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Tony put down the helmet, looking out across the vast expanse of space. At least he had a chance to see it before he died. He could really look, without scanning for approaching enemy ships, without calculating battle strategies, without thinking about where the kid was or who was going to attack or what was going to happen.
There was no more planning, no more battles. No more last-ditch attempts or brilliant strokes of inspiration. There was just this piece of space junk, and his face pressed against the glass. The slow-moving galaxy that surrounded him, a myriad of white and black, intermingled with distant purples and blues and greens.
He, Tony Stark, was nothing more than an asteroid. Doomed to crater into oblivion.
He supposed he was lucky that it would end here, so that he could really look. There wasn’t an alien race bent on destroying New York, or a snotty kid from Queens following him around, or a former business partner with a vendetta that might destroy the world.
The world would turn on, or not, without him.
There was something comforting about knowing you were going to die. It released you from responsibilities. It made the idea of indulging in a view instead of saving the universe not selfish, but warranted.
For the first time since he’d made the suit in that cave, everything that was going wrong in the world, in the universe, had to be someone else’s problem.
His suit was out of battery. There was no food, no water, and the oxygen wouldn’t last til morning. He’d sent a last message out to Pepper, knowing that she might be dead like half the world, knowing that it might be going to an empty planet devoid of life entirely—who knew if Thanos had miscalculated?
There were no more tricks to pull. No more suits to pull out of spare parts and last-ditch innovations. No new elements to discover or rediscover.
There was only the vast, cold expanse of space. Beckoning him to look, look, while he still had a chance. Take in the blanket of stars and the occasional shooting spark of light, the drifting space junk from various missions.
Take it all in, one last time, before it ended.
Steve had once accused him of never being able to surrender for the greater good. Never being the soldier who would fall on the grenade for his comrades, who would sacrifice his life in an instant if it meant others could survive for one more day.
Tony thought he’d proven Steve wrong in New York, chasing that last alien out into space, letting himself be carried to his death.
But he’d known that Thor was there. He’d known there must be a way. A loophole he hadn’t though of. Some bit of alien technology that might help him.
A tiny clause of self-preservation in the fine print.
Then again, maybe Steve had realized he’d been fooled, during that fight in Russia. Maybe he’d realized that for Tony, there was no such thing as a negative endgame. No such thing as an impossible choice, where your death outweighed the needs of thousands.
No such thing as sacrificing yourself for everyone else.
And now, Tony thought bitterly, he wouldn’t even have that. This was not a blaze of glory like Steve had done, launching his plane into the ocean to save the world. This wasn’t even that first battle, falling into oblivion to save the planet.
This was just a man with a broken suit, waiting for his oxygen to run out in a universe that was already destroyed.
This was the end of Iron Man.
A tear rolled down Tony’s cheek, and he took a shuddering breath. Was that the slow dissolution of oxygen, or his own anxiety creeping into his heart?
He looked out again at the stars, trying to soak them all in. Trying to make up for all the times he hadn’t looked up, before he’d realized that the sky was beautiful, and everywhere, especially when you were a part of it.
He didn’t have much time left to appreciate the end, but at least he had this moment. This time to compose himself, before death came to greet him.
His biggest regret was Steve. The words he’d hurled at him, in his all his hurt and rage. “Take the shield. It doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
He’d thrown Steve’s love for him back in his face, bitterness and blood lacing his tongue. And how had Steve responded?
“If you need me, I’ll be there.”
But I wasn’t there for you, Tony thought, wishing there was someone around to transmit these last thoughts, this last apology, to Earth. I should have been there. Should have listened. Should have understood.
I love you. I’m sorry.