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lost in the lights

Summary:

It doesn't take Stephen Strange 14,000,605 to defeat Thanos.
It takes Stephen Strange 14,000,605 to make sure Tony comes out of it alive and happy.

And then one more.

Notes:

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Chapter 1: one

Notes:

This chapter serves as my submission for IronStrange Week Day One: Time Loop

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

[loop number 14,000,605]

Five seconds.

The first thing Stephen sees when he opens his eyes is Tony Stark.

Four seconds.

The first thing Stephen sees when he opens his eyes is always Tony Stark.

Three seconds.

He couldn’t tell you, even now, if that was a good or a bad thing.

Two seconds.

He couldn’t tell you if Tony’s hand on his arms solid, unburnt and unbroken and, most importantly, real was a good thing.

One second.

“Hey, you’re back,” Tony says, when Stephen stays where he is for, not moving. “You’re all right.”

All right.

That’s certainly a way to describe Stephen.

Three seconds.

Stephen isn’t all right. Stephen hasn’t been alright in a very long time.

Two seconds.

Frankly, Stephen isn’t sure that, after everything he has been through, he will ever be alright again.

One second.

“Strange? Are you good?”

Two seconds.

He’s not. He probably won't be again.

But this is not the time. Time is all that matters (every single second, every micro-second and micro-expression counts) now, and time is the one thing Stephen never seems to have enough of.

One second.

“Strange?”

Second time Tony called his name.

Stephen finally steels himself, and raises his head to look at Tony.

He’s perfect.

Eight seconds.

His armour looks immaculate, with minor traces of dust on it. His hair is only slightly ruffled by the wind and the earlier fights. His lips are chapped, and Stephen knows that, under the gauntlet, his pinky finger has some traces of orange nail polish he hasn’t had the chance to properly cleaned.

Stephen also knows Pepper was the one to paint his nails that colour, and that Tony actually doesn't like orange all that much.

Stephen knows a lot. 

“Seriously, Strange,” Tony says, dragging his left foot against the ground. “Are you okay?”

Third.

“Protocol Happy Death Day,” he says.

Seven seconds.

Stephen takes the seven seconds it takes Tony to process the information to finally move. He ignores the blur of curiosity that is the Guardian, and allows himself just three seconds to look at Peter.

He's standing not too far from Tony, still a little crouched as if he might need to leap into a fight any time soon.

Peter is very protective of Tony, especially in the beginning.

Their eyes meet, and Peter's expression goes from curious to immediately concerned. 

“Are you okay, Mister Strange? You look–”

Time up.

Tony moves, putting a hand on Stephen’s arm again. Stephen’s skin burns despite the layers of clothing separating their skin, but he makes no move to stop Tony from manhandling him to the side.

He doesn’t correct Peter. Every time he corrects Peter, no matter how kindly, on his title, it makes Tony more stubborn and less likely to listen to him.

Stephen hasn't figured out why yet, but he has no interest in making the same mistake again. And really, does it matter?

In the grand scheme of things, this is probably at the bottom of the list of concerns Stephen has.

Tony releases him when they are far enough – in his opinion – from the Guardian to avoid being overheard. Stephen doesn’t exhale when he stops exactly behind the big rock with the crack on its left side. After all, there's still the possibility that it could all go horribly wrong; when it come to Tony Stark, every single second counted.

“How do I–”

Three words.

“'-Know for sure that this is a time-loop?'” Stephen finishes. Stephen doesn't change his tone of voice - Tony doesn't like it when he does. “'How do I know that you’re on my side? How do I know I can trust you? I like pancakes. Oh, you’re good. Vision is the last part of JARVIS I have, and I can’t lose him. I.”

Stephen takes a step back at the same time Tony takes one forward, his hand outstretched.

When Stephen allows himself to be shut up by Tony, it causes doubt. And the doubt, is always Stephen’s undoing.

“Holy fuck,” Tony says, eyes wide as he stares at Stephen. 

Fifteen seconds.

Stephen knows what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say anything. He refuses to allow himself anything more than the very strict set of rules he has in his head and his memories.

He has a very limited amount of seconds for reactions and emotions. They are luxuries that Stephen quite literally cannot afford.

He has made the mistake of letting those tightly bottled emotions out too many times, and every time they had cost him something (everything).

Stephen is here to save... everyone. And to do that, he needs to focus on the time and the seconds, and on Tony Stark.

Without focusing too much on Tony Stark.

“Okay,” Tony says. He’s still staring at Stephen, forehead ever so creased in that latent doubt he will probably never be able to completely dispel.

Stephen had certainly never seen him without some doubt.

Three seconds.

This is okay. Tony wouldn’t be Tony if he wasn't a little suspicious of every adult around him he hadn't known since the early 2000s. Some doubt's okay.

The problem's when there is too much doubt.

“Okay,” he repeats. “You’re in a time loop. Say- I believe you. Wh–”

“Thanos needs to die, right here, and right now,” Stephen says. He doesn’t even have to think about the words, not anymore. This has been the easy part for the last millions of futures. Stephen could do this part with his eyes closed - but then he wouldn't really be able to look at Tony's eyes. That would be a problem.

“He needs to die in a very specific manner, for things to end well, and everyone needs to do the correct thing at the right time. No excuses.”

Eyebrow raise.

“Killing Thanos is not why I’m in a loop,” Stephen says, honestly. “Making sure the universe stays standing after that– the right way - is why I'm here.”

Brows furrow.

Ten seconds.

Lying to Tony is a terrible choice. Lying to Tony often causes trouble down the line, because Tony is really good at figuring out when he’s being lied to and about what.

He's not a genius with trust issues for nothing.

But telling Tony the whole truth is also a terrible idea. It leads to outcomes Stephen has by now deemed completely unacceptable. 

But he has learnt from the last loop. He has learnt how to best balance the truth with the lie to guarantee the best possible outcome.

It wasn’t perfect, the last time.

Stephen made a mistake. Stephen made a couple of mistakes. But he has learnt from them now, and he knows how to make it right. How to make everything right.

“The right way,” Tony repeats. “According to who?” 

“Me,” Stephen says. “And you.”

“I approve?”

Tony sounds sceptical.

“I persuaded you,” Stephen says.

Suspicion. 

“Why–”

“'-Aren’t you predicting my sentences and questions anymore?' You dislike it. It increases doubt and suspicion that does not align with the fulfilment of our goals.”

“Huh,” Tony says.

Four seconds.

“You didn’t talk like that before.”

It’s not a question, but Tony likes it when Stephen answers it the most.

“A lot of choices,” Stephen explains. “A lot of reactions. I need the easiest way to remember the steps I took to get the response I need.”

Less doubt.

Two seconds.

“How many loops?”

Three seconds.

“14,000,605,” Stephen says. 

Twenty three seconds.

The larger the number gets, the most shocked Tony becomes. His eyes widen, and he takes a half step back, as if he wants to look at Stephen in his entirety, as if he wants to somehow see the difference between the Stephen he knew in the spaceship and the Stephen he has in front of him.

Stephen now knows that Tony does not actually want to see the difference.

Tony doesn’t trust magic, and the stone around his neck and the years in his eyes are nothing but fruit of pure and uncontrollable magic.

So, he shifts his head only slightly to the left, letting the sun that isn’t a real sun shine just right over his eyes that it makes them look absurd in their normality.

It makes Tony breathe a little easier, and it stops the automatic question from leaving his lips.

How long was the longest loop?’

The larger that number becomes, the less Tony trusts him.

If Tony asks, Stephen will have to be honest with him – because Tony is good at figuring out when he lies, and Stephen should not lie to him. 

But if Stephen says thirteen years, Tony will get confused. He will start growing doubts and asking questions, questions Stephen cannot answer honestly without having to start a new loop.

“Jesus,” Tony says. “That is... fuck, Strange. That’s a lot of fucking loops.”

“You took a nuke through a wormhole,” Stephen reminds.

Six seconds.

Tony frowns, lips opening just slightly in confusion.

Stephen does not look at his lips. Tony notices that, every single time, and it makes him realise things. And when he starts realising things, Tony also starts asking questions.

“That’s different,” Tony eventually says. “I was trying to save New York.”

Stephen nods – just once; Tony has a slight distaste for people who clap too long, or nod or shake their heads for too long. He doesn't know it, but Stephen has noticed. “And I’m trying to save the universe.”

Tony never asks for clarification.

Stephen never volunteers it, either. He doesn’t know how it will make Tony react, but he knows it won’t be good for him.

“Still,” Tony says. There’s some pity in his gaze, now, as he looks at Stephen. “That’s a lot.”

“It’s worth it,” Stephen says.

He doesn’t look at Tony, as he desperately wants to. Instead, he looks at Peter.

Peter can hear almost everything they are saying but, so long as Tony is the one who dragged him aside, he will make a solid effort to not listen. He still notices their eyes on him, and he awkwardly waves at them.

Tony follows Stephen’s gaze to Peter, and Stephen observes, from the corner of his eyes, the way a part of him breaks.

He doesn’t ask the question, but Stephen answers anyway.

“I can keep him safe,” he says. “We can keep him safe.” He turns his head so that he’s looking at Tony directly, and he shifts so that the lapel of Cloak is covering the Eye of Agamotto. “Trust me on this.”

There are still mysteries of the Cloak that Stephen hasn't figured out yet. But on this, they are both on the same side.

It makes the entire affair less lonely.

Seventeen seconds.

Tony looks between Stephen and Peter, and then back at Stephen. His brows are slightly furrowed, and the corner of his lips downturned.

Tony doesn’t like this – any part of it. He doesn’t like trusting people, especially magic users he doesn’t know.

He likes Peter being alive, however.

And Stephen is giving that to him.

One second.

“Okay,” Tony says. He swallows, and makes eye contact with Stephen again. “Okay. What do you need me to do.”

Zero.

Stephen doesn’t smile. 

He doesn’t need to.

This is the easy part.


Four minutes.

Thirteen is the exact number of steps there have to be between Tony and Stephen to ensure he doesn’t ask any questions.

Any less, and it makes Tony wonder where he is and what he’s doing. It makes him think about Stephen’s choices and sacrifices, and then Tony starts to ask if this is ‘it’. If this is the future where they ‘win’.

Any more, and it makes Tony wonder why he’s still around. It makes him think critically about Stephen, and why he picked Tony specifically, and then Tony starts questioning why ‘him’. How the others plans had failed, in all of the previous time loops, if this is how easy it could really be.

Both end with Tony questioning the time loop itself. What resets it? How did it start? How can Stephen be sure this time it won’t again?

Stephen cannot answer those questions. If he’s too vague, Tony starts doubting him. If he’s too specific, Tony asks more questions.

Either way, Tony stops believing and trusting Stephen, and Stephen needs him to trust him. He needs Tony to believe him, because that’s the only way any of it works.

It’s the only way.

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t ask him questions. Tony doesn’t stare at him and quietly wonder, doesn’t feel the need to ask why he  trusts him.

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t wonder how it took that long to come up with this easy way to defeat Thanos.

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t question why Stephen doesn’t immediately teleport them to Earth to fight with the Avengers in Wakanda.

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t ask why Stephen is still not completely at ease even though Thanos is now dead.

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t notice the glances Stephen keeps shooting at him, or the slightly apathetic manner in which he informs Quill that Gamora is dead and never coming back.

Nebula might. Mantis, most certainly.

But it doesn’t matter; they don’t know Stephen, and they don’t know Tony – will never get to know Tony – and so, will never have the chance to ask him. 

At seventeen steps, Tony doesn’t question anything.

He just holds Peter in his arms in a too tight hug that’s covered in blood and that the teen strongly objects to, and when he catches Stephen’s eyes, he nods in thanks.

At seventeen steps, Stephen doesn’t need to start another loop again.

It works.

Notes:

i think stephen needs some therapy idk...