The first light of dawn slid across the skyline, gilding Stark Tower in pale gold.
The med bay was silent, save for the soft hum of containment wards.
Loki still slept inside the Casket's frost light unmoving, dreamless, wrapped in glacial blue. His pulse thrummed faintly, steady and strong.
Dr. Stephen Strange stood beside him, robes ghosting the edges of the containment ring.
Golden sigils pulsed faintly from his hands as he performed one last scan — a ritual now, more habit than necessity.
"Stable," he murmured. "Healing. Slow, but steady."
The frost pulsed once, almost in acknowledgment, and Stephen found himself smiling.
"Good," he whispered. "You've done enough fighting for now."
He stayed another minute, just breathing in the stillness, then turned away, cloak whispering softly as he ascended toward Tony's private floor.
A Sorcerer in the Kitchen
New York was still half-asleep, but inside the penthouse, one man was very much awake.
Stephen moved through the kitchen like he was performing a ritual.
Every motion was deliberate: barefoot, sleeves rolled, pancake batter measured with surgical precision.
There was something oddly peaceful about it mixing, whisking, pouring a meditation in domesticity.
Pancakes flipped with perfect timing, golden disks turning midair in weightless arcs. The scent of butter and warmth cut through the sterile hum of tech.
It was peaceful, unnervingly so.
And Stephen found he didn't mind the responsibility.
Keeping the children safe. Watching the genius who burned too bright finally rest.
It was… grounding.
He smiled faintly at the absurdity of it.
The Sorcerer Supreme, guardian of Time, reduced to domestic tranquility and breakfast duty.
For once, his mind was quiet.
Until it wasn't.
A crash overhead metallic, loud, and utterly unmagical shattered the calm.
Stephen sighed without looking up. "Friday?"
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Do I want to know?"
A pause. Then, politely: "No, Doctor. But you're about to."
The ceiling tile gave way with a spectacular bang.
Something red-and-black tumbled through the air, landed face-first in the middle of the kitchen island, and groaned.
"Good morning, wizard daddy!" Deadpool announced, muffled by granite. "You got any syrup?"
Stephen stared for a long, quiet second.
Then: "Friday, would you like me to open a portal beneath him?"
"That would be unethical," she said diplomatically. "Also, messy. Let me introduce you to Wade Wilson, alias Deadpool. Regenerative mercenary. Currently residing in Tower guest wing B due to… noncompliance with eviction requests."
"Noncompliance," Stephen repeated dryly, eye twitching. "Understood."
Wade rolled over, dusted himself off, and plucked a piece of ceiling tile from his shoulder.
"Nice place. Bit uptight, but the feng shui screams repressed trauma."
Stephen's fingers twitched, sigils flickering faintly along his hands. A heartbeat longer, and Wade might've found himself in another dimension.
Friday's voice, faint but urgent: "Doctor, please refrain from turning guests into abstract art."
Strange exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But only because it's morning."
Deadpool was already peering into the mixing bowl. "Need a hand? I make a mean pancake. Used to cook for Hydra interns before they got all explodey."
Stephen eyed him, then nodded once. "Fine. You mix. I cook."
"Aw, teamwork! I can smell the bromance!" Wade chirped, immediately up to his elbows in batter.
For a few blessed minutes, silence reigned.
Then Wade looked up suddenly, meeting Strange's gaze dead-on.
A sound barrier shimmered to life with a soft thrum.
"You and I both know what you are, don't we?" Wade said quietly, tone sharp beneath the humor. "Predator. All quiet grace and bottled storms. Tell me, does Stark know he's living with a dragon?"
The air changed.
Sound warped. Pressure thickened.
Stephen's sigils flared into existence not blazing, but alive. Shadows bent toward him, light refracting around the edges of something ancient and vast.
His voice, when it came, was silk wrapped around steel.
"Careful, Mr. Wilson. You may find my patience has limits. And I could make your regeneration… optional."
Wade's grin didn't falter. "Yeah. There it is. I like you."
He tilted his head. "But seriously does Stark know he's part of your hoard?"
For a heartbeat, Stephen's eyes glowed molten gold.
And then, as though a switch flipped, the heat vanished.
He turned back to the stove, perfectly calm again.
"Anthony is aware of what I am," he said evenly. "We are… similar in ways neither of us likes to admit."
Wade laughed softly not mocking, but knowing. "Oh, I get it. You don't hoard gold. You hoard people."
The next pancake landed on the stack with unnecessary force.
Before Stephen could reply, voices echoed down the hall.
"Friday said pancakes!" Peter's voice bright, eager.
"Smells awesome!" Ned added, feet pounding the floor.
The kitchen door slid open, and two sleepy teenagers stumbled in, hair messy, smiles wide both blissfully unaware they'd just interrupted the possible murder of Wade Willson.
"Doctor Strange! Good morning! Hello, Mr. Deadpool!" Peter beamed. "You're making breakfast?"
"Indeed," Stephen said smoothly, expression serene again. "Pancakes. Collaborative effort."
Wade saluted with the spatula. "I whisked! Like a hero!"
"Sit," Strange said, gesturing toward the table. "Eat."
Peter and Ned dove in happily, trading chatter about magic homework and microservos while the Sorcerer plated more food.
Wade leaned close again, voice low, almost fond. "You know, doc… I think I like this side of you. The one that pretends he's not terrifying."
Stephen didn't look at him, but his lips curved faintly.
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
Morning, Chaos, and Coffee
Upstairs, the penthouse was still dim, lit only by the skyline and the low pulse of the arc reactor through Tony's shirt.
He was half-awake, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other groping for his phone.
"Friday," he muttered, voice sandpaper-rough, "what's that smell?"
The smell of butter and sugar had hit him before he even opened his eyes. For a moment, half-asleep, he thought it was a dream the kind where nothing had exploded and no wizard had commandeered his kitchen.
Then Friday's cheerful voice cut through.
"Good morning, Boss. Doctor Strange is preparing breakfast with assistance from Mister Wilson. Peter and Ned are already at the table."
Tony cracked one eye open. "…Run that by me again, but slower."
"Doctor Strange and Deadpool are cooking breakfast. Peter and Ned are..."
"I heard it the first time," Tony muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Just hoping if I blink hard enough, it'll make less sense."
He shuffled toward the living area, hair wild, shirt wrinkled the very picture of a man who hadn't caffeinated yet.
The sight that greeted him almost made him turn around and go back to bed.
Peter and Ned were at the breakfast bar, plates piled high with pancakes.
Stephen stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, flipping pancakes with surgical grace.
And beside him, God help him Wade Wilson was wearing one of Tony's aprons.
It read "Kiss the Engineer."
Tony stopped dead in the doorway, hair an act of war. He stared.
It would've been domestic, even peaceful, if he didn't know both men were capable of rewriting reality or detonating a city block before breakfast.
"…Do I even want to know?" he deadpanned.
"Mr. Stark! Morning!" Peter beamed. "Dr. Strange made breakfast!"
"Yeah," Ned added enthusiastically, mouth full. "Best pancakes ever!"
"Language, Ned," Stephen said mildly, wiping his hands on a towel. "Chew, then speak."
Wade waved the spatula. "Morning, Daddy Stark! Me and the Doctor are bonding! Pancake therapy! Very healthy!"
Tony's eye twitched. "Which one of you psychopaths invited the ceiling gremlin to breakfast?"
"Hey!" Wade pointed the spatula at him. "I dropped in unannounced. Literally. Through the ceiling. Gravity invited me."
"Right," Tony said flatly. "Remind me to file a complaint with gravity later. Friday, you got footage?"
"Of course, Boss. Forward to Rhodey or keep private?"
"Both."
Tony poured himself coffee, eyeing the perfect pancakes, the suspicious calm, and the brittle tension in Strange's posture.
"So," he said casually, "anything explode, burn, or attempt world domination before I woke up?"
"Nothing yet," Stephen replied smoothly. "But it's only eight fifteen."
Deadpool leaned toward Tony, stage-whispering, "Your wizard buddy's got layers. Deep, brooding, potentially fire-breathing layers."
Tony didn't blink. "Join the club. Everyone in this tower has a god complex or a death wish. Sometimes both before noon."
That earned a faint smile from Strange small, tired, but real.
Tony caught it, catalogued it, but let it slide. "Alright," he sighed, grabbing a plate. "Let's see if magic pancakes live up to the hype."
Peter grinned. "They totally do, Mr. Stark!"
Tony took a bite. Paused. Nodded slowly. "Okay… that's annoyingly good. You're not allowed to leave, Wizard Barbie."
Stephen arched a brow. "Wasn't planning to."
"Good. Because I'm keeping the chef. Deadpool does dishes."
Wade saluted. "Aye aye, Captain Hot Coffee!"
Ned snorted. Peter groaned.
Ned whispered, "Is it weird that I think they're flirting?"
Peter muttered, "Weirder that they don't realize it."
Friday helpfully chimed in, "Boss, shall I archive this as the 'Household Pancake Treaty'?"
Tony grinned around his fork. "Do it. Mark it as the last peaceful morning before everything goes to hell."
Wade leaned toward Stephen. "You know, Doc, I think you might actually like this domestic thing."
Stephen didn't respond immediately. He glanced toward the kids Peter gesturing wildly mid-story, Ned laughing without restraint, Tony pretending to scowl but listening to every word.
Something flickered behind his calm exterior warmth, possession, a quiet hunger for moments like this.
He answered without looking away from them.
"Maybe I do."
Tony caught that tone, eyes flicking to him across the table. Something unspoken lingered between them understanding, fragile and dangerous.
Family.
Wade ruined it, as always. "So! Who's ready for second breakfast?"
Tony pointed his fork. "Wilson, touch my stove again and I'll replace your swords with salad tongs."
"Hot," Wade said immediately.
Stephen's sigh was long and suffering. "Friday, remind me to ward the ceiling next time."
"Already done, Doctor," she replied primly.
Tony leaned back, half-laughing. "My life used to be quiet."
"No, it wasn't," Stephen said, smirking faintly. "You just didn't have witnesses back then."
Tony's laughter cracked through the morning light, real.
Peter pushed his chair back with a satisfied groan. "That was amazing, Doctor Strange! Thank you!"
Ned nodded, already bouncing with energy. "Yeah! But we should, uh— probably get started on our school project before Mr. Harrington adds another passive-aggressive smiley face to his emails."
Peter stood, grabbing his bag. "We'll be in the labs, Mr. Stark!"
"Don't blow anything up," Tony called automatically.
"No promises!" Peter yelled back, already halfway to the elevator.
"Hey, Deadpool," Ned added, grinning, "wanna help? You can… hold the soldering iron!"
"Kid," Wade said, dramatically clutching his chest, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Stephen opened his mouth to protest. "That's not"
But it was too late. Wade was already following the teenagers out the door, humming a wildly off-key tune and shouting something about "science friendship montages."
The elevator doors closed behind them with a soft ding.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Tony leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, contented sigh. "You know," he said, "I think that's the quietest this place has been in… ever."
Stephen smiled faintly, pouring himself another cup of tea. "You should enjoy it. It won't last."
Tony lifted his coffee in a lazy toast. "Nothing good ever does."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment the hum of the Tower, the golden morning light cutting through glass, the faint smell of pancakes lingering in the air.
For once, there were no alarms, no arguments, no world-ending crises.
Just two men, a scientist and a sorcerer sharing coffee and quiet, while the world outside kept turning.
Stephen's gaze softened, thoughtful. "They're good kids," he said finally.
Tony nodded. "Yeah. The best."
Then, smirking slightly, he added, "Remind me to build a new ceiling before the next pancake apocalypse."
Stephen's laughter was low, genuine. "I'll add it to the list."
Tony grinned, sipping his coffee. "Add coffee refills while you're at it, Wizard Barbie."
Stephen arched an eyebrow. "You're incorrigible."
"And you're making pancakes in my kitchen," Tony shot back. "Guess we're both full of surprises."
The laughter that followed wasn't loud just easy, human, and real.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, painting the Tower in gold.
And for the first time in a long time, the world, their strange, chaotic little world, felt almost normal.