Curiosity Killed the Cat...

As the conversation drifted into comfortable silence, Tony casually leaned back against the nearest workbench, his gaze sliding to Stephen, still in his cat form, who was quietly inspecting a holographic projection of a reactor core that JARVIS was in the middle of constructing. The black cat seemed so at ease in Tony's world, yet somehow still out of place.

"Alright," Tony said, breaking the quiet, his voice casual but curious, "I've got to ask. Why are you still a cat? I mean, I've seen you transform into a human, so it's not like you're stuck this way and you seemed more comfortable in the form after you met your cloak. So what gives?"

Stephen froze mid-step, his tail swishing behind him. He turned his sharp gaze to Tony, his ears flicking slightly as though debating whether to answer.

JARVIS's voice chimed in, slightly more curious than usual. "Forgive me, sir, but I find myself similarly intrigued. I was under the impression that your current form was more of a preference than a necessity."

Stephen sighed softly, his tail flicking once more before he hopped onto the workbench, sitting primly and wrapping his tail around his paws. "It's easier this way," he said, his tone calm but guarded. "As I said, being human… makes things more intense. My emotions, my thoughts—everything becomes louder. As a cat, I can process things at my own pace."

Tony tilted his head, studying him. "I get that being a cat is like… emotional noise-canceling for you?"

Stephen smirked faintly. "Something like that."

Tony grinned, crossing his arms. "Well, that's all fine and good, but I think it's time for a change. You've been parading around as a feline long enough. Let's see more of the real you."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "The real me?"

"Yeah," Tony said, gesturing vaguely. "Come on. Transform. Let's see those handsome features again."

Stephen rolled his eyes but stood, the Cloak of Levitation shifting slightly around his neck as if sensing what was about to happen. "Fine."

With a shimmer of golden light, Stephen's small feline form began to shift, stretching upward as limbs elongated and fur receded. Within moments, he stood before Tony and JARVIS in his human form, dressed in a simple black tunic and pants, his red cloak restored and hovering subtly behind him. With a flick of his hands, the elegant robes transformed into a more casual outfit—a dark t-shirt and black pants, though the cloak remained draped over his shoulders, as if unwilling to fully disappear.

Tony blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Well, damn," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "You clean up nice."

Stephen tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or objectification."

Tony smirked, gesturing vaguely at him. "Why not both?"

Stephen sighed, crossing his arms as his piercing blue eyes flicked toward JARVIS's nearest interface. "I assume this is less surprising to you?"

JARVIS, ever composed, replied, "I must admit, sir, I find it fascinating to witness such a transformation. It is… not something I ever encountered."

Stephen inclined his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, consider yourself lucky, as most people don't get to see this at all."

Tony chuckled, leaning against the workbench. "So, what's the verdict, JARVIS? Does he pass the Stark Industries dress code?"

"I believe he exceeds it, sir," JARVIS replied smoothly.

Tony laughed, shaking his head. "There you go, Strange. You've officially been approved by the smartest AI in the world."

Stephen let out a small huff, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes and as the conversation shifted, JARVIS's voice came through again, this time tinged with curiosity. "If I may, Dr. Strange, your abilities and knowledge are extraordinary. You must have been a remarkable figure in your universe."

At the sound of the name, Stephen froze. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened. The light in his expression extinguished as though a switch had been flipped.

The sudden change didn't go unnoticed.

Tony straightened, his grin fading as his brow furrowed. "Whoa. What's with the tension? JARVIS calls you 'Dr. Strange,' and suddenly you look like someone just walked over your grave. What gives?"

Stephen's hand drifted to the edge of his cloak, his fingers tightening around the fabric as he looked away. His lips parted, but for a long moment, no words came.

"Stephen?" Tony pressed, his tone softer now, the teasing gone. "What's going on?"

Finally, Stephen let out a quiet sigh, his voice low and heavy. "My whole name is Stephen Vincent Strange. And in this universe… there was another Stephen. A version of me that existed here."

Tony's brow furrowed further, his curiosity sharpening. "And?"

Stephen's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the floor. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "And… he's dead."

The words hung in the air like a physical weight, pressing down on the room.

Tony's expression softened, his voice quiet. "Dead? How?"

Stephen closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath before answering. "A car accident. A senseless, random tragedy. He was supposed to live, but, well.. he never became Sorcerer Supreme—never even had the chance to discover the mystical arts. His life ended before it could truly begin."

Tony was silent, his arms crossing over his chest as he processed this. "That's… rough," he said finally, his voice subdued.

Stephen nodded slightly, his gaze distant, his fingers still gripping the edge of his cloak. "Hearing that name here… it's like staring at a ghost. A reminder of what could have been. Of someone who never got to live the life I've lived." He paused, his voice growing quieter. "He didn't get to fight. To learn. To grow. He didn't get to find a purpose beyond himself."

His voice wavered slightly, and for a moment, the mask of composure slipped, revealing the grief he kept buried.

"I should've been the one who died," Stephen murmured, his tone laced with guilt. "But instead, I'm standing here, in a universe that doesn't belong to me, wearing his name like a stolen identity."

Tony stepped closer, his usual snark replaced by something gentler. "Hey," he whispered, placing a hand on Stephen's shoulder. "You stole nothing. You're not pretending to be him—you're you. And for what it's worth, I'm pretty damn glad you're here."

Stephen looked at Tony, surprise flickering across his face. "Are you?"

Tony smirked faintly, though it was tinged with sincerity. "Yeah, I am. You saved my life, Steph. Hell, you saved Yinsen's life, too. And as far as I'm concerned, the universe got it right putting you here, because you're already doing more good than most people ever could."

Stephen's shoulders sagged slightly, the tension easing as he let out a quiet breath. "You have an irritating way of making sense, Anthony."

Tony grinned, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. "It's a gift."

For a long moment, the room was silent, the weight of the conversation lingering like a ghost.

Stephen turned away slightly, his gaze drifting to the holographic displays glowing softly in the dim light. "It's strange," he murmured, almost to himself. "The thought of his life ending so abruptly… it feels like I failed him somehow."

Tony leaned back against the workbench, his arms crossed. "You didn't fail him, Strange. You didn't even know him. What happened to him… it wasn't on you."

Stephen's cloak fluttered faintly, as if sensing his turmoil, and he reached up to brush his fingers across its fabric. "Maybe," he said quietly. "But I can't help wondering what kind of life he might've had. If he could've found the same purpose I did."

Tony tilted his head, studying Stephen for a moment before speaking. "Maybe he didn't get to live the life you've lived. But you're here now. And maybe that means you've got the chance to honor him by doing what he couldn't."

Stephen glanced at him, his blue eyes thoughtful. "You really are irritatingly insightful sometimes."

Tony grinned. "Told you—it's a gift."

And though the grief didn't fade entirely, Stephen felt the faint stirrings of something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time: the possibility of letting go.

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