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There was nothing quite like a nice, normal, scientifically sound solution to their problems.
And this was nothing like a nice, normal, scientifically sound solution. Tony sighed. Stephen Strange; his least favorite person in the known universe who wasn’t actually a villain, looked at him like Tony was a child. A misbehaving, but ultimately good natured and stupid infant…
“You’re contagious, Stark,” Strange said. “Both of you. You really should learn to not touch things that are clearly beyond your comprehension.”
“Is there a cure?” Bucky asked, while Tony was spluttering about the whole thing wasn’t his fault; the damn meteor-spell-demon thing had fallen on their heads, it’s not like there was anything he could do about it.
Strange rubbed at his chin, accenting the little beard that he was so damn proud of, which was totally wrong, because Tony had the much more awesome beard. But whatever, at least Tony’s hair was still all black with no gray in it at all (and if there was some, that was between him and his stylist).”I can probably magic something up,” he said in that smug way that made Tony want to… he wasn’t quite sure what it made him want to do, especially when he was covered in magical germs that were making his lungs ache. Strange had slung them onto the top of a mountain where the thinner air was a little easier to suck in, but still, if they weren’t cured, both he and Bucky were going to smother to death, which wasn’t good.
Less good was the fact that the germs could be spread around, and that rather easily, so they were sort of lucky that Strange had been following the meteor-demon and had gotten to them before they’d wandered into a populated area.
“It’s not luck, Mr. Stark,” Strange said. “Magic isn’t about luck, it’s about planning and precision and --”
“Oh, shut up,” Tony snapped.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Strange said, “I’m going to put you in quarantine while I work on a cure. It’ll keep you warm, fed, and breathing.”
“What sort of --” Bucky barely got the words out before a sphere enclosed them, clear, with rainbow glints, like a soap bubble. Inside, the air was warm, breathable, and faintly smelled like lemons. Strange gestured and the bubble floated away, up, up, until they were suspended above the mountain like the world’s most inaccessibly hamster ball.
“I hate magic,” Tony said. He stared down at the nothing under his feet; the ground was so far down he couldn’t see it, all snow and mountain peaks rising through the mist.
Tony checked his flight systems, but nothing was working. Of course not, Strange’s abilities often interfered with the technological. Another reason to hate magic. Which meant he was stuck in the suit for the duration; he could trigger the manual release, but then he wouldn’t be able to get back in it with no power.
Bucky shuddered all over, dropping to his hands and knees on the soap-bubble’s gently curved surface. He stared down, eyes bulging, jaw working. “Christ!” He shot Tony a panicked glance before squeezing his eyes shut.
“Hey, you okay?” Tony asked, stupidly. Of course Bucky wasn’t okay, his breathing was rapid, labored, and he was whimpering in agony with each inhalation. “The magical asthma getting worse, Cold War? Come on, slow down, try and…”
Bucky shook his head frantically. “No… no… “ He stared down again, and suddenly Tony got it. Oh, Christ, oh fuck, oh…
“God damn you, Strange,” Tony muttered. “Come here, Bucky.” Tony sat down on the bubble, letting the suit fall off around him because there was nothing comforting about hugging the armor. “I got you, babe. I won’t let you fall, Strange is an asshole.”
Bucky wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and buried his face in the shelter of Tony’s stomach. His entire body was wracked with shivers, his breath whistled in and out of his lungs.
“It’s okay,” Tony murmured, stroking his hand down Bucky’s heaving back, rubbing small circles. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Nonsense words, there was no guarantee of anything; Tony was reminded as his own breathing came a little harder, the magical germs filling his lungs slowly but inevitably, but maybe, for just a few minutes, it could be true.
Slowly, the sun set, although the air inside the bubble never got any colder. Once Bucky couldn’t see the snow swirling under them, the ground so impossibly far away, his panic eased, but by then they were both working with each breath to just keep breathing, just one more.
“Tony, Tony, no,” Bucky’s voice broke over him, near dawn. “Tony, don’t leave me. Please, just a little longer, come on…”
Tony looked down at himself, cradled in Bucky’s arms. How strange. He stared at his hands, he was outside himself, seeing… oh, shit. Oh, double shit. He reached for his own body, the strange glow over his skin turned blue as soon as he touched his own dying flesh.
That hurt. Being outside himself was an ease of all the pain, release from the agony that was the magic virus, but also from forty-plus years of not getting enough sleep, the muscle aches from wearing the suit all the time, caffeine withdrawal, bruises that didn’t heal as fast as they used to, the constant twinge in his knee, in his back, the low-grade headache that he lived with almost constantly. Death was… kinda nice, actually.
“No! No! Tony!” Bucky shook him, then, chest heaving with agony, started rescue breathing, despite the fact that each breath was killing Bucky as well.
“Stark,” Strange snapped, appearing to him, limned in silver. “Get back in there. Now.”
“You don’t get to tell me when I can’t die,” Tony said, automatically, because arguing with Strange was just what he did, no matter the circumstances.
“You want me to take possession of you for the nonce? Because I can do that. It’s not your time to die, Stark. Get back in there.”
And it’s not like Tony didn’t want to live; he had a lot of live for, not the least of which was a new boyfriend in the form of the world’s most feared assassin, gorgeous and perfect and lovely, and grieving as Tony was dying right there in Bucky’s arms, but… “I hate you, Strange.”
“I know,” Strange said, looking not the least bit put out, which was also annoying, because it could at least have some effect on the damn magician that someone in the world wasn’t impressed with Dr. Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. “Go, Tony. I’ll take care of you. Both of you.”
Tony reached for his dying body again, embraced the agony of life and living, so very much pain. But also, love. He reached up to touch Bucky’s face as his astral self slid back into his dying body.
He inhaled with a strangled gasp. “Wha…”
The bubble was moving, when they got closer, Tony could see Strange hauling on an invisible something, like he was pulling a rope. “Here we go,” Strange said. He gestured, his arms banding up with green and gold light, runes etched into the air like neon displays, and then he turned a quarter of a spin and shot a powerful beam of light right through the bubble, drenching Tony and Bucky in… oh dear Christ, what was it with the goddamn slime? Enough, enough, and eaurgh! Nasty.
Strange didn’t say anything as the bubble retracted around them, just opened a portal back to his Sanctum in New York, which at least stayed open long enough for Tony to pitch the pieces of the armor back through it, since he was not going to put slimy armor on, that was just asking for goo in places he couldn’t get clean.
“I hate you,” Tony said as they touched down in New York. “So very much.”
“What?” Strange said. “I saved your life.”
“You also spent most of the night torturing Bucky,” Tony spat. “If you had the brains God gave a weasel, you’d have made that thing opaque.”
“Oh.” Dr. Strange said. “Sorry about that. I always sort of liked that view. Very peaceful.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Tony started gathering up his beslimed armor.
“Here,” Strange said. He conjured an invisible servant which picked up the rest of the armor, and then he opened another portal, right at the door to Tony’s penthouse.
Tony opened his mouth to say something; he wasn’t sure what, exactly, but he was quite sure his genius brain could come up with some brilliant and witty insult, when Bucky put a hand at the small of Tony’s back. “Come on, babe,” Bucky said. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?”
Well, that sounded more promising than trading quips with Strange. “Right. Shower. That’s a thing we can do. Together. With lots of hot water. And --”
Strange groaned. “I didn’t need that visual, Stark, thanks so very much.”
Tony smirked. “You’re welcome.”