Summary:
After Thanos defeats the Avengers, Tony Stark’s
spirit is broken. He falls.
But then he finds a reason to rise again — and
become the man his family needs.
--*--
Or: Snapshots of Tony’s life in the first year
after the Snap.
--*--
Introductory Notes:
This story is a massive labor of
love. It’s taken me a month to complete and is, at present, the longest piece of
fiction I’ve ever written.
There were two sources of inspiration for this
idea. One, my brother and I have talked quite a bit about what would actually
happen if half of all macrobiota on Earth disappeared in a cloud of dust. Some
of the background details I’ve included here are fruits of those conversations.
Two - and more importantly - the shift that
takes place in Tony Stark’s demeanor between the opening scenes of Endgame
and the scenes after the five-year gap is, for me, endlessly fascinating. He
becomes a noticeably softer and more settled character — almost
as if he’s spent the missing interval working on his emotional and spiritual
health. So my principal goal in writing this novella was to take Tony through
that transition — to explain how he could make the journey from the deeply
traumatized shell we see in that conference room to the gentle daddy we see
later. And yes: it involves some actual therapy.
I’m not posting this on one of the major fan
fiction sites because I’m not sure this story will fit in well with the other
content on those platforms. But if I were going to use a site
like AO3, these are some of the tags that would probably apply: Tony Stark Has
A Heart (obviously); Tony Stark Needs A Hug (and fortunately, he gets a few);
Tony Stark Has PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Depression; Grief &
Mourning; Suicidal Ideation; Alcohol Abuse & Other Unhealthy Coping
Mechanisms (followed by more healthy ones); Hurt/Comfort; Whump; and Domestic
Fluff (in later chapters). Oh, and Civil War Team Both — because when that does
come up, I really do try to depict both Tony and Steve as
regretful about that whole affair. (Tony’s my runaway fave, but I love Steve
too, okay?)
The dominant ship, meanwhile, is Tony/Pepper.
(But I’m sure you expected that if you’ve read my other MCU stories, which can
be found here, here, and here.)
And lastly, the rating is PG-13/Teen because, as
Cap would say, “Language, Tony!” (My Tony is a potty-mouth. Sorry.) Further,
there are two little scenes in which Adult Situations occur, but they’re not at
all explicit (because writing sex, for me, is extremely embarassing).
--*--
Chapter One
Tony was alive. Thank God, he’d
come back to her.
Whatever he’d been through, Tony was breathing,
he was solid, and Pepper could hold him in her two arms. Today, that
was what really mattered.
But as she lay in Tony’s room attempting to
process the wild emotional swings of the past few weeks, Pepper knew this was not
the end of the story. Not by a long shot. Because she’d seen the ugly new scar
on Tony’s left flank — had seen his ribs pushing against his newly brittle
skin. And in the shower, she’d felt the way Tony shook as he clung to her
shoulders, his worn-down fingertips pressing into her flesh with an almost
bruising force.
Pepper had been there after New York. She’d been
there after Ultron. And - after a fashion - she’d been there after Siberia. She
dreaded what was coming — and what it might mean for the two of them. Had she
gotten Tony back only to lose him again?
Just then, the intercom chimed, interrupting
Pepper’s fretful thoughts.
“Hey, Pep? I think you better get down here.”
Hearing the concern in Rhodey’s voice, Pepper
bolted upright, immediately alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”
When Pepper pushed her way into the crowded med
bay minutes later and saw Tony lying insensate on the bed, her heart
immediately crawled up her throat and decided to stay. “Oh, God,” she murmured.
“What happened?”
“I upset him.” Pepper spun and met Steve’s
remorseful gaze. “I’m sorry, Pepper. That wasn’t my intention.”
“It never is, is it?” Pepper replied, and she
inwardly cringed at the venom that inadvertently crept into her words.
Everyone in the room exchanged awkward
glances.
“Uh, Steve?” Bruce piped up, pausing in his
ministrations to play peacemaker. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on here,
but it might be best if you cleared the room and gave Tony some space.”
Stricken, Steve nodded once, then gestured for
Natasha and Carol to follow him out the door.
Pepper sighed as she watched them go. “That
probably wasn’t fair.” She knew that Tony was just as much at fault for what
had happened between him and Steve - Tony had even acknowledged that himself in
a few of his most unguarded moments - but the current circumstances had left
her on the ragged edge.
“He was pushing Tony for
information before Tony lost it,” Rhodey remarked from the corner, his arms
folded. “Don’t know how he didn’t notice Tony wasn’t quite —”
“Damn it, Tony!” Pepper and Rhodey both turned
their attention back to Bruce. “Why’d you have to yank that line? That was
probably your only decent vein.”
“Do you know what’s wrong, Bruce?” Pepper asked,
knotting her fingers in Tony’s dark hair. Worryingly, he was hot to the touch.
“Like I keep trying to tell everybody, I’m not
really that kind of doctor. But based on his blood work and what Nebula told
me, his pressure probably dropped when he got up out of that wheelchair. They
ran out of potable water a few days before Carol — damn!” Defeated, Bruce
shoved the needle he was holding into the sharps bin. “Rhodey, can you get a
twenty-two out of the drawer? Can’t get anything with the standard.”
Once Bruce succeeded in restarting Tony’s IV, he
wrapped it in gauze to keep it secure. Then he clipped a pulse ox to Tony’s
other finger and affixed the ECG leads. He looked up at the monitor and nodded.
“Heart rate’s too fast. But it’ll come down once we get some more fluids in
him.”
Suddenly, Tony gasped, his eyes flying open.
“Shh,” Pepper soothed, stroking Tony’s cheek.
“You’re okay. You’re safe.”
But the reassurances seemed to fall on deaf
ears. Chest heaving, Tony reared back and seized the ECG wires, apparently
determined to remove them all. Immediately, Rhodey strode up to the bed and
tried to restrain his friend’s hands. “Easy, Tony! Take it easy, man.”
“No! Don’ touch me!” Tony slurred angrily as he
fought against Rhodey’s grip. “‘M fine! Jus’ lemme ‘lone!”
“Bruce?”
After a moment of scrambling, Bruce found the
correct syringe, inserted it into Tony’s IV, and pushed down the plunger.
Though Tony started to calm down fairly quickly,
his dry, wheezing sobs continued. Slowly pounding the heel of his palm on the
bed rail, he stubbornly fought the effects of the sedative the whole way down.
By the time Tony’s eyelids fluttered shut,
Pepper could no longer see.
--*--
When Tony next awoke, the med bay was quiet, the
lights dim.
“Pep?” he croaked. Then he cleared his throat,
smacked his lips, and grimaced.
Rhodey appeared in Tony’s field of vision, his
expression grim. “Hey.”
“That bad, huh?” Tony mumbled wryly. “Just give
it to me straight: am I gonna live?”
“For now. You scared the crap out of us,
though.”
“Is Pep — ?”
“I forced her into bed a little while ago. She
looked dead on her feet.” Rhodey pulled a chair closer to the bed and took a
seat. “How do you feel?”
Tony hummed in contemplation, trying to come up
with an appropriate simile. “Like I just went ten rounds with the Hulk — inside
a trash compactor — without the armor.”
“Descriptive. Think you can handle some
sugar-free Gatorade?”
“God, yes!” Anything to get rid of
the taste in his mouth. If Tony didn’t know any better, he might’ve concluded
he’d spent the past day licking the underside of one of Barton’s old tractors.
Rhodey picked up the plastic cup that was
sitting on the bedside tray and guided its flexible straw into Tony’s mouth.
“Just a little, okay? Bruce says you need to drink a few sips every hour until
your stomach gets used to it.”
The Gatorade was fucking ambrosia
as far as Tony was concerned. He might’ve sucked down the entire thing if
Rhodey hadn’t pulled it away in time. “I think I’m in love,” he drawled after
he’d finished.
Rhodey patted Tony’s hand once in reply.
“So how long was I in la-la land?”
“Almost two days.”
Jesus. “I, uh — I remember
going postal on Rogers. What happened after my Victorian damsel routine?”
Rhodey averted his eyes. An extended, maddening
silence followed.
“C’mon, Honeybear. I’m on pins and needles over
here.”
Rhodey looked like he was steeling himself for
something. And then he spoke: “We found Thanos.”
The news crackled through Tony’s limbs like a
bolt from the blue. Driven by pure adrenaline, he sat up and pulled off every
line and monitor, little caring if he was taking pieces of his skin along with
them. If they were actually attempting a redo - if the team was actually
pursuing that glorified purple scrotum-face - he was joining the party
and no one was going to stop him.
In a moment of despair, he’d told them all that
Thanos was unbeatable — but when all was said and done, he couldn’t let the
others risk their lives without him. He couldn’t let them die and leave him
behind. No. Never again. He wanted to be there — even if that
meant he would die too.
Rhodey grabbed hold of Tony’s shoulders, trying
to hold him still. “Wait a minute,” he begged. “Just hang on a second and let
me — “
“Get. Out. Of my way,” Tony
seethed, each word a concentrated pinpoint of white-hot rage. Smacking Rhodey’s
arms away and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rose unsteadily to
his feet and stumbled towards the door.
“Tony. Tony! Tony, for God’s sake, stop!”
Rhodey lunged forward and, once again, blocked Tony’s path, splaying his
fingers against Tony’s chest. “Just — just listen, okay? I wasn’t
finished.”
Tony did stop, his jaw clenching as his right
hand closed into a fist at his side.
“After you passed out, Nebula took us right to
him. Apparently,” Rhodey added with heavy irony, “Thanos went ahead and built
himself a personal Club Med.”
Tony swallowed hard as realization dawned. “You
went without me.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Tony slowly fell to his knees, his strings cut.
All those days lost in space spent wondering what he might’ve done differently
- all those sleepless hours planning wild Hail Mary passes to salvage some
sort of hope out of all that had been shattered - and in the end, he was
too weak to seize the chance when it presented itself. Fragile, useless Tony
Stark — that’s all he was. Not a man — and certainly not a fucking hero.
Impotently, Tony punched the tile floor.
“Hey.” Rhodey crouched down beside him. “It’s
not your fault. You hear me? You wouldn’t have survived another fight, okay?
You were in no condition. And besides, even if you were, it wouldn’t have made
a difference. By the time we got there, the bastard had already destroyed the
stones. Thor killed him, if that makes you feel any better — but there was
nothing else we could do.”
Oh, God, everything hurt.
“They’re gone,” Tony choked. “We can’t bring
them back.”
“Unless someone out there can pull off a miracle
— no.”
“Half the universe.”
Saw ‘em all dead, Nick. The whole world too.
Because of me.
Tony listed, curled into a fetal position, and
covered his face with his hands. God, the mickey they’d given him was really
messing with his equilibrium. He could feel the pressure building behind his
eyes, and damn it, he wasn’t going to cry in front of Rhodey. He wasn’t.
“Tony, it’s okay.” Rhodey’s voice was husky.
“What you’re feeling — it isn’t wrong. I know you cared — especially about that
spider kid. Hell, we were all starting to wonder if Peter was your actual son
and you just forgot to let us know.”
Tony started to shake from the strain of holding
everything in. If it went on much longer, he was sure he was going to fly
apart. And wouldn’t that be something? he thought, hysteria building. Bang!
Tony-bits painting the walls!
Then Rhodey, that asshole, just had to go and
touch him — just had to start rubbing his back. That right there
unlocked a deep and secret door, freeing the wretched, lonely little piece of
Tony that yearned desperately for just that sort of kindness.
Tony’s breath hitched, and the tears came.
--*--
Pepper sat at the counter with her chin in her
hand and watched the coffee maker perk, her eyes red, her hair pulled back in a
loose, sloppy ponytail. Her last several hours had been spent in a fitful,
only-marginally-restful sleep — but she had to admit she did feel
at least somewhat more human. And once she’d downed some caffeine, she’d feel
better still.
Pepper smiled sadly at the thought. Tony Stark,
the world’s biggest coffee addict, was clearly rubbing off on her.
“Pepper?”
Pepper turned and found Bruce standing at the
door, his face radiating anxiety. Apprehension thrumming behind her own
breastbone, she started to stand, but Bruce held up his hand. “Don’t worry,
it’s not an emergency. Tony’s stable for now, but — we do need to talk.”
Pepper made space for Bruce to take the seat
beside her.
“While you were sleeping, Rhodey told Tony what
happened with Thanos. He — well, he didn’t take it well. Since then, he hasn’t
touched any of the clear fluids we’ve been giving him. We can keep him going on
an IV for a while, but if he doesn’t start taking things by mouth soon, I think
we’re looking at territory that’s definitely beyond my paygrade.”
Pepper pulled in a shaky breath and nodded.
“Okay. I’ll try to get through to him.”
“Last I heard, he was telling Rhodey he wanted
to go outside. You might want to look for him there.”
Pepper found Tony sitting in the park just
outside the compound. Barefoot and clad in thin pajamas, Tony stared
despondently into the middle distance, his skinny legs folded against his
chest. Beside him stood a silver IV pole.
Pepper sat down beside him. And then she waited.
“You can’t hear the cicadas,” Tony said after
several minutes ticked by. “You notice that?” He leaned back until he was lying
supine on the sparse, scrubby lawn. “Dad took us up here the summer before my
first semester at MIT. To this day, I’m not sure why. It ended up being a
complete shit show. Dad and I fought, as usual. Then Dad and Mom
fought. And the cicadas were fucking everywhere, screaming their freaky little
heads off 24/7.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the memory.
“God, I hated those orange-eyed bastards. Every time you went outside, the
little shits dove right for your eyeballs. No fear.”
“Sounds like you and those cicadas have
something in common.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Tony closed his eyes. “I did the
math. Assuming they’re the seventeen year brand, their mass fuck fest should’ve
started up again by now. Guess Thanos wiped them out too.” He laughed bitterly.
“Never thought I’d miss ‘em.”
“Tony.” Pepper touched Tony’s knee. “Bruce tells
me you haven’t been cooperating. Can you tell me why?” Other than the fact
that you’re usually a stubborn ox when you’re sick? Pepper’s mind helpfully
supplied.
Tony opened his mouth — then closed it and shook
his head.
“Do you want me to send Happy down to the city
to pick up some chicken broth at that place in Midtown? I think Chef Patrick is
still alive.”
Tony shook his head again. “Cheeseburger?” he
pleaded.
Pepper expected that request. Fast food - the
greasier, the better - was Tony’s version of comfort food. “I’m sorry, Tony.
Bruce says no.”
Tony slapped the ground, visibly frustrated.
Sighing, Pepper leaned over and gathered him up in her arms. “We’ll get you a
cheeseburger as soon as we can. But we have to take it slow, okay?”
Tony rested his face on Pepper’s shoulder and,
for a long while, said nothing. Then: “He died in my arms, Pep. And I couldn’t
stop it.”
So there was more going on here than
simple irritation with Bruce’s restrictions. Pepper squeezed Tony more tightly.
“I don’t know exactly what happened, Tony. And you don’t have to tell me the
whole story until you’re ready. But I’m sure you fought as hard as you could.”
“I thought about calling his aunt this morning.
But I was too much of a chickenshit to hit that button.”
“You will eventually. But first, let’s go inside
and give the broth a try.”
--*--
Later that evening, Tony finally did work up the
nerve to reach out to Aunt May — but the home and mobile numbers both went to
voicemail.
Then FRIDAY found May’s name on a list of the
missing. Small mercies. What could Tony possibly have said to her?
Peter was gone, and it was Tony’s fault. What,
would he have asked for forgiveness? Ridiculous. There could be no forgiveness
-- not for losing a kid who hadn’t even started to shave.
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