#I got burn cream but it's not doing much so doing the old standby (finger on cold / cool thing then reapplying cream)

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Me after lightly burning myself: Ow that sucked but whatever

The burn: *is a second degree burn*

[klimtandbencbatch]

For @ssironstrange, the saddest thing I’ve ever written

When Tony had texted early that morning and asked Stephen out to dinner, he had seen no issue with it. He simply reminded him they needed a place with some drier options, his fingers trembling as he typed back.

No good can come from my embarrassing myself in front of you again. SS

There was a few minutes silence before Tony’s answer came back.

Honey, it was one coffee mug, and it wasn’t my favorite. TS

Steve gave it to me! You did me a favor. TS

How about that old Italian standby downtown we love so much? TS

Stephen grimaced slightly, sending back an affirmation as his mind began to wander.

—————————

It was the morning after their first night together. Stephen knew from the moment he opened his eyes that it was going to be a rougher-than-average day for his hands. He stayed in bed for a few more minutes, listening to Tony’s quiet snores and running his fingers along the welts that Tony had dragged into his shoulders the night before.

He smiled slightly. It had been a good night.

He stayed until Tony woke, tossing him a lopsided smile and exchanging dry, chapped kisses that tasted of morning breath until Tony pulled a grimace and rolled out of bed.

“Gonna brush my teeth. You should, too. Coffee?”

Stephen smiled a bit, nodding. “Please.”

Tony shot a wink over his shoulder before disappearing into his bathroom. Stephen followed, brushed his teeth, and then sat patiently at the kitchen island as Tony got two mugs down and fixed their first brew of the day.

“Thank you,” Stephen said softly, accepting the porcelain mug into his hands before quickly setting it down. Too hot, and he’d already nearly dumped it over himself, why were they shaking so badly already -

“Oh, here. Cream and sugar, if you take that.”

Stephen did, normally, but he didn't want to risk it. He’d spill sugar everywhere, or upend the cream. He’d take it black. He could handle that.

They were chatting quietly, enjoying their soft morning afterglow when it happened.

Stephen’s hands stopped cooperating entirely. They seized up as he tried to tighten his grip on the mug, and it went crashing to the floor, sending boiling hot coffee in every direction.

Tony gaped at Stephen for a few seconds before schooling his expression and setting his coffee aside, rising to clean up.

“No, it's - I can - “ Stephen said quickly, his heart racing as he attempted to cast a quick spell. His hands shook even worse now, fueled by humiliation and anxiety.

What would Tony think of him now?

Wasn’t he supposed to be over this? Wasn't that the point of all the training?

What was the point of him?

Tony had already knelt down and was cleaning the broken mug pieces up carefully, not looking at Stephen at all.

Stephen's heart thudded noisily in his chest.

“I have to go,” he blurted, pushing himself out of his chair. “Just - Wong has - I've got this - “

“Hey,” Tony said, his voice low and quiet. “Steph. It’s alright. It was just an accident.”

Stephen looked down at his scarred hands, bile rising in his throat as they shook like dead leaves in a winter storm.

Just an accident.

Just an accident.

—————————

Stephen had been careful since then. He only ever said yes to coffee or messy foods with Tony when he knew that he’d been having a good day.

Today was one of those days, he thought idly as he buttoned his shirt and fastened his cufflinks. Miraculously, his numb and usually hopeless fingers managed to navigate their way around tiny holes and slippery metal surfaces, dressing him to the nines for his little outing with Tony.

Everything was going fine.

He decided to meet Tony at the restaurant - being near cars made his hands shake worse, and he didn't want to lose any of the good energy he'd been building up all day. He portaled through a few streets over, walking up towards the restaurant and smiling when he saw Tony there. He instantly relaxed, crossing to greet his lover with a kiss.

“Hello,” he rumbled, smiling down at Tony as the other man instinctively nestled into his embrace.

“Hey, you,” Tony answered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Ooh, you smell good. Too bad it's gonna get covered up with garlic the minute we walk through that door.”

Stephen shrugged. “I think you’ll live. Shall we?"

They strolled in and were seated at their usual table, although this night was busier than most. Their usual buffer zone of a few empty tables was gone. Stephen noticed, but he didn't let it get to him.

Everything is fine.

They ordered a bottle of wine and some calamari, catching up on their weeks so far as they waited for their main courses. For Tony, a hearty carbonara. For Stephen, risotto - easier to eat than pasta, and not nearly as messy.

They’re both eating and laughing and pleasantly buzzed, and Stephen is struggling to remember the last time he felt this good. His focus was entirely on the food, Tony, and the candlelight in his boyfriend's eyes as he told him story after story of every little Italian hole-in-the-wall he’d ever eaten at.

Stephen let his guard down. That’s what he chalks it up to, later.

He went to take a bite from his plate, and his hand went completely slack. He watched in abject horror as his fork fell, clattering loudly onto his plate and sending risotto spattering all over the front of him.

Tony gaped at him again.

The pleasant hum of chatter from the rest of the customers fell silent.

Stephen’s eyes burned as his hands began to tremble uncontrollably. He scrambled for his napkin, for anything -

Everyone’s eyes hooked into him, and his face flushed with shame. Deep shame, shame that he hadn't ever given voice to for fear that it would rise up and swallow him whole.

The same looks he was given in PT, the same looks he was given in the hospital as he recovered. Everyone looked at him, and everyone saw how useless he was, how pathetic, even Doctor Strange can’t fix -

A sudden warmth landed in his lap. Tony’s hands over his. He looked up - it was still too quiet in here -

“Hey, baby? Stephen. You’re breathing a little hard, okay? Focus on me.”

Stephen nodded dumbly, the immediate roaring in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of Tony's voice.

“That’s it. Easy, now, babe. I’m just gonna clean you up, okay? Keep focusing on me. No one else in here matters. They’re just rubber-necking, you know how it is…"

Tears flooded Stephen’s vision as he watched the now-blurry Tony take his napkin and kneel beside his chair, carefully wiping him up. He felt like an invalid, he felt stupid and weak and miserable. He felt like a burden.

“We can stay here and finish eating,” Tony whispered, quickly waving off two servers who were approaching to attempt to help, “or we can go home. What do you wanna do?”

Stephen cleared his throat, his body going hot with humiliation as he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. “Home.”

Tony was quick to wipe it up. “Okay, baby. Home it is."

—————————

Tony handled the check and got them outside, helping Stephen conjure a portal to the compound. They stepped through, and Tony immediately went back to taking care of Stephen, easing him out of his blazer and shoes.

“How about a nice hot bath, huh?” Tony suggested. “Something nice and easy.”

Stephen nodded again.

“Okay.”

Tony got the bath sorted and Stephen into it, gently rubbing his shoulders and massaging his scalp as he worked shampoo through his hair.

“Stephen?”

“What?”

Tony paused, rinsing Stephen’s hair carefully, keeping the suds out of his eyes. “You okay?”

Stephen’s jaw tightened, and he turned his head to stare at the tiles on the far wall of the bathroom. “Fine."

“Baby," Tony sighed, his damp fingers coming to smooth along the side of Stephen’s face. “Relax. If you don't wanna talk, we don't have to. But you gotta relax, or you're gonna give yourself a headache.”

Stephen closed his eyes, taking deep, even breaths. Tony's hands wandered, massaging at every little knot of tension he found until Stephen was a bit more pliant and malleable under his touch.

Tony reheated the bath, turning off the water when Stephen suddenly spoke.

“I'm so fucking useless.”

Tony turned to look back at him, his mouth pulling off to one side. "You know what I’m gonna say to that.”

Stephen nodded. “I know. But it's true. My - the whole point of selling everything, leaving everyone was to fix my hands. And I didn’t. I shake like a - I plan days around not wanting to hold breakable things in front of you. Did you know that?"

Tony shook his head.

“I do,” Stephen continued. “I do. And these - damn things - “ he growled, slapping his hands back down into the water, “don’t do anything! I can’t even go out to dinner with you without making a fool of myself, and being some - some spectacle - "

“Stephen, baby? Breathe. You can keep going - “

"Shut up, Tony,” Stephen said at once. “Just - for once, shut up. I don't want to talk through it, I don't want you to play - nurse and make me feel better. I want you to shut up, and leave me alone.”

Tony sat back on his heels, nodding. He pushed himself up from the tile floor, his knees popping and ankles cracking as he came to the edge of the tub again.

“I think you're a miracle,” Tony breathed, kissing the top of Stephen's head. “And I love you very much. G’night, honey. Come get me if you need me.”

Tony walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Stephen looked down at his hands again, and began to cry in earnest, swallowing back sobs and burying his face in his trembling, weak hands.

That seemed to be the only thing they were good for.

Catching his regret, his shame, his humiliation.

And holding it in those thin, pale scars for the world to see.