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The Snap happens.
———————-
There’s dust. There’s so much dust.
It gets in his eyes, in his nose, in his lungs. It works its way up every vein, every artery, every fiber of his body.
It took his brain. He couldn’t think. He was happy about it though. He always had a way, always had to think, now he can’t. He can’t do anything.
It filled his lungs. He can’t speak, he can barely breathe. He likes it better that way. He deserves it.
It finds his heart.
He deserves that too.
The blue woman next to him has been standing and looking out into the empty orange sky for a while. It got her too. It got her before The Snap. He knows when it got her.
She gets up. “We need to find the Milano. We need to find the rest of your people. The ones who can help. The survivors.”
He doesn’t answer. The words ring in his head, shattered against the emptiness. They’re the last ones he’s heard since…since-
I’m sorry.
Yeah, silence is better.
“They told me you’re a mechanic. A genius. The kid told me.” She continues, trying to snap Tony back into reality.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to. He won’t.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours, could even be days. But it’s quiet again. He likes the quiet.
“Get yo you bastard!” The blue lady shouts at him. She kneels in front of him. Her shoulders are shaking and her breathe is ragged. “You weren’t the only one who lost someone! You weren’t the reason this all happened!”
Silence. Tony looks up. He hasn’t moved since…since.
“She won’t come back. She can’t. He killed her, not the snap.” Her tears are free falling now. “You can get him back. You can. So help me.”
Her black eyes stare at his and for the first time he sees her. She’s broken. Rebuilt with incompatible parts, but broken. This is a piece metal can’t replace.
So he gets up. He doesn’t know how, but he’s on his feet walking to the Milano. He doesn’t have a plan, he just has a destination.
Home.
——————-
He sees him. Only him. There were others around of course. But he didn’t see them. Just him.
He lands the ship and gets off. He makes it about five feet before his knees buckle. The wound in his side slowly reopening alongside his concussion don’t make it easy. He waits to meet the ground. He’s met with soft, long arms. He doesn’t open his eyes, his arms know their way around. They find themselves wrapping around a familiar chest.
“Tony? Tony you-you’re alive?” He hears. It’s far though. No, it’s too close. It’s too close. The last time that voice was this close he-
He’s my friend.
He shudders and pushes with all his force, which isn’t much but he feels him let him go, almost immediately. His eyes are open now, he can see him.
His blue eyes are glistening with tears. They lead to his cheeks. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept. Or trained. He’s given up.
His hair is long. He doesn’t let himself like it. Same with the beard.
His eyes are red. They were like that before Tony came. They were like that since The Snap.
The dust got him too.
They all rush to him, asking him questions, where he was, who he’s with.
Was with.
Who he was with.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t want to.
He wants the quiet.
He likes it quiet.
———————-
Avengers facility. It feels like home. He’s alone now. He left Wakanda at night. A girl saw him, he thinks it was T’Challas sister. She didn’t say anything, she just opened the barrier.
He’s alone in a place he used to call home.
He doesn’t live here anymore. He only calm to do one thing.
He finds it, hidden away behind some old prototypes in his workshop. He hadn’t used it in two years, but he wanted to. No he didn’t.
He straps it on his head, remembering how it works. And it turns on.
“Friday.” His voice is scratchy. The sound clawing it’s way past the dust. “Friday find Peter Parker.”
“I found all files including Mr. Parker, sir.” The voice replies, smooth as ever. She doesn’t have dust.
“Erase them.” He chokes. He has to.
“Sir if I may interjec-“
“Friday, please. It’s the only way I can save him. It’s the only way I can save any of them.” He begs his AI.
He doesn’t want to. It feels like dying. It feels like dust.
But he can’t get anything done with this pain. With this failure. So he does what he has to do.
The machine whirs. There’s white.
And then there’s nothing.
There’s still dust.
It’s not enough.
“Friday,” He chokes. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he can- “Steve Rogers.”
“Sir, please listen-“
“Friday...” His tears slip from his eyes and onto his chest. “I can’t love and fight anymore.”
A beat.
“Very well sir.”
He used to love his BARF technology. It took away all the bad memories. Made him hate himself less, some days.
There’s not much he loves now. Whatever he erased before is gone. Whoever it was, whatever it was…he knew he loved them. He must have.
But this love. This love destroyed him before it was real. This love built him and loved him and helped him and needed him and...and this love was real. It was powerful.
He did, and he does and he will always love, Steve Roge-
White.
Nothing.