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Stephen had known the ending since Titan. He had seen exactly what would happen, exactly who would die, in fourteen million different futures. He knew how the final battle would turn out, so when Tony looked at him across the field, standing alone against Thanos, he raised one finger.
( “How many did you see?”
“Fourteen million six hundred and five.”
“How many did we win?”
“One.” )
Tony nodded. He stood up. He fought, using every inch of his skill and genius to his advantage. It was a cutthroat dance, a bloody performance, and Tony had stood victorious at the end, gauntleted hand encrusted with Infinity Stones. With a snap of his fingers, he made Thanos and his army crumble into dust. Exactly the way Stephen knew he would.
And then, Tony died.
Stephen had known it was going to happen. There was no other way. But that didn’t make Peter’s anguished screams ( no, Tony, please, we won, don’t leave me ), Pepper’s quiet grief ( you can rest now ), Rhodes’s soft pleading ( Tones, Tones, don’t do this you bastard, please, Tony, open your eyes ) any less painful.
He went to the funeral to mourn a man that he knew well. Tony didn’t know him- never would, now- but fourteen million futures of watching the man had endeared him to Stephen. He would’ve been proud to call Tony his friend, if he hadn’t gotten him killed.
No one else could have defeated Thanos. People tried- Steve Rogers died a million times for nothing, Thor was blinded by anger and gutted two million times, even Bruce Banner was powerless in the three million futures where he took Tony’s place. In the scant half-million where Tony didn’t help the Avengers figure out the Quantum Realm, the Snap was never reversed and Thanos was never killed. Unless Tony put on the Gauntlet, the world was doomed.
Every time he put it on, though, Stephen had to watch him die. But when he didn’t, everyone else died. Stephen knew Tony, from future upon future upon future of watching, and he knew what Tony would do when faced with an impossible situation.
For all his talk about cutting the wire, Tony was the first to throw himself on it.
There was no other way . It tasted like dust in his mouth. It wasn’t a comfort to him, much less to Tony’s grieving widow or sobbing child.
He wasn’t sure why he was still at the farmhouse. The funeral had ended already; most of the others had dispersed. Tony’s inner circle had retreated indoors to mourn the loss of their friend. Stephen stood alone on the patio, unable to intrude on their grief. They, at least, could grieve. Stephen couldn’t, not after he signed Tony’s death warrant.
The sun had set, casting the whole place in silvery shadow. He stared out across the lake where Tony’s arc reactor had been floated on a bed of flowers.
Footsteps sounded behind him, soft and tentative.
“Stephen,” Pepper greeted. Stephen’s eyes widened in shock; he didn’t expect her, of all people, to come to him. Unless it was to kill him (and he’d let her, if he was being honest). “Why are you out here all alone?”
“Just thinking,” he said lamely. Thinking didn’t encapsulate it, really, but it was all he had to say.
“Stephen,” she said gently. “You’re crying.”
He raised one scarred and shaking hand to his cheek. It was wet; he hadn’t even noticed when the tears came. “Sorry,” he whispered.
She scrutinized him for a moment. “He is- was - very easy to love,” she said, staring off into the lake. She came to stand next to him, her shoulder brushing his. She didn’t say his name; he wouldn’t have, either. They both knew who they were talking about.
“I don’t-” he started, then stopped himself. He did love Tony. Not like Pepper loved him, not like Peter did. It was friendship, the curse of knowing Tony too well. How could he have watched the man sacrifice his life seven million times for the world and not love him? He wished the man were alive so he could tell him that.
“Fourteen million,” said Pepper, somewhat chiding. “Fourteen million futures is a long time to not get attached.”
Stephen hung his head. “So you know?”
“Resentment is toxic,” said Pepper with a sad smile. “And now-” she choked on a sob. “Now he can rest.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“I know,” Pepper breathed out a sigh. “I miss him.”
“Am I allowed to miss him? I-” did this, he couldn’t finish.
Pepper turned to him, letting him read the grief on her face. “Of course you are,” she said, touching his shoulder. “Come inside. We’re sharing our favorite Tony stories.”
Stephen shook his head. “I can’t.” I can’t encroach on your grief. I don’t deserve to.
“You can,” she said, and there was Pepper Potts in all her glory. The hint of iron in her voice was all her, the woman who charged into battle against Thanos’s army and held her own. Her voice was steady despite its hoarseness. She was a pillar of strength and Stephen envied her for a moment, especially as his own voice cracked with sorrow.
“He wasn’t my friend,” he denied. “He wasn’t.”
“You loved him.”
“That doesn’t matter. He didn’t even like me,” said Stephen, breaking. He could feel the tears, this time, warm and wet on his cheeks. “And I- it’s my fault he’s gone.”
Pepper’s stare was even, unrelenting, even though her eyes were rimmed with red. “It’s Thanos’s fault,” she said firmly. “Come inside or I’ll put on my suit and make you, Stephen. I’m sure he did some idiotic things in those fourteen million futures, right?”
It was an olive branch, Stephen recognized it. After a moment of silence, he took it.
“He sure did,” he choked out, following Pepper indoors, to where Tony’s family was sitting and remembering him alive.
She cast a watery smile at him as he sat down in their circle. It felt a little like forgiveness.