Oh God
Dr. Stephen Strange, this is Tony Stark. Contact me if you have any questions, any concerns, and I’ll do my best to clarify and accommodate - Friday, 3:39 pm: the day after his unannounced visit.
It was unexpectedly professional.
Okay I know like you don’t want to reply too soon after I reply because you don’t want to be seen as eager, so you’re going to wait an hour plus the duration of time it took me to reply before you reply. We don’t have to do this tango, I won’t think you’re easy if you text back right away - Saturday: 4:12 am.
Strange takes back his previous statement.
So you like to play hard to get, I see - Tuesday: 6:58 am.
Come on, don’t leave a guy hanging - Tuesday: 11:14 pm.
?!?!?! - Monday: 2:26 am.
The last message he sent was an audio link to Soulja Boy Tell’em “Kiss Me Thru The Phone.”
Why Strange had given him his phone number? A lapse in judgement is all he could say. If he had known he would be receiving texts from Tony Stark at all awful hours of the day, he definitely would not have exchanged numbers. Not that it would really matter much, Strange thought. In his short experience of knowing Stark, it was likely the man would end up obtaining his number through his own questionable means regardless. At least this way, Strange felt like he retained a tiny semblance of control in the relationship.
Control. Strange had always been a man of control. Every action, calculated. Every contingency, accounted for. It was what made him a brilliant neurosurgeon: his abilities to deduce the odds, whether it be determining which patients to accept or how to maneuver through an intricate procedure. Neuroscience was delicate and disciplined, both something which he never realized he took for granted.
That is, until he inherited the title of the Master of the Mystic Arts.
Magic went against every fiber of his being. It took a different type of concentration, one entirely foreign to the kind he had developed in medical school (Strange would like to interject that the former concentration allowed him to obtain his M.D. and ph.D. concurrently). It was irrational, and it couldn’t be reduced: it was a life force of its own, one you had to surrender yourself entirely to. His logical nature of being disdained the part of him that was able to uncritically accept the magic. It felt complacent, he wanted answers, wanted to understand, not only to just yield and manipulate; however, Wong had insisted the more you tried to rationalize, the more you were detracting from the art and the more you were straying from the practice.
It was a paradox: the absence of understanding was, in itself, to understand.
Hence, he participated in a strict daily regimen of mental training exercises in order to heighten his magical abilities.
He was in the middle of practicing yoga (the aforementioned strict mental training exercise), when his phone went off, startling him out of his thoughts (it would be more accurate to say startling him into his thoughts). He glanced over to where his phone sat on a table against the opposite wall, a gut feeling of dread coiling in his stomach. The brief image of pristinely groomed facial hair circumscribing a snarky grin flashed at the back of his mind.
He made his way over to the phone which vibrated insistently. He looked down at the lit screen.
Incoming call: Tony Stark
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
...
Ignore the devil and he shall disappear? Strange made no movement to answer the phone.
One... two... three... The ringing cut short on its own. Strange commended Stark for recognizing when someone was deliberately ignoring their call.
He waited a moment, about to return to his exercise before his phone screen lit up once more, accompanied by the notification of two quick vibrations.
Voicemail: 1 message from Tony Stark. 5:28 pm.
Reluctantly, Strange played the voicemail.
“Hey, Strange, it’s Tony Stark,” Stark began. “You know, just in case you’re not sure whose number this is, which, if I might add, would be the only reasonable explanation as to why you haven’t replied to any of my courteous messages.”
Strange scoffed.
“Okay, anyways, so I don’t mean hound you,” Stark paused for a moment, sounding out of breath, “because no means no and all and persistence isn’t sexy it’s harassment.”
Strange questioned if Stark was physically incapable of getting to the point or if he was deliberately rambling solely to irritate him.
“But—” his dialogue was interrupted by an alarming crashing noise followed by a groan. “Goddamn Smeagol” Stark grumbled under his breath.
It didn’t take long for Strange to figure out what was going on.
“Alright, I’m going to be straight with you now,” Stark continued, his voice more terse and less playful, “Our friendly neighborhood Spider-man’s creepy homicidal fanboy has gone haywire on 54th street.”
A moment pause and the sound of crashing. “Friday, give me the rundown on that wall’s structural integrity.”
“Usually, this guy—goes by the Green Goblin, can you believe it? Like jeez people say Iron Man is tacky, but in his defense he is green and he does look terrifyingly like a goblin.”
“Fri, update on that building. Civilians inside?”
“As I was saying, usually he’s not a big deal for Spidey but it seems like he’s rendezvous with some fresh villain faces and the potential collateral damage is catastrophic on top of what they’ve already done”
Stark grunted, a noise of pain if Strange didn’t to know any better.
“Not sure what their objective is, but we can figure that out later. Right now, I’d really appreciate if you could come help out. Not for me, but for the people caught in the crossfire right now. I’ve got no backup, just me and Spidey. It seems like a couple of friendlies on the grounds have come out to play but we could really use you.”
Strange was already suited in his sorcerer attire by the time Stark finished his message.
Using his sling ring, he procured a portal before purposefully stepping through.
Immediately, a police car came flying in straight his direction. Strange dived to the side and rolled out the way, which proved to have been unnecessary as—what Strange would assume to be Spider-man because the suit mirrored the name quite precisely—used a web to catch the hood of the car, using the momentum to unceremoniously swing the car back onto the pavement. The vehicle slid to a stop, ungracefully impacting with a light post. Nevertheless, it was obviously effective as two frightened officers hustled out of the tolled vehicle together.
Spider-man turned his head sharply in Strange’s direction. The white eyes of his suit narrowed in assessment, then widened in recognition (Strange wasn’t sure how the boy could be entirely concealed yet be so expressive).
“Mr. Stark!” The Spider-man exclaimed, one hand on the side of his head engaging the audio link. “The wizard is here!”
Strange twitched in agitation, but his frustration was short lived as there were more pressing matters: namely, the cackling Green Goblin (Stark was right, the name was well suited) wreaking havoc. The villain steered directly for Spider-man, who skillfully maneuvered out of the way, firing shots back while also attempting to minimize damage.
Strange immediately set to subduing the other hostiles on the ground (a large group of similarly mutated humans, like the Green Goblin, but smaller, grayer, and less intelligent), recognizing that the Green Goblin was for Spider-man to deal with.
While the opponents were not necessarily skilled, they were tenacious and they were numerous, and Strange was starting to feel a creeping exhaustion. He’s managed to incapacitate three before Iron Man came into view, tackling five on his own.
As he dealt with his own threats, Strange couldn’t help but to watch Iron Man out the corner of his eyes. His suit was battered, the usual immaculate paint job of hot rod red and ostentatious gold that was seen on the cover of God knows how many magazines was severely scratched and dented all over. This didn’t seem to deter Iron Man, who continued to use his repulsors to attack the goblins, dodging their attacks and creating distance before going on the offensive again.
It was like a dance, a deadly powerful dance.
Strange focused back on the task at hand, using a combination of his mystic bolts and martial arts training.
It first happened when a shot fired over his shoulder, hitting the goblin dead between the eyes, that Dr. Strange and Iron Man began working in sync. Back to back, working in tandem they exchanged moves, disorienting and defeating the enemies. Soon, there was nothing left but a pile of motionless goblins around them.
Iron Man’s faceplate lifted.
Stark’s cheekbone beneath his right eye was cut, the skin around it purple and inflamed. A similar wound dawned his forehead and nose and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Stark seem to pay it no mind. Instead, he flashed a relieved smile.
“Thanks for joining the party,” Stark jested.
The situation was not lighthearted in any sense of the word, surrounded by destruction and death, but the mirth in Stark’s eyes was infectious.
“Wouldn’t miss it after such a desperate invitation now, would I?” Strange replied suavely, throwing in a wink just for kicks.
Iron Man rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his lips was undeniable. The thrusters on his boots turned on and Stark ascended lightly into the air.
“There are two friendlies. According to Friday, one Jessica Jones, currently on 8th and 56th” Stark informed, “From what I’ve seen, super strength, limited invulnerability.”
Stark began to fly away, Strange followed suit.
“Second is Luke Cage, with Jones, they’ve herded the rest of the goblins to that general vicinity” Stark continued, “Also super strength but less limited invulnerability”
Stark turned the corner and blasted a goblin as he headed towards the two currently defending against the load.
“Fourteen of these bad boys goblins left,” Stark grinned before his faceplate shut, the eyes of his suit lighting up. “You game?”
Strange responded by conjuring the crimson bands of Cyttorak and obliterating the goblin that pounced towards him.
The four fell into rhythm, soon to be five as Spider-man joined the fray after apprehending the Green Goblin. Less than half an hour later, the situation was entirely handled.
The five stood in silence, only the sound of heavy breathing between them.
Spider-man broke the silence.
“Heh soo,” He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. Everyone turned in his direction, “Mr. Stark, if we’re done here I’m going to go, uh, help clean up the damages.” Spider-man saluted as if dismissed, and turned around to leave.
Stark sent him a sharp glare. “Uh huh, no kid you get back here right now,” Stark asserted, his voice adopting a paternal note. Spider-man winced.
“Now you told me,” Stark chastised, “that the goblin situation was under control and that was last week.”
Strange watched entertained as Stark continued his scolding, which he could tell was Stark’s expression of concern and relief. While Strange didn’t know the relationship between the two, he could tell they were close.
A different voice caught Strange’s attention.
“I guess we have to start all over with the counts for ‘days without destruction’ back at the bar,” Jones said, thoroughly unamused. She was disheveled, but collected herself in an indifferent manner.
Cage on the other hand, showed more distress.
Strange began to open a portal back to his sanctum seeing as his presence was no longer required. He realized Wong would probably be disproving of him leaving without warning.
“No, wizard, stay. We need to talk,” Stark said, abandoning his lecture to kid and instead walking towards him.
“But first,” he approached Cage and Jones, who looked upon him with undisclosed cynicism, “Bar, destruction. Tell me about it?”
At their lack of response he continued.
“Look, I end up having to pay for basically all the damages anyways, I can add one more bar to the list.” Stark admitted.
Cage raised a single brow in disbelief, but it was Jones who spoke for him, “And why would you want to do that.” Her voice was distrusting and her eyes were cold.
Stark remained unaffected.
“You, him, the wizard,” Tony said, emphasizing his words by pointing. He looked over to where Spider-man was standing, and paused a moment, “maybe sometimes the Spider,” he added.
Spider-man perked at being addressed. Strange was about to tell him to quit it with the wizard thing. Luke listened attentively. Jones looked straight up bored.
Stark smiled mischievously.
“And me. We make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”
Strange new where this was going. Worse yet, Strange knew his answer.
Oh God.