This work was possible thanks to @epicendergamer for their quote: "If someone's gonna take your hand, they better take your hand, scars and all."

Enjoy.

-PurpleTrekkie

-

Stephen Strange didn't do dating.

And he most certainly did not do flirting. What he did, however, is think of a thousand ways to make Stark suffer without harming him.

"You know the saying, Dumbledore. If you can see sharp contours on someone's cheekbones, that is because they are probably hella sharp." Commented the man clad in iron, flying over him and heading straight for a building terrorized by the unwelcome visitors they had to face for the day. Strange thinks they could probably have avoided the conflict if the man knew how to keep his sarcastic comments to himself, but alas, there was no time for regrets now.

"I'm quite sure that is not an existing saying." The sorcerer disappeared in a blur of sparks and landed on the building that increasingly whirred to its deathly incline in midst of a busy block. He could vaguely perceive the rest of the team communicating amongst themselves, tackling a different section and complication of the conflict within their own skills.

The cloak tugged him back against the harsh fall, just as sturdy bright ropes of magic elongated from his palms, flying across the street in a wide arch and attaching onto the stable concrete of a building that didn't threat to kill pedestrians trying to head for safety. 

The building's descent slowed down and eventually halted with a groaning stop, windows and structure shaking with the abrupt stop before settling into an assuring silence. Stephen wiped at the sweat on his forehead over his shoulder, strictly breathing through his mouth to avoid losing concentration from the overwhelming dust permeating the atmosphere.

The man in the iron suit eventually emerged from within the building, limbs held stiffly at his sides to keep his balance in the air. "Nice job, wizard. You know, people really dig strong people, not mentioning wizards, I'm sure you wouldn't have trouble finding yourself a pretty person to date." The faceplate lifted and the cool blankness of the suit was replaced with a teasing smile from the genius.

Something boiled under Strange's skin. Whether it was irritation or the strain placed in his muscles at having to hold afoot a building, he would never know. "Stark-" He huffed a breath that brushed the intrusive strands of hair over his eyes back.

"Come on, Strange. You know I'm right. I don't think you just spend your time holed up in that sanctum of yours-"

Stephen glanced away. "Actually-"

The other continued. "Just working and working and working, slaving away by a cause that not most know of. That would be very boring and you are none of that."

"Stark, seriously, you need to shut u-"

"I'm just saying that there is actually a way to handle superhero stuff and a roaring relationship at the same time."

"I'm not denying that!" The sorcerer took a few heavy steps backwards to renew his hold on the ropes. "Really, right now is not the time to be talking about dating. If you haven't noticed, I've been holding up this building, a heavy building, and I'd appreciate if you called Banner over to help re-establish its balance before my muscles implode."

Iron Man quietened for a bit, but then smiled, raising a little in the air. "I knew you'd admit it."

Stephen wasn't sure whether Stark heard his shouted remark as he reatreated off into the distance.

-

Stark was wrong. There wasn't a way for the Sorcerer Supreme to handle his job and a relationship at the same time.

-

It wasn't that he didn't have time. He could have time if he wished to invest in a relationship. It was just what needed to be had before entering a relationship. And that was emotional stability within oneself, a hard thing to keep tabs on when interdimensional creatures threatened to attack Earth at random intervals as well as managing different sanctums on opposite ends of the planet while battling his own unsolved issues from the past.

Stephen Strange wasn't emotionally qualified to look out for someone else in such an intimate level when he still couldn't accept everything that was to be seen about himself. He still resented the accident more often than not, he still missed the precision with which he was able to extract bullet fragments from a person's brain, the awards, the piano playing. He still missed the blissful ignorance that most people in Earth walked around with, the neat and steady writing, a long and uninterrupted nights where he didn't wake up with a trembling rage for the ache deep within his bones and dead nerves.

He missed the assurance that he only had to save one life at a time and not live attached -because he indeed worried about the safety of every sorcerer that worked against harmful outsiders- to the burden that came with being the Sorcerer Supreme. People could and would die under his name, following the cause he'd kept on from the Ancient One. No one blamed him, he knew, but that task he reserved it for himself, reserve it for the situations where he had to consider and do what was necessary to not have anyone die.

He missed his old life, and yet he did not miss the person that used to live in that heaven.

-

"How long until they enter the dimension?" Stephen questioned, gaze set on the swirling energy above them that built an identical representation of the planet, spinning slowly on its axis, and to the side, a dense cloud approaching said planet with a decent velocity.

None of the sorcerers gathered around the diagram said anything for a long moment, but the answer itself already came to them when the unknown cloud was already so close that it had surpassed the moon. People out there didn't know what was coming, except them. They were the only ones that could handle the issue.

"We could counterattack." Everyone, including him, turned their gazes to you, who still stared at the moving figures illuminating the darkness.

"Are we even sure what would damage that?" Another sorcerer perked up from Stephen's left.

"It is a being that has only appeared once in the history of the Earth, and it ended up causing a mass extinction. There is too little to know about it." Came the reply from the sorcerer representing the Hong Kong sanctum.

Strange's fear descended into a cold blankness, the fear revolting in the pit of his stomach doing an unexpected disappearance, as if preparing him to an unavoidable issue that couldn't use being afraid of.

"We do what we can then. Divide the sorcerers into three different tasks, shield build up, attack and dimensional transportation. If we can not stop it, let's try blinking it out of this dimension as soon as it enters ours." Everyone scattered, dead set on their assigned task.

Organization didn't last for long.

-

It took an awfully long time for the night to settle into silence once again. The air was still impregnated by the residue of spells, blood and dust, an odd vibration of energy frizzing up the otherwise still air.

Stephen sat on top of a demolished library, or at least, what was left of it, transformed into a stack of concrete walls, one over the other in jagged ascension. He could see some bookshelves peeking out on several sections, but otherwise, it was just a weird buildup, or destruction. No lives taken, just an empty sad library that was unfortunate to be standing in middle of a battle.

He held a sling ring in his hands, the size of the holes several sizes smaller than what would fit him normally. The intricate engraving in its side was useful to pinpoint it to belong from the Hong Kong sanctum. Dried blood tainted some of that gold engraving.

"Despite the happenings of tonight-" Came a voice by his side, still not an enough incentive to make him look up from the object he held in hand, twirling it around with stern focus. Rocks rolled down the pile he sat on and you climbed on, taking a seat next to him, just as battered and covered in dust as everyone else. From the corner of his eyes he saw you pluck something out of your pocket, offering it at him silently. "I think we did a pretty good job."

He finally looked up, brows furrowed a little in indignation as he snorted and took the offered cloth, encasing the ring with it, away from the dirt and grime, safe and preserving the memory of that who was long gone now. "You think? We've got ten bodies and the count is still going. We could've done better."

You thought it was understandable to be a little angry about it. But- "There will be more battles in the future, Strange. You let this eat you alive, and you'll never get out of the pit."

"Letting this go would be insulting their honour." He grit, missing the period of time where he had just been sitting and thinking over what they could have done differently to avoid the number of deaths they walked away with.

"I'm not saying you should forget it." You replied, a little subdued and deflated by the outcome you all had to accept. "I'm just saying..." You hesitated.

He raised his head, turning to face you. "What?"

"I'm just saying that we don't get up on our own, we get up together. That's what we do. We stick together, fight evil beings together and the residues of battle together. Doing it alone would make anyone go crazy." Your features softened and you exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired. "Their deaths are not your fault-"

"Then whose is it?" The tension in his shoulders only weighed heavier.

"We all have seen our people die." You nudged back, gently, against the dim fire in his soul that could blaze up at any moment. "Things... sometimes happen out of our control. We didn't know enough to face that, we weren't prepared without information that wasn't available. You did your goddamn best, Strange. And if you keep kicking yourself around with all that guilt, then... what will we be without the Sorcerer Supreme?"

Every sorcerer that still stood, ached the same way for the friends that were gone. The life of a sorcerer was such a fickle thing, death was to be expected, the idea had to be accepted, however, the event as a reality would just edge the blade deeper in their open wounds.

Stephen's eyes narrowed a bit, but something made the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "You'd probably miss my astounding perfection at spell casting."

You smiled too, relief accompanying the sentiment. "None of us are perfect sorcerers."

"I don't know, (Y/N), cartoons and movies really paint us to be that way."

You scrunched your nose. "Cartoons don't depict the PTSD left behind by the horrible nightmares of our job, and that's why it's important that we pick each other up."

"We are all kind of broken... and messed up." He admitted a little more seriously.

You damned every cartoon about wizards. "If someone's gonna take your hand, they better take your hand, scars and all. Sort of like healing together. Humanity was born to be social and all that biological stuff that I can't be bothered to remember from highschool."

And it was also easy for someone damaged to recognize others in the same state. It came with the experience, one which ended up being useful to aid each other out, a network of self support for an external input was best to avoid drowning in the notions of oneself.

There was only so much a person could take.