Clinically Cynical Hereditary Hate

The Greater Good

Tony’s hands caressed his, the touch gentle as his thumbs carefully massaged at his sore limbs. Next to them, a roaring fire crackled ominously in the otherwise quiet Sanctum, the stillness broken only by their hushed voices and beating hearts. Stephen watched Tony’s expression, tried to judge what he was thinking from between the shadows dancing across his face.

“Wong said there might be…symptoms, after-effects.”

Stephen sighed softly, “yes, there could be.”

“More than this?” Tony’s had lifted his hands slightly, examining the smudge of darkness right at the tips, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking – like the dust from a chalkboard.

“Very possibly.”

He wasn’t angry at Wong for telling him, not really. When Tony had finally gotten back from his two week-long trip, Stephen had known there would be no keeping this from him – secrets were a thing of the past. He would tell him every excruciatingly shameful detail of Wanda’s transformation, of her attack and the Darkhold, of America and her abilities.

That had come first – he’d introduced them quite accidentally; Tony having come home early to find him and America practicing her magic. Stephen had endured Tony’s side-long glance when she began talking energetically about their brief stint in another dimension, about Stephen’s help rescuing her.

“The Darkhold,” Tony murmured, seemingly testing it on his tongue. “Hell of a name for an evil book.”

Stephen couldn’t help but notice that Tony hadn’t been able to meet his gaze since he’d described his use of the book, had been keeping his eyes fixed on where their hands were intertwined. With the realization, came a pit in his stomach, leaving him just a little nauseous and uncertain – he counted himself lucky that he hadn’t stopped touching him completely.

“It’s because it corrupts-”

“Everything it touches.”

His voice was bitter, lips twisting a little on the edge like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Stephen swallowed thickly, tried to find the words to explain how helpless he would have been, how very much the last resort it’d been to dream walk.

“Tony, I didn’t have a choice. Wanda had stolen back America and if I didn’t get to her – she’d be dead, Wanda would have destroyed our universe, I’d be stuck in that world I – there was no other-”

“Don’t.”

His voice was hushed, but hard like tempered steel and Stephen bit back the words instantly, shame settling over him like a cloud. Perhaps it was foolishness to think that Tony would find his excuses reason enough not to be disgusted by what he’d done. The Darkhold did corrupt whatever and whomever it touched – maybe this, them, was one of those things.

The silence stretched and Stephen watched, tried hard to ignore the cold creeping across his skin, the strange sense of loss because he didn’t expect Tony’s home coming to end like this. Didn’t expect him to be this distraught and he was distraught – it was painfully obvious in the way he held himself so stiffly.

Stephen let his own head drop toward his chest, unable to bear the other man’s judgement. Part of him thought he should be angry, maybe indigent over Tony’s lack of understanding, yet he found himself unable to summon those feelings, wondered if it was because he couldn’t even convince himself he hadn’t gone too far this time.

Calloused fingers slid along his cheek, making his breath stutter in his chest for a second and then a firm thumb beneath his chin was prompting him to look up. He was helpless to resist the silent command, finally met the eyes of the man he loved so fervently and what he found there was far more painful than he could have imagined.

Tony eyes had always been warm to him, tended to spark with intelligence and shimmer with affection on even the worst of days – he’d never before been subjected to the agony writhing in their depths and it was enough to shatter his heart into a fine dust.

When Tony spoke, his voice was strained, like he was working hard to fight back his emotions, like even now he wanted to save Stephen from some of the pain, “why didn’t you ask for help?”

It felt absurd, the question, because to Stephen, he had asked for help, but he feared the excuses already tumbling from his lips would do little to save them both from the heartbreak they were hurtling towards, “I did. The entire might of Kamar-Taj couldn’t stop her-”

“There is an entire world of Avengers Stephen,” he interrupted softly. “There were people who’ve helped Wanda after all these years, people who have abilities that could have helped you.”

Despair, poignant and excruciating overcame him, “all that would have done is gotten them killed, gotten you killed.”

He wanted Tony to understand how utterly unacceptable that was to him, wanted to him understand that toll he’d paid when he stood over the graves of too many sorcerers in the aftermath and imagined whom else might have been there too if he had gone to the Avengers.

“You can’t be the only one to make sacrifices.”

Tony’s eyes seemed to bore into his and it occurred to Stephen, that maybe they were on two different pages – the same script, but two different fonts. The hand that had been cupping his cheek, slid down the length of his neck until he was pressing his palm firmly to his chest.

“I hate this,” he confided. “I hate that every time the world hangs in the balance, it’s you, giving up pieces of yourself to save us.” The pit in Stephen’s stomach widened, as something like grief slipped into Tony’s eyes. “You gave up your body and your mind to defeat Dormammu, you gave up your life to stop Thanos, and now,” Tony’s expression faltered, lips trembling. “You gave up a part of your soul to hold back Wanda.”

“Tony,” Stephen surged forward onto his knees and pulled him into a tight embrace, felt the way his hands turned to fists in his tunic. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, I’ll be okay.” A sob rose up in his chest as he heard Tony’s gasping breaths against his neck and for the first time Stephen started to feel like maybe he wouldn’t be okay.

He’d denied viciously anything wrong at Wong’s careful probing, had rolled his eyes at the way a sorcerer always seemed to be monitoring him, had ignored the nightmares that left him sweaty and horrified, had did his best to crush the unspeakable need that was rising in small waves ever since he touched the Darkhold – it’s whispers of power playing sinisterly in his mind.

Now, did not feel like the time to tell him all that.

“Stephen, never again,” Tony’s breath was harsh, his fingers digging into his skin even with the layers between them. “There is always another way, stop choosing this.”

Stephen had been in enough tight spots to know that wasn’t always true, still he found himself burying his face in Tony’s shoulder and nodding, “I’m sorry, I promise.”