that bonny bonny road
Stephen's hand was dancing on that hellish edge of fire and pins and needles, and he hadn't expected to fall asleep.
And yet he had, falling swiftly into troubled dreams.
A cave, with the faint drip of water and a bobbing swirl of light, the sound of giggling and whispering just out of his reach, and he almost swore he'd heard his younger sister in the chorus.
He kept on, winding away from the chorus, until all he heard was the sound of his own footsteps and the occasional drip of water, breathing in musty air and raggedly breathing it out. His heart was beginning to speed and skip, and he couldn't figure out what was wrong? His feet were freezing, making him wish to pick up his pace.
The tunnel split into three ways, and he looked at them in turn.
There was one that had lighting and a gentle, wide path. It seemed easy and inviting, and a less trained- or less paranoid- man might miss how cold the light seemed, that it angled down, deeper into the caves.
The second was a staircase, narrow and spiraling, with the walls and steps cut roughly enough that he'd be bleeding- he was wearing the soft flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. There seemed to be a bright light coming from some high point.
He looked at the third, which looked to wind slightly upwards, and suspected his investigations into the Learmonts had influenced him.
He looked behind him, seeing a gate behind him. To his amusement, the gate seemed to be made of bandages.
“I can take the hint,” he said, to no one in particular. The easy road to hell, the brutal road to heaven, and the third gate...
...well, if nothing else, it seemed to have a thick layer of moss, which would be more comfortable.
The walls were carved, some worn and easy, some deep and fresh with sharp edges. He couldn't quite understand all of them, though he noticed Carol's star, spiderwebs that most likely were for Jess and Peter, and two sets of circles- one was a double ring, that he recognized as the arc reactor, made more obvious by the bluish glimmer in the stone.
The other set of circles were almost a trail of overlapping bubbles, with pale quartz-like stone exposed by the carvings, and he carefully traced the deep lines with something like rue, tempered by fondness.
“Clea? I have no doubt she'd be... vexed, to see herself represented in this dream,” he mused. There was a dark, almost gemstone-like outline of a crimson bird, next- Maddy. A silvery sword was about as blunt as Illyana was. He wondered which one was Wong- as the current crop were all people living, it must be the repeating scales. He'd need to puzzle that out later, though it didn't surprise him how constant they were.
The pale flower- he suspected it was Grace, as the last to appear. There were night-blooming flowers, and he suspected this was one.
Finally he reached the top of the stairs, and...
...found himself in a recreation of his room. It was freezing, the sort that normally made his hands stiffen and ache, but they weren't, which is part of how he knew this was still the dream.
Well, that and the additional clothes about- two sets, he noticed, uneasily. Two women with two very different builds, perhaps?
He went to reach for his robes before catching the scent of roses and spices, and a throaty chuckle. It was his only warning before there was a hand on his arm.
“I half expected you to have ducked under the covers,” Grace laughed, nestling against his back. “You are shockingly childish about cold.”
“My hands,” he started, before rolling his eyes. “And some of us didn't grow up in northern Scotland.”
“Ah, and New York is wonderful weather year-round,” she laughed again, and he felt the reverberations against his spine. “Not to mention, most was actually with my mother's court, and it's generally nicer there.”
“You might have a point,” he said, wondering what exactly was going on. This didn't seem like Nightmare, and he wasn't normally the sort to have Seeing dreams. Not without consuming something for assistance.
“Is that me winning an argument?” she laughed, kissing his shoulder, and he ignored the desire to relax, when too-sharp nails pressed lightly on his skin.
If this was an actual dream, he was fairly certain they'd be already in the bed and with less words, because it had been a while.
“As close as it gets, with him,” said a familiar, cool soprano. “Little siren, are you trying to cause trouble?”
“Always,” Stephen found himself saying. “I think she'd need to be bound and gagged to avoid it.” He huffed, and the warm, well-worn fondness was as comforting as it was baffling. “I remember when she was treading cautiously around us both.”
“You knew I was a hellcat since we met, Stephen,” Grace teased. “And I might well enjoy being bound and gagged, though that might, perhaps, limit the fun? At least the gagging.”
Clea laughed, and he ached to turn around, with them both there, and enjoy the dream while it lasted, even if it was very confusing.
But would that act as another fulcrum? A warm, gentle hand skimmed down his throat- Clea was the shorter of the two, but she was burning flame and bright light, raging and banked by turns, but ever-aflame, and he found himself angling towards her, as her knuckles grazed him and he felt the sharp warmth that burned away any uncertainties, that he'd burned on and found himself running like a coward, unwilling to...
He woke with a start, achingly hard but...
His hands were... fine. Better than fine- none of the normal pains, no tremors.
By the...
He looked around- it was his room, still, but warmer, without the additional debris of two other people.
And his hands didn't hurt- they felt odd, to be certain, but that might well be the result of decades of constant pain vanishing.
He reached for the light, which had a little switch that was easier than twisting a knob until it clicked for him.
The scars were still there, interestingly, but he was fairly certain there was something...
He went to get off the bed, to be stopped by something hard and warm and small. Multiple somethings. And one larger, flatter.
He'd needed a plate on his left wrist, with how it had been damaged.
Gingerly, he stood, pulling off the heavy red comforter.
The sheets were a pale gray, the comfort one of the luxuries he still allowed himself. They might have hidden plain titanium, but the pins, screws, and plate were all stained with blood.
How the hell had this happened? How had he slept through it?
Wong wasn't at the Sanctum, and he was shaking, he realized, trying to make sense of everything while his head was spinning.
Speaking to Grace about if her spell might have done it was an option, but she'd looked so surprised that he'd trusted her to mend a simple cut...
“...Wong, I'm going to murder you, I swear it,” he snarled, before he went to grab a t-shirt. Wong, he knew, would merely counter that he knew better than to handle an enchanted object with bare hands like that. Especially as his hands didn't allow for that sort of precision work. And undoubtedly someone had thought to check for curses or something.
But first, he thought, finding a sock to put the hardware that had been in his hands into, and opened a portal straight for the main room for the Avengers' headquarters.
“Doctor Strange?” JARVIS asked, sounding unruffled. “Is there an emergency?”
Shit, he didn't even know what time it was. Curse him... “I had an unusual event, and I was hoping that Tony might be willing to indulge me in checking something. It shouldn't be a risk to him, but I want to check before I leap to conclusions.”
“You are holding a sock with titanium pieces,” JARVIS said after a moment.
“How many sensors did Tony give you?” he asked, without rancor. “And I don't actually expect an answer, JARVIS. I'll get the privacy lecture again.”
“That does not answer my question, though I will note your hands no longer contain the pins and other tools that they did when you were last here,” JARVIS might sound a bit concerned, and he might not need to speak with Tony, if the other man was sleeping.
“I woke up with them scattered over my bed,” Stephen admitted. “There was blood on them.”
“Should I page Dr. Reyes?” JARVIS asked.
“Not yet, I can't find any new injuries,” Stephen mused. “The old scars are still there, but the internal damage itself seems to be healed.” Were there any changes? They might be the last things to heal, given how deep healing spells normally dealt with the most significant injuries first. “I have no pain.”
“That's great, Doc, but why?” Tony asked, making Stephen look up at the ceiling accusingly.
“I alerted him and Miss Pryor,” JARVIS explained. “You seemed to be in shock.”
“I thought that your wizard club couldn't fix them?” Maddy poked her head around Tony.
“I thought you were trying for better taste in men,” Stephen said, lightly. Tony's hair was sticking up in every direction, and Maddy was hopefully wearing something under the robe.
“Oh, fuck, I'm not sleeping with Tony,” Maddy said, managing to drape herself along an armchair. “I was enjoying time to explore myself.” She stuck her tongue out, and it was delightfully playful, given how bitter and disillusioned she'd seemed, once. “And yes, that is what they're calling it these days.”
“...Sadly, I was in the shop, and not risking life and free will,” Tony teased right back. He wasn't entirely certain if there was sexual tension, or if Tony just flirted like he breathed, and Maddy was still figuring out her own wants and desires outside of the fact that she'd been a clone living a programmed life with programmed emotions.
Also Tony did seem to have a thing for people who might kill him with a look.
“In all seriousness, I thought the options you had for fixing your hands all sucked,” Tony said, holding out a hand. Stephen dropped the sock in his hand, noticing a slight red stain.
“I was trying to figure out if transformation spells might help, but the nerves were the tricky bit,” Maddy agreed. Stephen nodded, before collapsing on the most comfortable couch, which was also the ugliest, an orange and green plaid monstrosity that must have been gotten as a gag.
Loki might well be responsible for the couch. It was like sitting on solid comfort, though, so he wasn't going to question it.
“Elixir over at the Institute pointed out it was too old to do much with, and dealing with the fae for a healing of that level would have far too many strings attached,” he agreed. “There is a form of lycanthropy that might help, but it also...”
“You'd hate every moment,” Maddy said, green-yellow eyes half closed. “Control freak.”
All three of them were, he could point out.
“I didn't even feel it happening,” Stephen admitted. “I woke up after it had all happened, and noticed the lack of pain. I wanted to see...”
“If they'd all gotten out?” Tony asked, face grave.
All three of them also knew better than to trust something this good, not without serious vetting.
“Could Grace have done it? She seems to actually like you, for some reason,” Maddy yawned, stretching out. He suspected she used telekinesis to keep from exposing herself.
“Perhaps,” Stephen said. “She healed a cut from the puzzle box Wong was working on, and she seemed concerned when she looked at my hand, but...” he trailed off. “She was cautious, and she's very measured. I can't see her doing something like this without a warning.”
“Puzzle box?” Maddy's eyes flew open. “Like Hellraiser?”
“I asked the same thing, but no, it was left from our late accountant,” Stephen sighed. “He was a packrat with no organizational skills, but until Sara joined us, he was all we had. Wong brought it to the Sanctum to see what was inside, but we thought it was perhaps a map, or some other thing.”
“And this doesn't seem like a normal thieves' trap,” Maddy was thoughtful.
“And I'm guessing it was checked for curses,” Tony said.
“I... actually don't know,” Stephen admitted. “Wong brought it over from Alistair's old office. I know they've been removing things in batches and checking it for spells, so I assume so.” They were also letting it air out- Alistair had been a pack-a-day smoker. In his office. It was a miracle he hadn't tested the fireproofing more.
“Sure we're not going to end up in a horror movie?” Tony asked, perching himself on the couch arm, tossing the sock up and catching it, over an over again.
“I'll check with Wong if we confirm that nothing is going to fester out of my skin...” Stephen trailed off. “You know, Maddy, the other issue you had with working on my hands with transformation spells?”
“Motherfucker,” she hissed, eyes gone dragon-bright.
“I'm missing something,” Tony said, eyes flicking between them, sock still.
“They prevented transformation spells from taking hold of my hands,” Stephen said, mind whirling. “Something about them muted the spells, which given how much of a bitch dealing with the pins if the bones of my hands changed...”
Tony winced, well aware of the many joys of having metal in your body that shouldn't be there.
“Do we think that might be part of it?” he asked.
“I'll need to talk to Wong and Grace,” Stephen said, trying to figure out where to go. Wong would mock him endlessly, but would also fuss.
And his dream was still in the back of his mind, Grace and Clea teasing him and each other. If nothing else, it reminded him not to fuck this up by saying something stupid and accusatory.
“I'll scan your hands in the medbay,” Tony said, hands twitching like he was trying to sketch out his ideas into reality by force of genius. “No bruising.”
Stephen held them up, flipping them around to showcase his hands.
“Well,” Tony said, and he was smirking a bit. “This is strange, isn't it?”
Maddy hurled a couch pillow at him.
At least this was a lot less worrying then panicking alone in his room. Even if he was in for terrible puns.