Chapter Text
Why was he doing this, again?
Stephen stared blankly at the double doors before him, studying the groove of the wood. His eyes connected the bullet holes to crisscrossing patterns, where semi-automatics had once sprayed every inch they could with destruction. There hadn’t been time to even think about replacing broken windows or doors, not when their entire world was wounded and still bleeding. Little things like these had to wait.
Little things like recovery. Like getting help. Help that Stephen honestly didn’t see the point in reaching out for.
Stephen’s left hand twitched as it wrapped around his right arm, tugging at the thick cloth that was wound across the limb. Had to make sure it was covered. The last thing he wanted were questions, raised eyebrows and whispers. But if what he expected was true, Stephen would not be the only ‘damaged goods’ on display.
He took in a deep breath, and tried to tell himself that he was still imagining the gunpowder that now stained his lungs. Just get it over with. Go in, sit, get out. Tell Tao and Wong that he had done it, that he was fine, that he was cured. It had to be just that easy.
Giving his arm one last squeeze, one that made pain shoot through every frayed nerve still twitching with life, Stephen reached out to the door. His fingertips barely connected, just enough to push it open, but he could swear he still saw the stain of his touch like soot. Breathe. Get in, sit, get out. The door opened, and Stephen’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach.
Damn. Here he had been hoping no one would come to this sham of a meeting.
A few lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, dangling string below them to turn them on and off. One look inside told Stephen that this building, whatever it may have been before, was gutted and emptied out. All that remained inside was a table with papers and folding chairs arranged in the classic circle. When he took in another breath, he caught the tang of coffee and depression. Yes, he was at the right place.
Heads turned to meet him, all staring just as blankly as Stephen did in return. No one wanted to be here, meaning Stephen fit right in, yet he still tucked his right arm behind his back. Don’t draw attention, get in, sit, get out. So he got in.
His steps were hollow on the wood as he walked inside the room, and his eyes darted between the faces of the others, none lingering long enough for recognition. Just counting the heads. There were eleven, and twelve chairs were set up. He was the last one. Damn. He looked to the table to his left, where there was a single white sticker name tags remaining, waiting for his name to be written upon. Stephen didn’t give it a second glance and instead focused on a few cups of coffee still sitting out. Chances were that it was cold, but it was free and it would distract him from this meeting, so he reached out and plucked out one cup. Stephen then had to set it back down to gain a better grasp on it with his left hand. All the while, he made absolutely sure that he did not brush it against anything else. Just the cup. He’d dispose of it properly once this was done.
For all the people that sat in the cheap folding chairs, there was one man who was prestigious enough for an old kitchen chair. With one quick look at his nametag, Stephen identified him as ‘Fury.’ Stephen barely held back a snort. He didn’t think this would be some sort of fantasy roleplaying group he was wandering into. But he held his tongue and instead searched for his seat.
All Stephen needed to see was that empty seat and he diverted straight towards it. He didn’t look up, he didn’t make eye contact, he just sat. There, two out of three parts were accomplished. He got inside, he was sitting. Now to wait for an hour or two for this to finally end. Stephen just stared down at the murky puddle inside the cup, not yet able to will himself for a sip.
“You gonna finish that?”
A smooth voice spoke to his right, and Stephen instinctively tucked his right arm closer to his body. “I haven’t even started,” Stephen said dryly, still staring into the coffee. From the smell alone, Stephen knew that this coffee was barely more than coffee-colored water. Then again, coffee beans were expensive now. Whatever pleasantries anyone could have in everyday life were near impossible to find.
But Stephen just couldn’t work up the will to drink it.
Without passing a glance, Stephen just leaned over and set the cup onto the floor in front of the chair next to him. If the other person was that damn eager for the coffee, he’d pick it up himself. Stephen retracted his hand as soon as he released the cup, tucking it into his lap. There, interaction complete. That was his quota met for the day.
“Well, now that everyone’s here,” a deep voice started, “I’ll get this started. I’m Nick Fury, and I’m the host of this meeting.” It was too fitting that ‘Fury’ was the leader of this stupid post-war therapy group. “Whatever questions you got, I’ll answer them. We’re gonna start with presenting ourselves. Name and why you’re here.”
Fury cleared his throat, and it was just enough to make Stephen raise his head. Fury was on the other side of the circle, almost directly opposite of him. The first thing he saw was the eyepatch strapped to his face, with bandages still tucked beneath and peeking out from the edges. Stephen’s brain already started churning with possibilities, diagnosis, recovery options and proper care for the wound. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, but he could at least stay quiet.
“I’m Nick Fury, and I’m here because I lost most of my troops in battle two years ago. I lost brave men, and now I’m here for the other brave people who are lost. Who’s next?”
Silence. Stephen dropped his head again, staring at the dirty floor. There had been some attempts to sweep away the grime, but there was still a thin layer of dirt and debris scattered across. He focused on a few cigarette butts in particular, burned down to the nub. There were subtle sounds in the rooms, one that beat against his skull. Someone was shuffling their feet. Someone else drank the coffee. Two people were twitching in their seat. Another was breathing noticably harder than the others.
“Like it’s gonna be that easy. You really think we’re just gonna talk about ourselves like that, boss?”
The person beside him again. With a quick glance to his neighbor’s feet, he saw that the cup had been moved, but was now empty. That was fast. Maybe Stephen should have drank it after all. His mourning over his lost coffee didn’t last long as Fury spoke up again. “Then why don’t you go first, Stark?”
More silence. Then ‘Stark’ cleared his throat and shifted around in his seat. “I’m Tony Stark, and I got a car battery hooked up to my chest.”
Stark had said the words so bluntly, so casually that Stephen thought he had misheard. But just to confirm his thoughts, Stephen decided to look up for the first time to the person sitting next to him.
And yep, the first thing that caught his eye was the huge car battery just sitting on his lap. Stephen blinked. Now, Stephen had been a doctor for a very long time. He thought he’d seen it all. This… no, he certainly had never seen this before. Just as his mouth dropped open to ask, though, his eyes drifted up to Stark’s face.
It was like Stephen was staring at a completely different person. The man who owned the voice and the body who owned the car battery shared almost no similarities. The man sat in his chair, a little slumped but with his chin tilted up. Stephen could practically feel the arrogance vibrating off of him, with sunglasses perched on his nose and a taunting grin on his face. Yet his hands were clasped around the battery, holding it securely like at any moment someone may reach out to snatch it away.
From the corner of his eye, Fury just arched an eyebrow in Tony’s direction. His arms crossed over his face and he leaned back in his chair, obviously waiting.
“What?” Tony scoffed in return, and Stephen saw one of his hands tense on the car battery even as his expression didn’t fade for an instant. “That’s gotta be enough info for this. I broke the ice, it’s someone else’s turn now.”
That was when Tony turned his head, and he met Stephen’s eyes, who had still been staring this entire time. In that moment, a jolt ran through Stephen’s body and he tore his gaze away, staring back to the floor. No, just ignore him. Someone else. Someone, please, just-
“Hey, free coffee guy, get yours over with. What’s your name and why are you here?”
Fuck. He made a small reminder to never give that man his coffee ever again if this was the thanks he got in return.
“Thanks, douchebag,” Stephen muttered under his breath, but apparently not low enough to be unheard when Tony just let out a short, dry laugh. Well, fine. Just get it over with.
Stephen sucked in a deep breath and gave himself a quick shake. Just say it, say just enough to not have to take questions. “I’m… Doctor Stephen Strange. I worked with doctors without borders.”
Past tense. Because there was no way in hell Stephen would ever be able to go back, no matter how much he tried. The risk was too great. And the memories will never fade.
“See? That wasn’t so bad. Wear your damn name tag next time.”
Stephen’s hand clenched, before reaching up and wrapping back around his arm. Not a chance, he thought. There wasn’t going to be a next time, he already decided. The first chance he got, Stephen was going to worm out of this damn thing and hole himself back up. This was the breath of fresh air everyone had been telling him to get, but it was sour and putrid on his tongue.
It was halfway through the next presentation that Stephen felt his mind finally starting to detach again. Thank God. If there was anything that was working, it had to be the meditation that both Wong and Tao had been absolutely persistent upon. This wasn’t nearly the same, and noise would break through the bleak nothingness, but it was enough. It blanketed him in white noise, where everything else was a blur, and he could just drift off.
It was far from healthy, Stephen didn’t need his many years in medical school to tell him that. But it worked. As long as he could think of nothing, then he wouldn’t think of that. And, apparently, it helped the time pass by much better than he first expected.
Because there was something waving in front of his face, and it took a few blinks for his eyes to focus upon it. Someone’s hand. And there was that voice again.
“Earth to coffee guy, you still with us?”
Tony again. It seemed like he was running these meetings more than Fury was.
“We’re good to head out. It was just storytime today.”
It was enough to coax Stephen to lift up his head, blinking again at the lights dangling from the ceiling. Tony was standing over him, with the car battery under one arm and held at his side. Stephen idly wondered if he really had to carry it around with him constantly or if it was more of a show and tell.
Tony smirked once their eyes finally met, or as well as Stephen could with Tony’s hidden under the shades. “We’ll get into the grit next week.”
“This isn’t your first time,” Stephen plainly stated, and Tony just shrugged the shoulder not holding the battery.
“You get use to it. Coffee always sucks, everyone’s a stick in the mud, and you don’t feel any better right away.”
“Good to hear.”
Tony still stood in front of him, like he was expecting Stephen to do or say something. He unfortunately wouldn’t be getting what he wanted, as Stephen just pulled himself out of the chair. The curfew would be starting soon, something that still had not been revoked. The last thing Stephen needed was to get in trouble for something as pathetic as curfew. Though as Stephen started to turn away, Tony stepped back in front of him.
“Next meeting’s at six next week. You’ll be there.” Tony flashed another smirk at him, then jutted out his right hand out to Stephen. Instinct almost caught Stephen before he could shove it back down, and he almost lifted his arm for the shake. But just as the thought entered his mind, it was scorned away. All Stephen could do was stare at his hand for a second too long, the familiar images plaguing him and twisting his stomach.
Without so much as a word or a passing glance, Stephen wove his way around the chairs and stepped away, making sure to keep a few feet of space between himself and Tony just in case the other man tried to force the shake. Stephen just let his feet carry him out the front door and into the street, where overturned cars and broken storefronts led him back home.
Well… whatever he was willing to call home.
By the time Stephen walked up to the front glass doors, one of them broken and barely hanging on, the skies had begun their usual downfall of rain. Stephen tucked his arm underneath his shirt, but it made little difference. The dressings would need to be changed for sure, now, as if Tao would even let him get away with skipping a night in the first place.
The usual scene greeted him, of sleeping bags and mattress littering the hospital entrance. Almost every foot of floor space was housed by someone or something, people just trying to make it to the next day. Stephen stepped through the memorized shapes, picking his way through the mess and making his way deeper inside. There were some new faces, as people would move in and out constantly. All Stephen cared about, though, was resting away the day.
Stephen nudged the nurse’s room open with his foot, glancing inside for the occupants. Almost immediately, he saw movement in the darkness. There were eight beds laid out, some originally hospital beds while others barely more than a spring frame covered with a sagging mattress. He squinted into the darkness.
Wong was laid out in his bed, a couple blankets thrown over him. It was starting to get cold at night as they neared their fourth winter, and they may have to drag out the heaters if rebuilding didn’t start soon. Stephen could see the broken earbud dangling off the side of the bed, connecting to an old mp3 player found in some rubble. It only had about three or four albums on it, but it was music. Wong had laid claim to the mp3, since it was one of the few things that helped him sleep at night when things became rougher than normal.
A few other beds were filled, doctors and nurses that finally could rest off the day. Others were empty to watch over the night. One bed creaked as someone stood, and Stephen felt a bit of his tension fall away.
“How did it go?” Christine greeted him, her eyes filled with feign brightness and interest. She received the customary shrug as an answer. “Tao’s waiting for you.”
“Of course she is,” Stephen muttered, where Christine rolled her eyes in response. She motioned for him to follow, making sure to keep at least three feet of space between them. She had long given up on breaking into Stephen’s protective barrier, which was both a relief and a disappointment. She didn’t try nearly as hard as Stephen expected her to.
Christine held back the curtain that separated parts of the nurse’s quarters, and sure enough, Tao was sitting on a chair pulling on gloves, with the new dressings already laid out. Tao was the closest thing to a leader they had in this damn place, and Stephen knew better than to fight against her wishes. He’d been doing enough of that for the past month and it got him nowhere.
“We’re running low enough as it is,” Stephen reminded Tao, who shook her head.
“There will be replenishments soon enough. Now let me see.” She extended one hand out, a knowing look in her eye. “You’ve kept it wrapped up all day, didn’t you?”
No answer, because Stephen had the proof still wrapped around his arm. With little more than a sigh, Stephen stepped to the table and sat down in the open chair. He stretched his right arm out onto the table, and Tao clicked on the desk lamp. Using electricity was a blessing given by the generators, but they used it as sparingly as possible. Operations, evaluations, only the necessary times. Tao had already given him a lecture that this was just as necessary.
She started at the upper arm, using a dull pair of scissors to snip at the bindings. They fell away strip by strip, with the occasional wrap needing a gentle tug and a little water to unstick it from the wounds. “You need to let them dry out,” Tao reminded him, her eyes still focused on the revealed skin. Her thin fingers traced a few of the lines, tapping against them to test the skin. Some sent sharp spikes of pain through his body, and others gave him nothing. There was no hope for the nerves to be repaired, but that didn’t stop Stephen from hoping that he’d feel something. Even pain.
“How was your meeting?” Tao asked, not lifting her eyes up from the unwinding bandages. They were down past his bicep now, Stephen could feel the tingle of air brushing against some weeping wounds.
“Nothing exceptional,” Stephen replied dryly. He flexed carefully against the remaining binds, watching the skin move. He watched the color change as Tao took off more and more of the wraps, watched the skin turn from a thick, angry red, then start to pale again. But it didn’t return to the healthy peach. It just turned… white.
By the time Tao came to the hand, Stephen had to look away. The bandages stuck to the skin more often here, and each tug was accompanied with soft apologies from Tao, all met with silence. He wished he could say he wasn’t used to this. He wished that he wasn’t. He wished for a lot of things, though. As Tao began to wash the wounds and rebind, Stephen let them filter through his head again.
Stephen wished he could have saved someone that day.
Stephen wished to never have to see another bullet wound or burn on a civilian.
Stephen wished this had never happened, that war hadn’t spilled out across the globe in the first place.
But Stephen also wished that everything could just… go away. That wouldn’t happen, though.
Because war leaves scars behind, a constant reminder that he survived. Stephen wished he didn’t.