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“You should have died.” The blue woman growls.
Tony wishes he’d caught her name, because now they’re the only two people stuck on a moon together, halfway across the universe. “I know, Avatar, don’t remind me.”
“Don’t remind you?” She strides over, somehow lithe and mechanical at the same time, and stands over him. “If you had died, none of this would have happened. No end of the universe, no culling, Gamora’s sacrifice wouldn’t have been in -” She stops, voice hoarse. “We wouldn’t be stuck here. You should be dead.”
“I know. ” He struggles to his feet, everything aching. The polyseal in his wound isn’t going to last forever, but it’s holding back the worst of the blood for now. She’s taller than him, and somehow leagues more powerful, but he looks her in the eyes like he doesn’t feel it. “I messed up, again. I know. I know. I fucked up and we lost the battle and Peter-”
No. He’s not going to think about Peter. He’s not going to think about how he failed him. He can’t. That’d just throw him over into the panic attack he really doesn’t need right now.
Stupid kid. Why did he have to hitch a ride to Titan? He’d told him to go home. He’d told him, and now-
“Peter. The boy?” The woman asks, gruffly.
“...yes.”
“Your offspring?”
“No!” Yes. At least, it’s always felt like that. Ever since he’d pulled the kid off the street and set him to rights. “He’s just a kid I mentor. Teach. Keep him off the streets, you know, keeping an eye on his back. Stop him from getting hurt or kille-”
But that’s the rub, isn’t it? He hadn’t. Dammit. The damn kid should have stayed out of it.
Tony should have kept him out of it.
He doesn’t realise he’s shuddering until one of his legs gives out from underneath him and he tumbles to the dirt below. He lands heavily on one of his hands and feels the sharp grating of bones scraping across each other below his skin.
The wave of utter loss that hits him is all-encompassing and immense. Peter had been a little flighty, sure, prone to wisecracks and many, many youth things that went over his head, but he had been intelligent, and a great addition to the team. It had been good to have someone to make things for, to give a damn about, to try and keep on a good path. He’d practically loved the kid, and all. It hurts, deep in the pit of his chest. It hurts a lot.
He’s scrabbling in the dirt without any reason, breath coming short and fast. “I shouldn’t have brought him here - I should have grounded him - I should have disabled the suit - I should have stopped Strange - I should-”
And then he’s freaking the absolute fuck out in the dirt, big fat tears leaving indentations in the soil below. He can’t suck in a breath through the lump in his throat, white lights sparking in front of his eyes, and chest heaving. He’s having a fucking panic attack and he needs to breathe.
He thought he’d moved past this.
Sucking in air does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest, right where the arc reactor once was. It’s a sharp ache on every inhale, a concrete block on his back pressing him right through the ground. He needs to breathe. The sparks in his vision are coming quicker now, like a cynical prelude to a faster-than-light space jump. He needs air.
Is this how he dies? Alone in the dust, nearly 800 million miles from Earth?
A sharp smack across his face interrupts his spiraling.
He sags forward onto his elbows, air flooding into his lungs. He hacks a few times, expels a whole lot of space dust and blood, and tries very hard not to throw up.
The blue woman grabs his shoulder and roughly pushes him back onto his knees. “It is your fault that he’s dead, but you can help me fix it. Your suit. You’re an engineer, yes?”
“...yes.” He coughs again, the words coming out dry and raspy, as nausea continues to lurch and roll in his stomach. But, it’s good to have something to focus on. A purpose for living. “I can build.”
“Good.” She nods, lips pursed. “Your name?”
“Tony Stark. Iron Man.”
“Iron Man? I am Nebula.” She looks puzzled. “You are a human? Like Quill?”
“Unfortunately.” He doesn’t exactly want to be compared to Quill. Quill’s impulsive, angry, sardonic. Everything he’s not.
“And the final Infinity Stone was on Earth, so Thanos must be there as well. You will help me kill him.”
“But he’s won. ”
“We are still here, are we not?” Nebula looks down at him. Her expression isn’t angry, exactly, more concerned. Exhausted, right down to her bones.
He feels the same way. “Essentially.”
“We are still here, so we will still continue fighting. There is no sense in giving up until both of us are dead.” She says, utterly matter-of-factly.
And that is it. That is what he'll do.
For Peter.