IronStrange
The silence of the Sanctum was shattered by the sound of retching echoing down the hall, pulling Tony from sleep. The other side of the bed was cold. His instincts flared awake, and he rolled out of bed, heart racing as he followed the sound to the bathroom. The door was partially closed, faint light spilling into the hallway.
Pushing it open gently, Tony’s heart sank at the sight before him. Stephen was hunched over the toilet, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped the rim, his whole body trembling. Sweat drenched his forehead, and his face was ghostly pale, his eyes barely open, pain etched deep into every line of his face.
"Stephen," Tony whispered, stepping forward, voice thick with worry. "What’s happening?"
Stephen looked up, but his eyes struggled to focus. He parted his lips, but no words came out—just another violent wave of nausea. His body convulsed, and Tony quickly knelt beside him, one hand holding Stephen’s back steady as his whole form shook.
Tony didn’t know what hurt more: seeing the man he loved so weak and fragile or the thought that he hadn’t known it was this bad. He’d noticed the little things, of course—the exhaustion that clung to Stephen, the way he’d stumble or sway slightly more often lately, but Stephen always brushed it off, throwing a wall of sarcasm or humor between them. But this—this was unhideable, raw agony.
"How long has this been going on?" Tony murmured, his voice softer now, running his hand over Stephen’s back. "You should’ve told me."
Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, fighting through another wave of nausea. "Didn’t… didn’t want you to worry," he managed, his voice raspy, words slurring. The effort of speaking seemed to drain him even more, and his grip on the toilet rim weakened.
"Yeah, well, news flash—I’m worried now," Tony shot back, but his words were choked, barely above a whisper. He brushed the damp strands of hair from Stephen’s forehead, feeling helpless. He was Tony Stark, a man who could rebuild himself from scrap metal, who could go toe-to-toe with gods, yet here he was, staring at his boyfriend and feeling like there was nothing he could do.
"Please, Stephen, just… let me help."
Stephen’s lips twisted into a faint, pained smile, but his eyes were hollow. "It’s… it’s just the toll, Tony. The spells… they’re getting harder. It… drains you eventually." Another shudder wracked his body, and Tony clenched his jaw, trying to contain the anger boiling inside. Anger at Stephen for keeping this from him, at himself for not pushing harder to see the signs, and at the world that demanded so much from the man he loved.
Stephen’s head dropped, resting against Tony’s shoulder, too weak to hold himself up anymore. "I didn’t… didn’t want you to see this," he whispered, voice barely audible. Tony could feel how heavily Stephen was leaning into him, his weight sagging, too exhausted to even put up the pretense of strength.
"Don’t ever hide this from me again," Tony murmured, his arms wrapping around Stephen’s shaking form, holding him close. "If you’re going through this, then so am I. We’re in this together, understand?"
Stephen didn’t respond, and for a terrifying second, Tony thought he’d passed out. But then he felt Stephen’s faint nod, a barely-there agreement as his breathing evened out just a little.
Tony sat with Stephen on the cold bathroom floor, his heart pounding. He’d never seen him like this, so vulnerable, like the weight of every spell, every battle, every sacrifice had finally come crashing down. A flicker of fear ignited in Tony’s chest as he held Stephen tighter, grounding him against another round of tremors that shook his body.
“Come on, breathe with me,” Tony murmured, his voice low, steady. He kept one hand rubbing small circles on Stephen’s back, the other resting protectively on his shoulder. He could feel Stephen’s labored breaths start to sync with his own, a quiet rhythm that brought a sliver of calm to the chaos around them.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by Stephen’s occasional coughs and sharp gasps for air. Tony watched him closely, afraid to look away even for a second. "How long have you been dealing with this, Stephen? Tell me the truth."
Stephen swallowed, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. “A few… weeks, maybe months? It’s been hard to keep track.”
Tony’s jaw tightened. “Months?” His voice cracked, and Stephen flinched. Tony softened, tempering his anger with worry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Stephen looked down, avoiding Tony’s gaze. “I thought it would pass. That it was… just another cost of the magic. I can handle it.” But even as he spoke, his words sounded hollow, as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
“Handle it?” Tony echoed, his voice thick with disbelief. “You’re literally collapsing in front of me. You’re barely staying conscious. This isn’t handling it, Stephen; this is suffering. And alone, at that.”
Stephen let out a shuddering sigh, eyes glazing over as he stared at some point beyond the bathroom tiles, lost in a mixture of exhaustion and quiet guilt. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, Tony,” he murmured, words slow and labored. “This—this isn’t something I wanted you to worry about. You have enough on your plate.”
Tony gripped his shoulder a little tighter, both to steady Stephen and himself. “So you thought you’d just suffer through it all by yourself? God, Stephen… I’m not just here for the good parts. You should know that by now.”
Stephen looked up, and for the first time, Tony saw something close to shame flicker across his face. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” he whispered, so softly Tony almost missed it.
Tony’s heart twisted painfully. “A burden? You’re my partner, Stephen. You could never be a burden. If you’re hurting, I want to help. That’s what being together means.” His thumb brushed over Stephen’s shoulder, gentle and grounding. "You’re allowed to lean on me."
Stephen’s eyes dropped, his breathing shaky as he tried to steady himself. “Tony… the things I see, the things I have to do… they wear you down. Magic has a price, and I’m starting to pay it. I don’t want you to be dragged down with me.”
Tony couldn’t hold back his frustration. “Dragged down? Are you serious? I would go to hell and back for you, Stephen. You don’t get to push me away to protect me—especially not from something that’s hurting you like this.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, lowering his voice. “You’re not protecting me by keeping this from me. You’re just hurting yourself more.”
Stephen’s breathing hitched as Tony’s words sank in, and he closed his eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The usual spark of sarcasm, that wry deflection Stephen always wore like armor, was gone, leaving only a tired, vulnerable man clinging to what little strength he had left.
"Okay," Stephen said finally, voice barely audible. "You’re right. I… I shouldn’t have hidden it from you. But it’s hard, Tony. Every day, it’s harder to hold myself together." His voice cracked, and Tony could feel his heart breaking just listening to him.
Tony’s hand slid to the back of Stephen’s neck, holding him close. "We’ll figure this out together. Whatever this is, whatever it takes. We’ll find a way."
Stephen’s shoulders sagged, the last bit of resistance melting away. "I don’t even know if there is a way," he whispered, his voice breaking. "The spells… they take so much. And I don’t know how to stop.”
Tony stayed silent, running his fingers through Stephen’s hair, not trying to fix it, just being there with him, in this moment of raw honesty. Stephen had been fighting for so long, fighting demons Tony couldn’t even begin to understand. Tony knew all too well what it was like to bear a weight that felt impossible to share. And now that Stephen had finally let him in, he’d make damn sure he didn’t have to face it alone.
After a few moments, Stephen leaned into him, the tremors slowing as he found some semblance of calm. But the exhaustion was deep, far beyond physical. Tony could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, the lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, and it was a reminder that even the Sorcerer Supreme had his limits.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Tony said softly, helping Stephen stand, keeping a firm arm around his waist. Stephen leaned heavily on him, his body almost limp with fatigue, and Tony led him back to their room, guiding him carefully onto the bed.
Tony settled in beside him, pulling the covers over them, his arm wrapped protectively around Stephen. They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other’s breathing, until Tony felt Stephen relax, his muscles releasing the tension they’d held for so long.
Just as Tony thought he’d drifted off, he heard Stephen’s quiet voice.
“Thank you,” Stephen whispered, his words barely more than a breath.
Tony pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You don’t have to thank me, Stephen. I love you. And no matter what this magic takes from you, it’s not taking me. We’re in this together, remember?”
Stephen nodded, and Tony felt him cling just a little tighter, like he was anchoring himself to something real, something that wouldn’t fade. And as the night wore on, Tony stayed awake, watching over him, a silent promise in his heart: whatever Stephen faced, he wouldn’t face it alone.