travelled almost as fast as light itself. Above him hovered Tony, index finger pointing at a small settlement, “It’s the next forest over. That’s where our guy is.”

They were staying at Bruce’s for the night. It was a small, thatch roofed hut, roof covered in moss and a chimney made of spalled bricks; home to birds nests and cobwebs. From the chimney billowed heavy smoke; the aftermath of keeping the hut warm. Grapevines crawled one side of the building haphazardly, but seemingly well kept, never a vine reaching far enough to enter through one of the stained glass windows. At the base of the house lined a small garden. Tulips rested next to hollyhocks and roses; a bees nest not far from the area. It was well looked after and one of the envied gardens in town, but none had any malice against Bruce and his garden, all did nothing but send him praise. Not one for vegetable growing, he had attempted a small pumpkin patch and somewhat succeeded, albeit with the help of a little magic - he hated using magic against the laws of nature - but never once returned to it. The remains of said patch still lay behind the hut, obscured by a newly placed set of wheelbarrows filled with various gardening supplies.

The inside was snug. It was a little too small for guests to stay for an extended period of time, but they would manage for the one night. But that didn’t matter much. What did matter was that this was Bruce’s little haven to make potions, test concoctions and alchemy, and write reports on whatever findings he may come across in his tests. It was a small room lined with books from all over the land, some Tony left behind when he set off on his journey, some from one of Thor’s many trips to visit, and many, many ancient texts with musty covers and pages made of fossilised leaves that he had collected in the back corners of antique stores; they’d pile up on each other, packed up tight like sardines. An old writing desk sat near where Tony and Stephen were situated at this moment. The desk was always covered with petri dishes, goblets, and thousands of notes upon notes upon notes, a tattered but barely worn wizard’s hat always sat upon the desk or hooked onto the back of its accompanying chair as if it were saving the spot for later. As if anyone were to disrupt his peace.

It was a small room, but it was Bruce’s sanctum.

The changeling himself was seated at the same dining table as the other two, sitting directly across from Stephen. Seated in a relaxed position, Bruce was clad in robes from elsewhere; dark greens and purples adorning his pale skin highlighted by a few twinges of gold embroidery. When the sun hit his clothes in just the right way, it would illuminate his whole body, making him feel pure despite holding something unpredictable inside of him. He was always quite scared of wearing such beautiful clothing as the orc within him would rip them apart whenever he decided to bare his fangs, leaving him in nothing but tattered drapery and threads. It was a painful experience, having to make a gamble on whether he should wear his beautiful clothes or something more appropriate to his anger. But here he was, across the table from the tiefling, sheathed in layers upon layers of silk.

Pouring a cup of tea for himself and Stephen, knowing that Tony was not one for tea, Bruce hunched forward to take a look at the map, “You’ve never been there, have you?” his chin rested in his palm, voice slightly muffled by his hand but not so much so that he was inaudible.

Tony shook his head. His joyous expression slipped away.

“It’s an enchanted forest,” Bruce continued, “As far as I’m aware, people here are warned against it, you know, so kids don’t go missing and all.”

Stephen’s gaze moved upwards, hoping to meet the half-elf’s eyes and give some sort of reassurance, “I have been in some. I know how to escape if things go wrong.”

He was telling the truth, of course, but not the entire truth. The society he grew up in was situated in a clearing at the centre of an enchanted forest, a tactic to stop people from running away; so, of course, having escaped that cruel place meant he had some experience traversing one. How much of that experience was running for his life, he knew to be greater in percentage than calculated movements. That being said, with his expertise in the natural world and how to be kind to it so that it will not bite back, he knew that they would be okay.

Well, he was going to be okay.

Tony was another story.

To be completely honest, he was rather worried about having to take Tony through an enchanted and likely dangerous forest. There is no telling what perils awaited them.

Never mind that. Why was he even thinking so deeply about this? It’s just Tony. Annoying, tiresome, pestilent Tony with his stupidly olive skin and stupidly perfectly tousled hair and his stupidly cinched armour and his stupidly, oh so stupidly, mellow voice. He would certainly not miss having a companion like him who could make whatever invention they needed at any moment and fix it on the spot if it required a little more work, nor would he miss the way he always brewed him a cup of tea before he even woke up so that it was ready for him when he finally did; even making a small contraption to prevent the tea from going cold.

Oh no no no, he would not miss any of that at all. He would be perfectly fine alone. Besides, he really should be getting back to Wong and the other sorcerers at some point.

But what was this sudden worry?

It bothered him enough to give him a headache, even more so the fact that he was probably beginning to like Tony’s presence.

Oh no no no. He couldn’t.

Could he?

His headache started to get worse, so much so that he began to wonder if it was a real headache at all. He sipped the tea that Bruce had just poured for him, hoping that the leaves could take his mind off it.

That and the fact that Tony smelt like a fresh autumn day.

-

They came to a crossroads. A wall which spanned as far as the eye could see; drowning in a thick mist that one could get lost in. In front of them were two guards fused with the wall behind them, each presumably part of the doors. The first, introducing herself as Jocasta, explained that there was only one way into the forest, which was through one of the doors. One of the two, her or her husband, only spoke lies, whereas the other could not lie and only spoke truths. Their job was to figure out which of the two doors would lead them through to the forest and which would lead them to ba ba ba bummmm certain death oooooooh. If that actually meant death or was a fear mongering tactic was uncertain, but what was certain was that they were not turning back.

Standing his guard, Tony stood close to the two doors as if he were assessing the situation. Hands on his hips and bent only a little to get a good look at the two of them, eyes squinted and ears deflating a little like a cat when they’re annoyed, a trait he possessed when thinking deeply about something.

He stayed like that for a few moments, enough time for Stephen to flick through his spellbook to ensure he had a teleportation spell in case they picked the wrong door. They wouldn’t. He knew that they wouldn’t. He did have a teleportation spell, for the record.

“So,” the half-elf finally spoke up, “Say I ask you, Jocasta, if your…. delightful…. husband would tell me if your door led to the forest, w-?”

He was cut off by Stephen calling out, “Don’t ask her! We haven’t even discussed the riddle. We cannot and will not ask a question unless we have fully thought this through!” He moved forward, his spellbook floating above head.

Jocasta giggled to herself and turned to Ultron to display a pleased grin.

“Oh! And you think that I’m not smart enough to think through a riddle?” Tony bit back as he spun around with his hands still on his hips, “I remember the last time I had to save your magical ass after you got caught up with some Rumplestiltskin back in the gnome village. I’m telling you, I got this.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

He rushed up to him, having to tilt his head in order to meet the tiefling’s eyes and spoke in a muttered yet pointed tone, “I know you think you got this, but honestly I think I can do it. I have a thing where I can sniff bullshit from a mile away so leave it to me, okay?” He patted his chest, right where his heavy robes criss crossed.

Stephen reached up to grab his armour-clad wrist and gave an assertive snarl, “Out with it then. What is your plan?”

Tony couldn’t pull away, Stephen’s grip was too tight. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little anxious about any cracks in his gauntlet from the grip alone, but he would also be lying if he said that the thought of being immoble under his grasp excited him a bit and oh. Oh.

That certainly was an image, wasn’t it?

“W-We ask one of them if the other would say that the other door led to the forest and - sorry, your hand is seriously going to damage my armour an-”

“Oh, what a shame,” His grip never softened, “Do go on.”

Tony averted his gaze prior to continuing to speak, “Right. Right.” Must stay focused, “If we ask one of them if the other would say the other door would lead us to the forest and they say yes, then that means that the one we aren’t asking is what we go through.”

“And that solves the riddle, why?”

“Because one of them is lying, right?”

“Exactly! Just say we ask Ultron - he says Jocasta would say that his door leads to the forest. If he is lying and we were to ask Jocasta and she also were to tell the truth, we would know that Jocasta was lying, right?”

Stephen stayed silent, thinking it through at a rate where you could almost hear the cogs in his brain turning, “I fear that this has been rigged from the start. We need a third person to tell us the rules.”

“Alright then, ignore my logic.”

“One of them told us the rules, right? It feels rigged for one of them to tell us the rules when one could be lying. Jocasta told us the rules, therefore she is either lying or telling the truth.”

Lightbulbs went off in their heads, although Tony was the one to voice it, “Therefore she could be telling porkies about the rules in general, or her door is the one,” He turned around to face the two doors, “Is that right?”

The two doors muttered to each other, Ultron being the one to respond, “Never really understood it myself. Ask your question.”

Stephen stepped forward, having to barge past Tony to be the one to claim victory on solving the puzzle, leaving behind an annoyed Tony, “I ask no question.”

The doors gasped, each reaching out for each others’ hands.

Stephen walked up to Jocasta, staring her down before turning the knob on her door. He turned back to face Tony, gesturing for him to come closer with a simple nod of the head. The puzzle itself was a lie, a paradox, entering an enchanted forest was a death wish to begin with, they were both sure of it.

-

Behind the doors awaited no certain death that an enchanted forest already did not promise.

All that awaited them was a dark forest, swamped with mist and not a single sound but their own breathing. A waterfall off to the side made no noise, no crashing water, no animals playing or bathing, just water rising in the opposite direction to how it should. It was a peculiar sight, a reverse waterfall, something that was spoken of but never something either of them had seen with their own eyes and, because of that, Stephen was entranced. His tail wagged a little with delight in slow and gentle motions. Dark and misty, the forest seemed to breathe - mossy grounds raising and falling as if the forest were placed atop a slumbering troll’s chest. The root systems of trees, tangled together, falling atop the moss and spreading until they finally found a place to nestle which created an almost labyrinth for all who pass to get lost in.

It was a metropolis of trees. A perfect place for someone to hide if they did not want to be found.

After walking for what felt like hours, a primordial gust of air passed them. Stephen turned back, noticing that the two doors they had passed through were still behind them, “Tony. We haven’t moved.”

Frustrated to the point where it felt like he was about to pull his own hair out, Tony snapped back, “No! We have! It’s the forest playing tricks on us I know that…. We just need to keep going.”

And so they did. Another primordial gust of air passed, but this time it felt stronger. Something darted through the air faster than their eyes could keep track of, a figure swinging through the trees.

“That’s our guy!”

The figure continued to swing by until they eventually swung down to make a few attacks, using their feet one time and a whip-like weapon the second. They swung with ease in a way that made it hard for a target to be locked onto them. A keen martial artist. They were dealing not only with a small figure, but a monk. A monk was always a tough class to come up against with their quick movements and sometimes sporadic attacks, coupled with their ability to channel with flurry of blows.

Stephen kept his eyes locked onto the quick darts of red through the treetops as he cast True Strike in a muttered voice, hoping that the monk was unable to hear him. From there, he was able to lock onto his target, making note of his defenses; waiting for a few moments before flicking his hand and firing on them. Not long after he fired, Tony sent out a blast, the two of them managing to hit their target, causing them to fall from the sky. They then made a move for it, rushing towards where the figure landed before they ran off and they were back at square one.

“What is your plan?” Stephen called out, struggling to understand how Tony was running that fast clad in so much heavy armour.

Giving a sly grin as he spoke, Tony looked up at Stephen, “I’ll charm them. No one can ever resist my charm~”

Stephen almost tripped over after hearing such a ridiculous plan; but he was right, no one could resist his charm.

Maybe they had a chance with this plan?

-

Perched atop a tall rock, the sorcerer waited. His tail tapped the ground to the same impatient beat of his foot, having waited a while already for the artificer to return. He hadn’t been waiting for long at all, he was mostly just upset at the loss of a chance to fight. A small taster of a fight with the monk wasn’t enough - he needed to get his hands dirty, pull him into the mirror dimension, perhaps?

Ah, whatever.

He was stuck here waiting for Tony and his stupid plan and his stupid confidence and his stupid, shit eating grin as a charmed individual followed behind. The image didn’t leave his head and he was starting to get a little annoyed. Annoyed that he was starting to notice little things about Tony that he hadn’t before, annoyed that he was getting impatient with him despite the fact that he would usually take this moment of respite to gather herbs, annoyed that he wasn’t collecting herbs and how he would much rather be aiding Tony with his task, even if that meant just being in his presence; close enough to hear his chainmail rustle and jingle, wishing that he could commission a bard to make a tune to the beat of it and-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Oh no no no no no nonononononono.

A pleasant twist in his gut sent an unexpected warmth up his body; butterflies erupting from his heart, leaving his eyes wide in disbelief. Panic. Panic. Erratic heartbeat and shakier than normal hands, mind spiralling. Nope. Nope. Nope! There is no way on this good green Earth that I have fallen in love with him.

But……….But the idea doesn’t sound too bad. Really.

He must stay focused. He must. Stay. Focused. They were on a mission! He has no business getting all worked up right at this moment. In saying that, though, his tail tapped the ground faster and his horns began to feel heavy, pulling him into a deep thought about what could be in the near future. Could they still travel together? Normally, Stephen wouldn’t be too upset at the idea of disbanding their little duo, but now that felt like the end of the world. Globe split in two. End of reason. End of rationality. End of everything.

He shook his head quickly in the hopes that it would chase the thoughts away. It didn’t. All it did was jingle his horn adornments, the little green stone at his forehead swaying side to side. Thoughts spilled from every dam in his brain and threatened overflowing what little capacity he had in there at this point in time. Damage control. Fix. Those. Leaks.

And then Tony came back.

Shit eating grin, sure, but a small humanoid nestled in his arms rather than a charmed individual following behind.

“What happened?”

Tony gestured to the other in his arms with a nod of his head, “Couldn’t charm him,” a few seconds of silence before he continued, “His name’s Peter. Lives here since every town chases him out and won’t offer him a place to stay, family gone and all that too...” His eyes were fixed on Peter nestled in his arms, a halfling of smaller stature than usual which implied that he was just a kid, “Steals because he can’t get a job due to his age and so he can eat. Seems like he was scared that we’d come to disturb his peace but he’s alright.”

Stephen stayed silent, assessing the situation. Finally. He was able to calm down.

“Stephen, we have to look after him. If we turn him in then they’ll torture him for simply trying to survive,” Tony continued, face as expressive as the night sky, “I say we take him in. If we look after the kid then we’re still doing Thor a favour.”

When Stephen finally spoke, his voice was rather pointed, speaking as if he were countering someone or something that had offended him greatly, “We are not taking the kid under our wings. I do not know what kind of relationship the two of you formed while you were trying to charm him, but this goes completely against our original plan.”

Tony raised a brow, squeezing the halfling in his arms protectively, “What, do you want me to chuck him in a cell and not get to experience a real childhood? I just want to give a child a chance. Makes me feel like I’m correcting my past.”

Peter looked between the two, obviously wounded from the blast they both hit him with earlier. He was somewhat worried that things were taking a turn for the worse.

Tony continued, voice increasing in volume, “My father wanted a full elf, and he got me. My mother was a half-elf like me, but my father hoped that somehow the human portion would be cancelled out - he wanted a Steve Rogers.”

“And taking in a child is going to fix that, how?”

“I was treated with the cold shoulder. Never did I do anything that would please him, hell! Not even taking over the family business made him happy, so I left, and I have been running from my own memories for years, so, yes, Stephen Strange, taking in this one child and giving him a happy childhood will not only make me feel better, but a child will have a happy life because of us. Think about it,” He was getting worked up, too worked up, perhaps, to the point where his ears burnt like they did in the sun and eyes felt like they were being boiled like eggs. Not a fan of Stephen’s silence, Tony took a few steps forward so that Stephen could at least take a look at Peter, but he retorted quickly. Tone as pointed as a tiefling usually was.

There was something about the way that tieflings spoke that sent shivers down Tony’s spine. It wasn’t that he was scared of them, oh no, if anything it made him even more attracted to them than he already was; every single one of them of all genders turning him into a hot mess with that sharp, pointed, blade-like tone of voice. What made matters worse was that their tongues were split down the middle, making their talking even more delightful.

The forked tongue darted as he spoke, words piercing directly into Tony’s heart and wounding it more than it already was, “No. We take him as far as the next city and turn him in,” turning on his heels, he began walking away, casting a spell which summoned a ball of light to help guide them back to the doors at the edge of the forest.

Tony watched him go, squeezing the child in his arms to reassure him that he was not letting him go. Ever. Peter reached up to rub his head where it likely still hurt and let the hand rest there, hoping that just this one time he could heal himself. Tony frowned, upset for once that he had never taken the time of day to learn a healing spell. Always offensive. Always bigger than the possibility that he could help someone with a few muttered words and a wave of his hand; that wasn’t his job, especially when paired with as skilled a healer as Stephen, but here in this moment he wished it had been the other way around. There was no way that Stephen would heal Peter, no doubt about it. Instead, Tony gently ruffled the kid’s hair, being sure to not hurt him badly.

“Mr. Stark, does he not like me?” Puppy dog eyes.

Tony shook his head so gently that if one blinked they would miss it in its entirety, “No, he’s just…. A bit of an asshole,” he then looked up, taking note of how gracefully Stephen walked; tail swinging side to side with every step.

He would have thought about his next move if his feet didn’t move before he could formulate a single concept. Suddenly, he was staring the tiefling dead in his black hole eyes, trying not to take notice of the blue planet that rested in the centre - a beautiful, lonely blue planet, “You know, I have felt much more at peace around you than I have people of my own kind. People call you a demon spawn, consider tieflings bad luck, but you have given me nothing but good luck.”

Stephen scoffed, stopping dead in his tracks, “I am not sure where you got that idea from, but we wouldn’t be in this situation had we never met. I was perfectly fine alone.”

“And I wasn’t,” He stood his ground, releasing his grip on Peter as soon as he started to stir and climb onto his shoulders, “I just want to look after someone other than myself for once.”

I want to look after you, too.

I want to rest in your arms and hope that you feel the same.

They stared at each other for what felt like centuries, a showdown between two sworn enemies complete with an audience to watch. Neither of them said anything, albeit their gazes speaking a million words; so focused on their battle that they did not notice that the ground started to shake. Scared once more, Peter jumped onto a tree branch, crouching so he could launch himself onto whatever dangers awaited - not thinking that the other two did not have spider-like reflexes such as he did, he waited in the trees for them. Nervous when the golem erupted from the ground and the two of them did not jump to meet him. He eyed up the threat, noting that it was larger than the three of them combined, humanoid in shape with short, stubby legs and long, long arms; made of dirt. Something Peter knew exactly how to take down in a kind and friendly way if he could just swing down and get right at that sweet, sweet spot. It’d be easy!

And that was when the golem struck.

Stephen went flying. Splat. Splat on the floor.

And then went Tony. He ran towards the sorcerer like his life depended on it, armour plates crunching against each other and a stripe of red fabric trailing behind him; arms flailing in the hopes that it could at least do something.

He was panicking. Pacing thoughts back and forth between how Stephen just needed to have a small rest and then he would be okay - there was no way in each and every Plane of Existence that he was going to die. He was always okay - always!

Kneeling on the ground, Tony’s hands darted to Stephen’s shoulders, shaking him gently - or as gently as he could with how barely any air was reaching his head and his lungs were not filling. He wanted to run but his hands would not let him leave. It’s bad. Real bad. Everything around him was melting and come time, Stephen would melt away, too.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was shaky, “Hey, you’re alright. You’re back, you’re alright. Hey, wake up…” He was starting to lose hope but did not give up in its entirety, shaking him still and even slapping him across the cheek a few times, sure that it would wake him up with the pain of metal meeting skin.

The golem loomed over them both. Tony turned to meet its gaze, staring with frightened eyes.

This was bad. Dreadful. Awful. Abysmal.

His eyes flickered back and forth between the golem and Stephen. There was no way on the material plane that he would be able to fend the golem off on his own, save for the fact that his healer was down and Peter was injured and he did not know how well he could fight with his injuries. And so he stayed holding onto Stephen, lip quivering and nails digging into his skin. If anything, his armour could protect him and if he died defending him, well, at least he died committing a selfless act.

He did have one good idea, even if that meant grasping for straws and hoping that luck was in his favour. Reaching under Stephen’s cloak and navigating the heavy leather straps until he located the spellbook strapped to his thigh. Once he found it, his eyes flicked back to the golem, thankful that he could see Peter darting about to distract it before turning back to the book. Hands shakier than they had ever been before and clammy with sweat, he flicked through the book in the hopes that he would find a spell that could revive him. Time was passing way too fast and with every second, Stephen’s chance of being scooped into an eternal slumber increased.

Fast. Fast. Fast.

He must look for one fast despite how he was barely looking at what each spell did and barely understanding what some of them said with the writings being untranslated and in languages he did not understand. Maybe he would learn Infernal another day; another day where he could weave daisy chains around his horns. But that wasn’t today. Today he was to learn how to heal.

And then he finally landed on one.

A fey mending spell. The spell his mother would heal his broken bones and chase sickness away with.

It would have to do.

Right before he went to speak the words, the golem fell. It fell with a thud and made the ground shake. Tony would ask later how Peter did that with his injuries, but right now was not the time; he must. Stay. Focused. He spoke the words with as much confidence as he could, hoping that he did not trip over his words or his voice wavered too much, but he did it.

The spell was cast.

And it did nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The half-elf felt like he had been hit with a ton bricks; heart dropping to rest in the deepest pit of his stomach.

But. But did I cast it correctly? Just like mother did? How. How could it not work?

Oh please, please, please.

Let me…………

He wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

Oh, no no no no.

The book dropped to the ground just as Peter swung back down to meet him. In a reassuring voice, Peter explained the situation, “They’re golems - pretty easy to defeat. They have a lil’ core that you need to dislodge and then poof! They’re done…” Trailing off when he noticed that Tony was in a state of shock, mourning, every emotion possible, “Hey, we can plant the core together and give back to the earth if it makes you feel better?”

Tony shook his head, refusing to take his eyes off of Stephen’s resting body.

Everyone I love has to leave me in some way. I am destined to be alone.

It took a few moments, but eventually a faint glow engulfed Stephen’s body - the afterlife? Were the hells ready to take this demon back home? Tony began to resign to his fate, ready to say his goodbyes, but then Stephen moved. He moved in one swift motion as if he had been pulled up by a great force, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck and bringing him into a warm kiss.

Shocked for more reasons than one, Tony kissed back, hoping that he did not start crying with relief. He didn’t, for the record. They kissed for what felt like an eternity, Peter watching almost awkwardly off to the side but with the impression that this was not the first time they had kissed. When they eventually pulled away, Tony began to splutter, for once at a loss for words when face to face with true love or whatever bullshit was in those romance novels Happy kept on his bookshelves and played off as being part of Pepper’s tiny collection.

“Thank you, Anthony,” Was all Stephen said, pressing another kiss to the half-elf’s cheek. He watched as the other’s hand reached up to press where he had kissed; and with that, Stephen knew his feelings had been reciprocated.

-

“I really like your hands,” Peter mused, watching as Stephen dug a hole in the ground to place the core of the golem, “They’re pretty. Battle-worn.”

Stephen gave a small smile in response, stating that ‘battle-worn’ was certainly one way to put it. Continuing to talk as they nurtured the earth by planting the golem, Stephen began to realise that the kid wasn’t so bad after all - he was quite good company.

And as he watched Stephen show Peter the scars on his hands, Tony made a mental note to tell Thor that he should not worry about the thief anymore.

All was well.

He’d send a raven.

Chapter Text

It was early autumn, nearing the middle, in fact, a little after the sun had risen. It was chilly, gearing up to be warm once again, but not quite there yet. It would not be warm once it hit midday, either, a time in which created a boiling warmth or an icy cold in the middle of summer or winter - two opposing forces contrasting each other delightfully.

From the outside, the inn looked peaceful, tucked away behind bushes. Its structure was made of varnished, weathered oak and many, many windows; some foggy with age and some brand new. Despite the early hour, workers could be seen scurrying past the windows on the bottom floor, presumably rushing to prepare breakfast and run errands before the majority of people rose. A bustling inn, the most popular in the region Milopita. Near the top floor of the inn was a special window, however. This particular window was one of the lucky ones that featured stained glass - a religious image depicted. Light entered it in kaleidoscopes, rainbows dancing up the walls as if they were fairies.

Splintered sunlight peered through the curtains, the drapery ornately decorated with intricately woven patterns, it crept forward and forward, stretching across a table which homed a set of armour, lockpicking tools, a staff, and a myriad of daggers from unknown origin; potions and apothecary tools on another table, hidden from the sun in this moment. A stick of incense had just been lit and recently blown out, for its ember burned bright and smoke began to fill the room. Warmth engulfed the room in a multitude of ways. The room started to smell ambiguous, displaying notes of wood and frankincense, an intoxicating scent that would do nothing but calm the senses. The sun crept further, pointing towards the tiefling sorcerer who sat at the centre of the room, not too far from the burning incense, legs crossed in a lotus position, tail resting in his lap, and hovering slightly above ground.

It was Stephen’s morning ritual to light a stick of incense and meditate for a few moments. He hovered, cloak flapping gently around him. Candles surrounded him in a circle, each unscented candle standing at different heights and different stages of burning, some nearing the end of their life, and some bought just the other morning just down the way behind the woods from a merchant whose store could not be seen from the road. He had an impressive collection of candles, one that rivaled a devoted cleric’s own, having gathered them since he took up sorcery. Tony questioned the collection every now and then, often being asleep when he was meditating, but on one occasion where he was up all night tinkering with bits and pieces he had witnessed the ritual. That was the first time he had seen Stephen meditate. It was also the first time he had seen him at peace.

How sweet, he’d think, how sweet this tiefling is.

It had been months since then; their adventures taking them through the span of each other’s minds, digging them inside and out until they fully and truly understood that they were meant to be close together. Their duo eventually became a trio, the two of them adopting a little halfling boy fairly recently. Peter, a young halfling, made a great addition to their party, despite getting on Stephen’s nerves every now and then, it warmed his heart how gentle Tony was with him; so much so that he began to make an attempt at paying no mind to the things that bothered him. It was the little embellishments that he would gift him in an attempt to dispel the bitter aura that surrounded him, little jewels to decorate his pointed ears with, rings made from copper wire, a new chain for the one that held the green gemstone at his forehead. It took its time, but Stephen began to appreciate Peter’s company.

And now here he was. Finally having a moment of peace and quiet before his beloved and then, eventually, Peter woke up. It was arguably his favourite time of the day; nothing but the sound of birds chirping good morning, rustling leaves as a squirrel scurried about, and his own breath reaching his ears. The world seemed to stand still. It was just him and this little piece of the world. Pure serenity. Arcana and chakra woven into something beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Kutastha Chaitanya. All things are woven on the loom of eternity, consciousness is at its purest. He can see everything ahead of him when he is in this state, and this moment was nothing new; never once opening the physical third eye he had been destined to open, he had opened the metaphysical third eye, that eye that allows him to be one with the flow of time.

Rarely, he would use these meditative moments to look ahead in time - only saving it for times in need - but he always had the desire to. Looking forward and hoping that all things last with he and his beloved? That things will not fall to ruin? A tiefling brings bad luck to all they touched, hence why they travelled with their own kind at most times, and he wanted nothing more than to let his half-elf boyfriend be well, prospering through life and living as the perfect guardian; a guiding light. Things should not fall to ruin, they will not fall to ruin, will they fall to ruin? For people like him who came from places like him, nothing but a curse follows them. They will trap someone in an eternal hallway, forced to find no exit, rendering them lost. Will he ever find Wanda? His dear, dear, good friend that was irretrievably lost. No. No, no no. He was not going to search the future, all the futures’ outcomes, to see whether they would reunite. No, no. The woman in red, she was red, she was always red, she would return to him one day; he just couldn’t, and wouldn’t, prove it.

Golden light spread across the room, creating a shadow on the wall in front of Stephen in the shape of the stained glass window, the stained glass making little parts of the light a slightly different tone of gold than others. The sun had risen. Stephen was aware - and yet he stayed in a meditative state.

All was well, all was well, all was well.

One with the world. One with the universe. That is what he was.

Suddenly, a gentle pressure was placed on his forehead, pulling him out of his meditative state. Jolting and losing balance, he fell to the ground but did not raise his guard. A hand cupped his scarred two, a gentle rubbing with what felt like caloused thumbs.

“Youre back,” Tony muttered, pressing another kiss to his forehead, “You’re alright.”

Stephen shook his head as he looked to the half-elf, the chains laced around his horns jingling as they swayed side to side, “I was meditating.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “You were whacking your tail against the floor. That sounded like a pissed off tiefling to me,” He squeezed his hand as a form of comfort.

Stephen offered a gentle smile and nodded in thanks.

All was well.

-

Music played and played and played. It never seemed to end, just like the gentle winds from the south never seemed to end, but unlike those winds, the people of Milopita did not want it to end. Music meant a happy town, and a happy town meant fresh produce to purchase from lands afar.

Tony walked with Peter on his shoulder while Stephen walked to his side, their hands held in a loose yet all too tight grasp, tighter than usual since Tony wasn’t wearing his armour, opting for a loosely fitted linen shirt, high waisted pants and a pair of boots, an outfit that he said made him look absolutely gorgeous, thank you very much and Stephen had to agree. He did look gorgeous in that white shirt and pants that accentuated how thin his waist was, and he was absolutely not going to be staring at his ass at a farmers market of all places. That could wait. Atop his shoulder, the halfling looked like a little Robin Hood. Tweed vest in blue, linen undershirt in black, his colour palette was striking right down to the little red and white stitching on his vest. The two of them looked like two sides of the same coin, opposing forces yet did not look too out of place - they looked like father and son.

Stephen, on the other hand, a blue tiefling, looked the most out of place between the three of them. On this day, he opted for less stiff and heavy robes and more adornments on his horns and across his ears. He looked rather different than the two of them, but that didn’t matter. They were an odd little trio, and that was okay.

The further they walked towards their destination, the more crowded the area became, people packed up tight like sardines. Chatter in languages from all over the continent became louder and, soon, Peter became their eyes, seeing above the crowds of people. He directed them towards a clearing where an elderly man sat in front of his produce - they would start there for the day.

A lizardfolk in a wizard hat ran by with several bags up his arms, trying to cross items off of a list written in a material which could be carved with his claws; a bugbear chased a goblin sliding down the path with what appeared to be the Grease spell not far behind and an orc wearing short shorts strolled on behind them all. They seemed to be travelling at their own pace, but Peter knew for a fact that they were a party of travellers - one much more peculiar than the three of them. Shaking his head to look at the stall they had arrived at, Peter decided to focus on why they were here in the first place.

An elderly man, a human, had greeted them meekly before turning back to the book he was reading; an old, leather bound book that was home to pages yellowing with age. Stephen inspected the quality of some peculiarly shaped garlic bulbs, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to find any faults. No faults were found. They took three, plus a bunch of green onions.

Off in the distance, a man called out his wares in the fey language, voice rising above those who advertised in common in the hopes that he could attract elves and beyond - anyone who spoke their tongue. There seemed to be a specific reason for his speaking in fey. He was advertising medicine, Elvish medicine to be exact, a medicine which was quite difficult to use properly had the user not even the tiniest bit of knowledge about Elven culture. It was well known that elves were among the best clerics of the lands. He was surrounded by murmurs and coins clanking against others in nicely lined pouches and handed over in exchange for bottles of milk. The tide never once died down. It ebbed and flowed. It was still not quite warm just yet. The autumn breeze continued to carry a twinge of an icy cold that would soon engulf the town, yet held dearly to the remnants of summer just past. This weather meant that rogue birds would sit perched up on stall roofs, diving down every now and then to retrieve a lost loaf of bread, a dropped couple of lettuce leaves; a feast that would sustain them for weeks to come.

“What was it you said you were after, kid?” Tony called up to Peter, tilting his head so he could hear better.

Peter beamed, threatening to bounce up and down on the half-elf’s shoulder, “Spider silk! It’s a rope in a bag made of spider silk and I have been wanting it for a really reallyreallyreally long time now! It seems like a joke tool but I know that I can find some use for it…” He trailed off, “If I can first find a way to not get it to stick to me…”

Tony looked to Stephen with a knowing look, “And you’re after…?”

“Spices,” Stephen was almost too quick to respond, “Since we’re staying here for a few days, I’d like to gather some ingredients that I would normally find in the forests. I’d like to cook you something nice with them, a proper home cooked meal.”

Tony nodded, giving Peter a thumbs up and Stephen’s leathery hand a gentle kiss, “And we will make it happen.”

And what is he going to cook for me? How long has it been since I’ve had a home cooked meal?

Too long.

I have been on the road for too long. It’s always been campfires and tavern food.

Entranced by the small gesture, Tony kept his eyes on Stephen as they walked, hoping that Peter would snap him out of his daze before he walked into an uyeilding orc holding a greatsword. They met each other’s gaze evern just for a moment, a small smile shared between them, half-elf and tiefling, artificer and sorcerer, lovers and companions.

A tiny kiss was placed atop Tony’s head as they walked further and further into the market. Markets like these ceased to rest; the day being only one portion of its festivities, and its existence being one of the many reasons they had decided to stop in Milopita to rest for the next few days. It was a town famous for being a stop over for travellers though a place that barely anyone who grew up there left; it was intoxicating in that way. A beautiful town full of nothing but murmurs over the top of someone trying to sell one a full wheel of freshly made parmesean and three jars of olives.

-

It was a little before dusk when little rainbows started to crawl up the walls of their inn room.

Cubed apples sat pickling in a pot, having been boiled a few moments prior, creating a smell akin to cider. The small kitchen at the end of their room filled with the glorious smell of apple cider; intermingling with a stick of incense which sat at the other end of the room, close to where Peter sat trying to untangle his spider silk which seemed like it would be a frustrating job, but he was laser focused on each strand, picking them apart and ensuring that they did not touch each other again until he was ready to put them to use. He had decided to make rope with them. Another piece of rope for the bag of holding which seemed to hold nothing but rope at this point. A plum leaf tea sat atop a knitted coaster beside him, going cold from how laser focused he was on the silk than the fact that he had made a drink for himself moments earlier, having begged the other two for access to boiling water before they started cooking - in and out with the cup he so desperately wanted. Abandoned as it was now, he would later heat it up with a ball of fire cast from the palm of his hand. Back in the kitchen, on the countertop sat a glass of scotch on the rocks right next to a bowl of pheasant resting in salt.

The half-elf looked over his shoulder at Peter, giving something of a proud, fatherly gaze in his direction before turning back to Stephen who was dicing a leek, “I bet you’re glad that I took the kid,” he grinned up at Stephen, pointed ears moving with his lips.

Stephen sighed as he took a moment to think of his answer. It took a few moments, enough moments for him to place the diced leek into a pan and start frying them, “I’ll admit that I was not the most… eager… to bring him with us, but if I am being honest, seeing you so gentle with him is lovely…” He trailed off again, “it’s like I’m falling in love with you again every time I see you show that softer side.”

Just like that, Tony’s ears drooped into something of an annoyed angle, his face carefully blank to match and eyes blinking as if to process what he had just said, pupils then shifting to avoid eye contact, “You stole my line! Asshole!” He whacked the sorcerer’s shoulder only to emphasise the point.

Warm laughter emitted from the other’s chest and, albeit muffled, created such a delightful embrace around the two of them, “I like when you are lost for words. Oh, no, whatever happened to the confident Tony Stark we all know?”

“Oh he’s off for the night. Clocked out an hour ago…” He crept a little closer to Stephen, grabbing onto his tail and playing with it a little as he drew himself closer, closer, closer, until he was so close that he could cup his cheek, “You’re stuck with hopeless romantic Tony Stark right now - I’m only here for a bit,” the artificer’s voice low as he spoke.

Long arms wrapped around Tony’s waist, offering a gentle squeeze, “Well,” Stephen’s face hovered close to the other’s, blackened sclerae on white, blue irises on brown, and a set of horns almost resting on the artificer’s forehead, “Guess he will have to come back a bit later,” A small kiss was placed on his lips before he pulled away.

Tony stood baffled and somewhat annoyed. Stuck in that position for a few moments while Stephen went back to cooking.

-

Days later, the autumn had grown colder. This particular morning had been slow with nothing eventful occurring besides the blackbird that perched at their window and pecked around once every few hours. A nest must be nearby.

The three of them had spen hours in Milopita town square, stopping by each and every store that piqued their interest - a potions store to stock up on greater healing potions that they absolutely do not need but you never know, an armoury for a brand new set of light armour for Peter, and various other stores for a few knick knacks that would inevitably be squashed between the pages of Stephen’s spellbook; so many of them in there at this point that he would not think too much of it, he had so many in there already. A leatherworker supplied them with hides that none of them knew what to use them for, they just had a feeling that they would need it. Into the bag of holding they went, never to be retrieved once more.

Just as they were approaching an arcane store, a cool wind brushed past Stephen. It was nothing but a soft breeze, but there was something about it that made him tense, shoulders rising to his ears.

Was he scared? What was it that made him tense up?

The winds brought with them a spiced aroma, one that was from a specific time, a specific place, one Stephen hadn’t smelt in a very long time. He twisted his body, earning a concerned gaze from Peter and Tony, and began scanning the vicinity for the one person he was absolutely certain that he had detected.

Scanning.

Scanning.

Scanning.

There. There she was.

She stood examining an apothecary’s tiny stall. Appearing as though she were in conversation with the shopkeep, her gentle, red hands held a mortar and pestle made out of what seemed to be the finest marble the lands. Stephen stared at her from afar.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god! Oh my god my god my god my god, God if you do exist are you waving your hands in trickery? My god. My god.

He did not cry. He did not shake. He stood there, eyes wide and tail paused in motion; no longer waving with his hips as he walked, staring at a red, four horned tiefling in the distance.

My friend. My dear, dear, childhood friend. That must be her, that must must must must be her!

“Hey Stephen..?” Tony nudged him in the hopes of bringing him back to reality, hoping that he hadn’t drifted off into the astral plane, “You good?”

“Wanda…” Stephen muttered in a tone dripping with disbelief. A few moments passed and then he was gone. Gone with the wind and disappearing as fast as light, fast fast fast, springboarding into the space in front of him. Towards the tiefling with her four horns framing her face like a wimple.

I miss her I miss her. I missed missed missed her!

Just as she turned, face lighting up as she realised that her long lost friend was running before her, a warforged stepped between the two of them, deflecting Stephen’s approach. He stood tall and strong, painted in red, yellow and green with a beautifully embroidered cape flowing behind him. A yellow gemstone rest embedded in his forehead mirroring Stephen’s own green. He knew this warforged, he had met him before. He had met him once before, but he could not remember his name, nor did he think that the other remembered his own.

“Vision!” Tony came running up behind, Peter following not far behind, allerting the warforged to his presence.

“Stark, it’s good to see you, is he with you?” A gesture to Stephen who had been pushed to the ground from Vision’s deflection.

Before Tony went to speak, the tiefling behind Vision revealed herself, crouching down to offer Stephen her gloved hand, “It’s fine, Vizh, he’s a friend,” Her eyes smiled, full of relief, and her voice laced with a thick accent “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Stephen?”

Stephen nodded, taking her hand and pulling himself off of the ground. They embraced as soon as he came back to his feet, a tight, tight, tight hug that was akin to a padlock closed with the key thrown into the ocean, they just ceased to pull apart. The three outsiders watched their embrace, mostly in confusion but in wonder that the two of them did have friends outside of those that they had met or those that were never spoken of. Tony held his hand out for Vision, taking the warforged’s in a firm grasp.

“Good to see you, Vision,” He spoke with a smile, “Did you know about..?” A gesture to Wanda and Stephen who were now in conversation, acting as if they had just seen each other yesterday.

Vision shook his head, metal clanking a little as he moved, “I was not aware of any friends she may have had. I found her lost and alone one day; such a sad sight to see such a beautiful girl like her dishevelled as she was.”

“Dishevelled?”

“She came from a bad place, and I presume your companion does too. They must have escaped for good reason.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed, looking down at Peter, who too was a little confused, and then back up at Vision, “I wasn’t aware of this..?”

“And it is not my story to tell,” Vision was matter of fact in the way he spoke, “In a manner of speaking, sir, I think it best that you do not ask him about it, either. He will tell you in his own time,” A gentle smile.

Tony knew this. He wouldn’t go around picking at Stephen’s insecurities and dark secrets just to talk about something that was likely such a painful part of his life. He would tell him when the time was right. Or not. Or he would not tell him at all and that was okay - totally okay. It did not mean that he did not trust him enough, and he himself had his own share of bad experiences and he was sure as hell that Peter did, too. All was well.

He was about to spiral but was pulled out of his train of thought by the two tieflings rejoining their trio. Wanda had crouched down to meet Peter’s gaze, a gentle smile adorning her face, “I presume you’re their child?”

Peter shuffled behind Tony’s leg, hand grasping at the fabric of his pants; though scared of this new person, he still nodded, proud that he now had a family.

Tony reached down to ruffle Peter’s hair, hoping that he could make the halfling feel a bit safer. Albeit not coming out from behind his father, Wanda did not once back away from her goal of talking to Peter, “I have two little boys of my own - me and Vizh - they may be about your age now! If we cross paths again, and I’m sure we will,” She gestured up to Stephen who was now in conversation with Vision - something about other worlds out there beyond their own timeline, “I am sure that you will get along with them..! Would you like some new friends, Peter?”

Peter nodded gently, looking up to Tony before he spoke.

“It’s alright, I don’t think that she will hurt you, spiderling.”

He nodded again, “I’d like that… I’d like to meet them,” He offered a small smile, a light sparkling behind his eyes.

All was well.

Midday had come. Children ran through piles of orange leaves, leaping over them and making little angels in the piles. The light of the sun fell onto the world below in an almost ceremonial way; it was a ceremonial light, bright, bright, yet all too soft and gentle. They had reluctantly parted ways with Wanda and Vision, holding each other in a warm embrace - and though Wanda was a bit skeptical of Tony and Tony of her, the two seemed pleased to have met, both mostly skeptical of how the other treated Stephen.

As they parted, Wanda laced a necklace adorned with an eye, the evil eye, around Stephen’s neck, “This will protect you,” She spoke like the sun, “It is filled with magic.”

-

“I dunno if I ever told you, but I made Vision,” Tony appeared from the other side of the room, a scotch in his hand, “He’s more than something that I made now…. I find that such a cool thing with warforgeds - they’re built and then they grow… How cool…” He smiled around the rim of his glass, “You wonder why I left my job as a blacksmith, don’t you?”

Stephen was seated at an oak table near the inn room’s kitchen, a wine and a bowl of bare bones in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly.

“I made Vision after nights and nights of tinkering,” He sat across from the tiefling now, “Realised there was more to the world than just the things that I make - and here I am!” Jazz hands. Pazzah~!! Here he is!

Finding the dramatisation all too adorable, all too cute, all too Anthony Stark, Stephen’s immediate response was a softening of the eyes and a gentle smile, a look that could kill Tony dead on the spot, “And now here you are,” The light bounced off of his face in intricate patterns, the blue of his skin appearing darker in odd spots, “Here you are with me, and Peter.”

“And our little family…”

“Our little family, indeed,” Stephen reached over the table to rest his hand atop Tony's; olive skin under a blue blanket. A bird chirped. Stephen changed the subject, “Can you teach me Fey?”

“Oh?” The half-elf’s interest was piqued, ears raising a little in surprise and the tips of them growing a little pink, “I thought you already knew, you know, with those spells of you?”

A laugh spilled out of Stephen’s mouth, wrapping around his pointed teeth and dancing atop his forked tongue, “I’ll be the first to admit that it is only those spells that I know. I barely know what I’m saying when I cast them,” He snapped his fingers to cast Prestidigitation - a few sparks flew into the air for effect.

Tony pointed to the glass of wine, a cackle laced in his words, “In vino veritas,” A pause, “People tell the truth while under the influence.”

“In vino veritas…” Stephen let the words dangle on his split tongue for a moment, “Vino is wine I presume?” Tony gave a nod, “It’s the same in Infernal.”

“It is?!”

A squeeze to Tony’s hand - a loving response to the exchange of words.

Tony continued, “I’ll teach you Fey if you talk to me more in Infernal - even if I have no idea what the fuck you’re on about,” He turned to ensure that Peter was indeed asleep, “I like the way you sound.. I want you to pull me apart with those words.”

Stephen gave a smirk in response, “Deal.”

Tony leant over the table to give the other a gentle kiss, lingering there for a moment longer, “Nil invenio tale, quod velim tue dilectioni comparare, que super mel et favum dulcescit et in cuius comparatione auri et argenti nitor vilescit,” another kiss.

“What does that mean?”

I’ll tell you later.

Chapter Text

Before Tony, it was just Stephen.

A scavenger and a self-taught survivalist travelling the lands until he found places to call home even for just a second. No place was ever home to him. The last place he called home, he had to escape from - a treacherous tiefling cult that treated him as though his only quality was his talent for sorcery; his closest friend, too, for her ability to tap into the darkest forms of magic, a rarity, something that no one had done so for a millenia.

Wanda escaped before Stephen could.

Before they found that he could harness the power of manipulating time, something that they hoped to extract from him, to take from his very fingers and share between everyone in the commune. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. His hands remained scarred and an eternal reminder of the evils, the greed, of those who raised him - a permanent stain of hatred for his own kind.

Stephen escaped before they could discover that he was never born with the ability to manipulate time. It did not reside in his blood, but, rather, in a gemstone that now adorned the space on his forehead between the base of his horns.

A beautiful gem it was. One he used many, many times in his escape from the place he last called home.

He wasn’t sure he had used it since, much like how nowhere was home to him now.

And now here he was; a lone nomad who wished for nothing but to find his dear friend. To reunite with her would mean everything to him. Up and down hills he trekked, making sure to wrap his tail around branches to stop himself from losing his balance (something he had learnt fairly early in his travels), slowly making his way to the first sign of civilisation. There, he would trade rare herbs with apothecary and clerics in exchange for thread to mend his clothing with, leather to strap to his knees, a knife that would rest in a sheath at his hip in the perfect spot for his tail to swipe it out if need be; a tiefling’s tail was prehensile, and he liked to use his at any chance he got.

Travelling alone had its benefits - he would always be alone, free to his own peace and quiet, away from anyone who could potentially hurt him, no one to attach himself to before they inevitably run away or try to strip the magic from his being - but it also had its detriments. No one on the night watch meant that his fish left out to smoke overnight would be stolen, his tent stealthily broken into and his inventory stolen, and attacks coming when he was deep in sleep. He had become something of a light sleeper due to this, and it wasn’t until he had a party of his own, a party of three, a new family, that he finally returned to deep sleep. But for now, sleep pained him to the point where he was tempted to cast a minor illusion in the hopes of trapping those who dared to disrupt him in his already annoyed countenance.

It was nice while it lasted. Lasting until a half-elf collapsed, writhing in pain and weak constitution as if the Gods above rolled a dice and landed on the worst possible outcome. A critical one.

The fey man reminded Stephen of himself for a moment; lost, in pain and on the verge of giving up. Quickly learning that he had been through something terrible, but his movements, no matter how small they were, signaled that he was filled with vengeance and capable of doing much worse to anyone even in the state he was in, the sorcerer opted to use a healing spell or two.

He wouldn’t let this stranger disappear into nothingness.

He wouldn’t.

-

The morning sun trickled through a tiny opening in the curtains. It was not a warm sunlight, the sky outside a deceiving azure, blue skies and clear, not a cloud to be seen up above, as it was the middle of winter in the town of Melitzanosalata. Frost crackled against the windows of their innroom causing the outside world to become nothing but a blur, a distant memory.

Peter had left a few moments prior, having jumped out of the bed that the three of them shared, the halfling was small enough to slip into a bed with them and, most importantly, it was much cheaper to spend the night in a single bedded room, in search for something to eat. Racing down three flights of stairs, barely even touching the stairs he moved so fast, he would make it to the ground floor in the time it took one to blink, and now he was seated at a table with a piping hot bowl of goulash. The inn was not busy at this time of the morning, a quiet drone of a hum filled the room, but every now and then Peter would turn to look at a pair of eladrin, a seemingly close pair, who were engaged in a game of cards; the man would hand his companion a card that glowed purple and once she turned to see that it was the queen of hearts, she would tilt her head and call him sugar.

Peter thought that was sweet. It reminded him of his surrogate parents.

Back in their room, the sun crept further and further until the rays bounced off of Stephen’s sternal ridges; little shadows that danced across the bumps on his blue skin like fairies on their way to a tea party in the eternally blue sky above.

“What are you doing?” The tiefling finally asked after what felt like hours of watching Tony’s index finger running up and down the ridges that wrapped around his ribs from behind, spending extra time to run around one of the parallel lines that swooped from his costal region and up to his collarbone, the two mirroring each other on either side of his body. This seemed to be a precious task, something so gentle, something that someone who would not run away or hurt him would do; he was here just to love him.

“I like the markings on your body… They’re pretty,” The other mumbled, voice muffled partly due to the way his head burrowed into the crook of Stephen’s neck, “Little mazes for me to run my fingers over,” A gentle hum as he took a break to press a small kiss to the base of his neck, and then another one, and then another one, “Though my favourite is the one at the base of your tail - I didn’t know that you had them until you let me look at your entire body… I’m not even sure if you’ve seen it yourself,” He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at the alluring creature below. He’d scan the markings all over his torso as if committing them to memory.

He only shook his head in response, not having the words to explain how he never really cared for the cartilage that rested underneath the skin across his torso; a faint memory of rituals, sacrifice and prayer in the hopes that one tiefling in the commune would have the same markings as their scripture depicted the holiest of them all to have. A faint, shimmering memory that created this distaste, this disdain for looking too deeply into the markings on his skin.

But Tony seemed to like them.

Tony liked a lot about him.

Sweet, sweet half-elven Anthony. He was head over heels for this tiefling.

Exasperated, Tony continued, expressive as always, “You’ve got diamonds going down your back, they’re like engravings that stop at the base of your tail,” he reached down to tap his nose with a finger, a gentle tap that would snap Stephen out of whatever he was staring at, whatever he was overthinking. In truth, he was too busy staring at the little battle scars that made up the beauty of Tony’s face - the little cuts and bruises that never healed, the scar that made its way from the base of his ear to the very end of the point, “You adorn yourself with gemstones, and yet there are blue diamonds, sapphire, lapis lazuli, embedded in your skin already. You’re beautiful, Strange, I’ve always thought so.”

Stephen was never quite sure of the exact moment that Tony started taking notice of his attributes. He never was.

-

A traveller clad in damaged armour tumbled through the woods, trying his best to stay conscious.

One arm wrapped around his fractured chestplate, hoping to cover the parts that bled and the parts beneath the skin that he knew were bubbling away like a wizard’s cauldron in a sharp pain that was akin to nothing he had ever felt before. His fingertips gently touched his battle-worn skin, a silent prayer to his mother, wherever her soul may rest now, to come to his aid and mend his wounds like she always did. An apparition was all he wanted.

A hazy, fading apparition was all he ever wanted. Just a single flash of the half-elf who sung hymns that had the power to cure a whole army but chose to use them on her only son.

A hazy, fading apparition is what he needed. Heart beating faster than it should, he lost his footing throughout the marsh he had made his way into on no volition but the adrenaline of racing to get help - never did he ever, ever ask for help, but he was certain that he was dying and nothing, nothing, nothing, he has ever made nor could make in this mindset would save his life. What he needed was his cleric mother. Someone, anyone, who could stop his already fractured heart from beating so fast that it’d explode within the next few moments.

Everything was a blur. Nothing was clear.

Tripping over vines he thought he had kicked out of the way, tangling himself in what could have been a sleeping python, the artificer continued to run. He was lost, most definitely, and desperately needed to find either someone to heal him or a place to lay down and die - he was absolutely certain that Steve Rogers had intended to kill him. Chainmail caught on uprooted trees and the muffler wrapped so gently around his neck caught on something, causing it to tighten around his neck. After what felt like far too long, he freed himself. The beautiful, red cotton ripped in places; an aesthetic issue for later.

He continued to run. Into the darkness he ran, leaves trailing behind him so fast that they, in his hazy stupor, resembled bats. Running, running, running, until he could see the outlines of a campfire.

Who on earth would camp in a place like this?

It had to be a mirage. What he wanted so badly had finally manifested in front of him. It had to be a mirage - why wouldn’t it be?

It all happened so fast.

The campfire.

The blue-skinned tiefling.

The blackness of the abyss and the crush of armour against the marshy forest floor.

-

“And that’s the base of the quest. I will pay up right away, but if you need any assistance, I hope none is necessary, please speak into the stone and it’ll grant you your answer.”

In the far distance, a clock chimed at the arrival of the new hour, startling Peter out of the daze he was in, staring at a young dwarven girl who sat braiding her long, dark, curly hair at the edge of a canal. He liked the way she looked and hoped that he would see her again sometime soon, committing her torn tunic to memory and surrounding said thought with a daydream of threading elfsbane through her braids. He didn’t know magic very well, but he would learn how to charm the flowers to ensure that she was always under protection.

Struck back to the real world from his brief visit to what felt like the Astral Plane, the halfling boy reached up to the questgiver - a tall, tall, tall half-elf with ties to draconic sorcery, judging by the small patches of scales on their hand - to take the magic stone. It was beautiful in Peter’s eyes; crimson red with patches black as night. He stared into the depths of the stone, thinking once more of the girl, of the job, of the gifts he could buy the girl with their pay.

“We got it, old mate, we go in, do the job. Walk in the park for us!” Tony spoke

Peter spoke into the crystal, asking if they would get paid in full. Worried, he was, that something was wrong - something about the wind, as he had heard Stephen say before; only Stephen knew how to speak to the wind and Peter was far too anxious for his little body to handle.

Future hazy.

Startled by the response, he shoved it into one of the many bags of holding that littered his belts - bags of holding were perfect for halflings with how much they could carry and how small they were. He waited, and waited, and waited, all for the quest giver to hand over the sack of coins, but he didn’t. He quickly became disgruntled, knowing now that the stone was speaking the truth, only pulling his crossbow out when the quest giver turned to leave.

In the end, the quest went ahead. There was only one issue, and that was that they now had a dead body to deal with, a dead body that only came into their posession because Peter believed that they would be paid prior to the quest.

-

Their dead body problem went away rather quickly and it soon became Tony’s favourite story to share. He would flail his arms around, casting a newly learnt minor illusion spell to emphasise the point and threaten to throw a piece of metal chipping away from one of his discarded gauntlets if they thought it was a stupid story. There were many times where he almost threw something at Rhodey who, every time he met with his dear friend when returning to the elven township, would roll his eyes and groan, mirroring Stephen’s own apparent disdain at the repetition of the story.

But there was something so nice about watching Tony tell the story by candlelight; the way he would perch up at the climax of the story and place Peter on his lap almost instinctively, as if he were a crucial part of his performance, as he recounted the event that took place. Bruce would lean over to Stephen who stood at the back of the room at present, a clawed hand wrapped around a glass of wine, and speak to him after a long night of trying to do so but being pulled back by a myriad of humanoids who wanted to speak with him first.

“I can tell how much he loves you. He looked at me the same way, even looked at Steve that way, too,” The changeling, currently presenting as an elf, took a break to take a rather large sip from his glass of cider, “He’s like a lovestruck kid from the Academy.”

“Steve Rogers almost killed him.”

“Yeah it was….. A tough time to say the least….”

Silence filled the air between them both for a few moments.

Finally, the sorcerer snickered, making such little movements that it was unclear to any onlookers that he was still speaking to the man beside him, “I’ll admit that he is good company. The kid, too.”

Bruce tilted his head to examine the other’s face a bit more carefully, “And I know that you’re the same. The both of you!” He let out a laugh; first little giggles that then turned into huge belly laughs, only calming himself down when he felt the first tingles of the orc within making himself known, “Look, all I’m saying is that the two of you are perfect for each other.”

He would stare Bruce in the eye for a moment too long before turning his gaze back to Tony, who was still engulfed in the story of how Peter mistakenly killed a man and got away with it because they, luckily, travelled with a man who knew how to summon eldrich beings. He would notice the shape of his ears, the creases in his eyes, the small dimple that appeared on his right cheek, the way his pointed ears drooped and perked up at different points of the story - the ears of elves and half-elves were similar to a tiefling’s tail: expressive beyond all means - and the way his voice pitched ever so slightly, in a manner that no one but he, the man who took note of everything that Anthony Stark did, would notice.

Fondly, he watched the story told for the umpteenth time, coming to peace with the fact that the annoyance he once shared with Rhodey was a fraud. He loved the sound of Tony’s voice.

He loved to hear him speak with joy.

-

Before Stephen, there was Steve.

At times there would be Clint and Natasha squeezed into their tent, having met them that morning to teach them both how to pick a lock because Tony only knew the most roundabout way to get there, and Steve’s first instinct was to punch it until it broke, both options would inevitably cause an ambush onto them, their plans soon failed, and thus, the satyr and eladrin had met to teach them the skills of a rogue like them both. The eladrin would sit and watch as her dearest beloved ran through the reasons why they shouldn’t think to just hit stuff; there were better tactics and yes, Tony, I get it. You had a better idea than him in the first place, but even your idea was a bit stupid. Take it from someone who sneaks around for a living.

Natasha would grin as Clint told them off, the autumn leaves that surrounded her, a stark contrast to the black of her clothing, fluttering in pleasure. Something deep, deep, within her missed travelling with them and their other two friends more frequently, but things started to dissolve once Thor had to take over the tavern once Odin passed, once Frigga passed, once Hela passed. Bruce had moved on, too, opting to calm the rage within him with a thanks to Tony for his love, his kindness, and his offer to stay in his old home - to make it his own under the condition that he presents as an elf while there.

Natasha, as Thor said on their final meeting, missed the little chats they would have. She would miss the way that things were okay, the way that the six of them would choose who took the night watch by having a mock battle, the way that she nearly drowned Tony for one small little comment that wasn’t even that serious, the way that she would watch her friends grow closer, soon bubbling into something more than just friendship. A rogue with a past that she was running from, yes, but it made her eyes well up with tears when she recalled the times where the group would try to lift Thor’s hammer from a spot on the shore that the aasimar had thrown it; a giant grin on his face as he took a swig of ale from the flask he always carried.

Despite all of that, she always appreciated when they managed to get together again, albeit in fragments of what once was.

Before the eventual warmth of Stephen, there was Steve’s cold back, shunned even in the best parts of their relationship.

Nothing was warm about travelling with Steve. Everything was like a feral orc running through the middle of a midwinter festival, rampaging and ripping everything apart, demolishing each and every piece of handcraft that should have paid for a week of food. It was nothing but torture, and yet, Tony stayed with Steve until they eventually exploded.

It was violent. The artificer fought as though he had prepared weapons for this day, blasting arcana through his armoured palms while the elven soldier dodged his attacks, even hitting some with his sword and shield which sent them back to where they came from, hitting Tony in some of his most sensitive spots. They fought until they forgot about what they were arguing over, they always argued, always, it was more common for them to be at each other's' throats than to have a civil conversation like they once did, and now, here they were, smearing the blood of their fists into eachother’s faces. Bones broken, pointed ears cut in places which would take years to heal, a sudden punch to the scarred skin of the half-elf’s chest. Hits and kicks were sharp, like hisses, darts, lethal bites from an aboleth, until one lay on the ground in a pool of shrapnel while he groaned at the dirty pieces of grazed, exposed skin, the chainmail that pierced his sides, disheveled and unsure if the scabs that would come to form would ever have time to heal.

Turning away from Tony, worn and barely able to stand on his own two feet, Steve stepped away and gathered his things, stuffing them all into a bag that he wasn’t even sure was his, and setting off into the middle of the woods where they had just come from. Tony would follow not long after, stumbling until the pain became so unbearable that he collapsed at the feet of a blue-skinned tiefling.

Time had gone on, and on, and Tony still could not recall what pulled them both apart.

Resentment is corrosive.

Their group was more fragmented than it ever was, and last he heard, the soldier began travelling with two others almost immediately after their falling out, taking up rather high-risk jobs that were considered suicide missions for anyone less talented than a seasoned armyman. And so, Tony never spoke to Steve Rogers again.

-

A band of tabaxi stood upon the stage of the Weeping Pigeon surrounded by candles and large, warm lights that an artificer had made on the spot after overhearing someone mutter and grumble about there not being enough light on the stage and that the tabaxi band were shrouded in darkness. Carefully woven rugs adorned the wall behind them, books on shelves as if they were trying to make the tavern look somewhat sophisticated when it was anything but, the band played and played on their instruments, funky music soaring through the air that bubbled indoors.

There was a group of misfits in every corner of the building. Orcs would hold arm wrestling contests and throw food at one another if they lost, sometimes even ending in a bar fight that would be observed by a group of fairies that would flutter around, casting prestidigitation in the form of sparkles or light to rile them up even more, laugh, the fairies would, for they loved to cause mischief. In the fog of someone’s pipe, a goblin would play cards with a bugbear, a lizardfolk and an orc who appeared to want nothing more than to stay away from the group of fighting orcs across from them - he’d snarl at them and go back to his card game right away - the pipe belonged to a genasi, one who told stories as if they had seen every second of the world from the moment it was created. All of this did not diminish the music that played, the murmurs, shouts and pint glasses broken against the concrete floor only bringing an additional harmony to the band.

The band was not enchanting, nor very good at what they were doing, but it was enough to keep Stephen’s eyes stuck on the stout that sat in front of him. In a way, he had no idea what he was doing there, since taverns were nonexistent in the commune and alcohol was scarce, but he ended up there anyway. Perhaps it was the allure of a collective effervescence? To be in a room with people from all different waypoints on the map, none from where he had just come from, all from places that knew him as nothing but a tiefling that happened to be at a mediocre tavern on a night where the tabaxi band performed.

Perhaps there was something nice about the world outside? Perhaps those who raised him, who had tried to rip the magic from his hands, from Wanda’s hands, had lied about the prying eyes of the outside.

They would mend his clothes, they would spar with him if he got pissed off, they would pour him an oatmeal stout so thick that he had to eat it with a spoon.

Perhaps the person who he overheard telling another that he once saw someone in the Sanctum use magic to cook fowl would be a safe person to approach with an utterly ridiculous question about the ways of this world. Chuffed at first, she said as she let her hands gently play with her yellow robes, but soon disappointed as they saw what was a glorious meal turn to cinder and ashes.

It was likely that he was far too focused on the conversation he was now eavesdropping on that he did not realise that he was leaning too much against the tiefling beside him; one of dark red complexion and black markings not unlike dragon scales around his eyes. The red tiefling rose to his feet in such a reckless way that his body alone pushed Stephen to the ground. He then recited the start of some incantation that Stephen was unfamiliar with and stopped when a bright, blinding light engulfed the space directly in front of his eyes.

“This little one is not worth it,” The stranger in the yellow robes called out, standing as she casted sunbeam as an initial threat. Her fingers danced in the air, little sparks coming out of the tips, and from that gesture alone Stephen knew that she was willing to cast something awfully powerful to protect him.

-

Peter had taken up playing the ocarina on their travels. Neither Tony nor Stephen knew where it came from, but the two of them did recognise the style as that of dwarven carvings, but that didn’t matter; what did matter was that the moments where they were on the verge of an argument - another bout of bickering that could end in harm, the verge of death, the stripping of magic from one’s hands - were pushed back by a delightful tune from the halfling. The two would never admit to it being a joy to listen to Peter pitter patter along on his instrument.

The night was still fairly young, the remains of dinner abandoned for just a moment but not abandoned enough for any creatures of the night to invade their little campsite. It was a rather brisk night despite it being on the cusp of spring and summer which was rather odd but perhaps not too odd for the area that they were in at present - none of them had been to Retsina in their travels before. One could see the stars perfectly from their location, the sparkles that radiated from them somewhat hypnotising; a reminder of how big the world truly is.

Tony liked to dream of making a machine so big and powerful that he could see the stars right up close, but a fear of the unknown seemed to hold him back. Though, that never stopped him from taking a few moments every night to map out where he would travel first. He didn’t know the names of the stars, he wasn’t an astrologer, so his maps were often something primitive compared to what he had seen Wanda make in the brief moment that their two parties met. All that mattered was that they were good enough for him. Enough room for spontaneity.

Too lost in thought, the artificer didn’t take notice of the tunes that Peter was creating behind him. Nor did he notice that Stephen was approaching him and would soon take his hand, snapping him out of his daydream.

Tony protested at first, but that quickly changed when he settled into the sorcerer’s arms, head resting against his wool-covered shoulder. He smelt of fig tonight. Musk and fig. Welcome it was, home it was.

And they danced, and they danced, and they danced.

Swooping around each other, comfortable and trusting the other enough that they would not drop them, they would not leave them to rot on the ground.

They were happy. Far too happy.

Dancing together to the sound of Peter’s ocarina, the two of them, as they lost themselves in each other, realised that this, this little spot here, that this was home.

And it would be home for ever and ever.