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When Tony leaves Titan, Nebula in tow, he’s exhausted in a way he’s never experienced before which is saying a lot.
Tony’s a connoisseur of exhaustion courtesy of his raging insomnia and the never-ending cycle of night terrors, now with added content featuring the echoing Snap that could be heard throughout the galaxy, and the dust he can never wipe off, nor want to.
Despite his best wishes, he knew he’d lose Peter the minute Thanos left them on Titan. Just like Tony knew his worst nightmare was coming to fruition when the glance at his hand produced nothing but the ashes that made up Peter.
Before him, space is nothing but a yawning chasm, and he wonders if he screams – if anyone will hear him.
Nebula tells him flatly that she will, and he’s so surprised he actually snorts.
“Thanos knew you,” she eventually says.
“I knew him too.”
The alien woman doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look his way. “It isn’t over.”
Tony exhales. “I know.” He never knew how they would reach this point, only that they would. Only that he could do nothing to change the outcome no matter how many killer androids he created, how many gods he stood toe-to-toe with, how much of his soul he paid with.
The Doctor’s words echo, “It was the only way” and Tony takes that for the comfort it is.
The outcome has already been written.
But after – after hasn’t. After, he can still change. After, Tony can write himself.
When Quill’s ship reaches Earth’s stratosphere, Friday comes on the comms, and Tony’s so relieved that the Snap didn’t take her too. He’s already lost one child today, and Jarvis alone is still such a gaping wound, the thought of Peter...No, if Friday had been gone too - no, Tony can’t –
“Boss," she all but whimpers.
He swallows, clenches his fist to stop it from shaking, and asks, “Who?”
For a moment, his girl hesitates, and then with a whisper, she shatters his resolve, “All of them.”
It takes less than an hour to make landfall, to see what remains of Earth, what is left after the attacks by Thanos’ children and then by what is left behind after the Snap itself. Tony doesn’t register much despite the newsreels Friday sends through to Quill’s ship. The number of those disintegrated is innumerable, but those that have remained that were simply a consequence of it are in the thousands by early estimates.
The Tower is ironically untouched, and the penthouse echoes in the absence.
The television is still on, but the cable’s out.
Happy’s pot of oatmeal is still on the stove, Pepper’s chamomile tea has gone cold in her forgotten teacup next to her Starkpad, Rhodey’s files are still scattered on the dining room table alongside the R&D proposals Tony had been looking over before Pepper had convinced him to go for a run:
“It’ll only be for thirty minutes. Come on, you’ve been complaining about those proposals for two days, I thought you’d jump at a distraction!” And now it was like she was just in the lobby of the Tower, terrorizing front desk.
Like Rhodey himself had just stepped out to take one of his quote-unquote “Grown-Up” phone calls.
Like Happy was only in the other room so he could watch his Downton Abbey episodes without Tony’s quips.
Like they’re all still here.
But wouldn’t that just figure? Tony’s always been surrounded by ghosts.
It doesn’t take long before Friday informs him that he has calls waiting, a lot of them. Every Tom, Dick, and Frank want to know what happened, where he’s been, what he did, why it wasn’t enough. Tony's good at that, though, he’s had hours to ruminate and craft a response like Pepper and Rhodey would want.
He knows what to say, he knows who they want, and if Nebula raises a brow at the voice and the mask Tony puts on, he ignores her.
Right until he can’t anymore because she has a blaster aimed at the doorway in warning, and Tony almost wants to tell her to forget it – let whoever that’s come, finish it.
But Barnes does nothing more than stand there, hands visible at his sides, expression carefully neutral.
“Of course, of all the people that could get Snapped, you managed to avoid it. How typical.” When Barnes’ expression falls in a look of pure devastation so raw in the face of all the numbness Tony’s been operating under, he gapes. “Bucky?”
The surprise at Tony’s realization is clear, almost joyous even as it wars with an anguish that's pure guilt, “I know you don’t want me around, I’m probably the last person you want to even see considering but – I want to help.”
Tony’s still too baffled to think of anything beyond, “Why?”
Barnes licks his lips, anxious and shamed as he avoids Tony’s eyes. “He – the Soldier – he’s gone.” In a rush, Bucky adds, “I know it’s probably – a good thing – but I don’t know how to be without him, no matter what Steve says. I know it’s twisted to even be asking you with what we did to you, but I…” He swallows hard and his gaze finally settles as he says, “I need him back. He’s all I’ve got.”
And Tony – Tony gets that, and so does Nebula.
They exchange a look, and she lowers her blaster. Even if it’s just wishful thinking, a moment of clarity in their shared loneliness, Tony thinks at least for now, we’ve got each other.
They can’t change what’s been done or what has passed. There is only after. There is only forward.
Not everyone shares the sentiment.
It takes a month for Rogers to make his way to the Tower, and in another life, maybe Tony would be bitter that they’re all still here: Romanova, Barton, Maximoff, Wilson. Rogers gets to keep them.
Tony would be bitter about it except he doesn’t care because if they aren’t here to help with figuring out what to do after the Snap, they’re of no use to him, and Tony can’t afford any distractions.
Both Bucky and Nebula seem to agree, looking ready to throw them out on their asses with several less limbs.
Unfortunately not before Rogers pushes his way in with, “Really, Tony, the Accords?” He says it with such disdain, such condescending disappointment – as if Tony should’ve known better, as if he should’ve done more.
Never mind that the world is fragile now, less a bomb and more a bull standing in a china shop waiting to make its mark. It’ll cause damage with the slightest move, it already has. There have been two wars declared in Europe alone, Asia is in shambles, North and South America is in fragments. Politics is a landmine, and having vigilantes running around aggravating tentative treaties between communities doesn’t help matters either.
To have this be what Rogers brings up – what Rogers wants to fight about while the population of Earth is on the verge of implosion a full month after the Snap, all while Tony claws for purchase, searching for an Emergency Button, a Reset in the debris of the dusted bodies of his loved ones?
It isn't just a slap in the face, it's a kick to the stomach. It’s taking the shield to the chest again again again.
Tony would know all about that.
But of course, Rogers wouldn’t understand. He hadn't lost anyone. He can afford to live in the past. For him, there’s only ever been what was before.
In contrast, after is all Tony has. After is all Tony is.
The reminder burns white-hot, smoking through the grief and the soul-deep exhaustion that’s sent Tony on autopilot through the past month since he made landfall. The shell he’s been in, protected by the unrelenting reminder that I need to get through this, and even if I can’t, I have to breaks like an egg around him.
He’s vicious with it, so furious he's incandescent.
Because Tony’s always thought about what happens after: after gods, after aliens and wormholes. He’s always tried to prepare for the consequences, the inevitable that if those things exist – others must too – and they may get through one, but there’s no guarantee they’ll make it out of another.
Steve’s unwillingness to see it, his unwillingness to be proactive and fucking do something instead of moving backwards –
Bucky realizes what’s coming before it does, shoots Steve a warning look he ignores, and Tony thinks fine. Fucking, fine.
“You know what?” Tony begins with a chuckle devoid of mirth. “You don’t get it. You weren’t here. You weren’t there. You never are, and frankly, I’ve had it with your righteous bullshit. The only reason I got onboard with the Accords was because they were alway going to happen because the Avengers had no accountability, and it was a long time coming.”
“I signed the Accords because I believe in being responsible for my actions, for checks and balances, and making sure I don’t leave a place worse than when I found it. I signed the Accords because Mrs. Spencer rightly blamed me for the death of her son who was just some innocent kid caught in the crossfire of a country he volunteered to help. I signed the Accords because of the number of deaths on our heads that we never stopped to think about.” He looks at Romanova and says, near-hysterical, “We were never clearing the red from our ledgers, not by saving one life only to end another’s, and never taking responsibility for it.”
Satisfyingly, her expression shutters and she looks away. It’s just fine with Tony, he’d always expected her betrayal, had always known she was going to disappoint him.
But Steve? Steve Rogers who Howard measured him against, who the United States people differed to on the basis of his patriotism, who’d never been told enough that he was wrong ever since he got big in a lab –
“Why do I think you’ll get it now?” Tony asks, mainly to himself even as he levels his gaze on the Captain. “I told you why I signed in the first place, and you didn’t get it. You didn’t care. Because what was the lives of collateral against the lives you could still save? We are not soldiers, Rogers, and we don’t trade lives.”
Almost defiantly, Rogers raises his chin, and Tony can’t help but chuckle again, dark with amusement he doesn’t feel. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? Isn’t that what you said to Vision?”
Before Rogers can take his inch and go a mile, and take over a fight he arrogantly thought he’d lead them to victory in without any of the preparation, Tony adds flatly, “Not that it matters, you choose him over half the galaxy and we still lost them both.”
His own role in their failure to be the hero everyone saw him as so blatantly thrown in his face, sends Rogers reeling like he’d been physically hit, and if Tony didn’t think it was a fucking tragedy that no one had told Rogers enough to his face that he was wrong, he’d laugh.
Instead, with a tightening throat, Tony admits, “I prepared. I tried anyway. I did. Ultron wasn’t – he wasn’t ready, but he existed because I knew. Because we had an alien invasion in New York, and gods on our doorstep and something bigger was always going to come.”
He doesn’t mention the Witch, the visions she forced upon him even as she flinches.
“Cartels and terrorists, we can fight any day of the week,” Tony says with some humor that’s real. An inside joke, a respite. His voice levels though as he poses, “But what were our odds out there? What were our odds when they made landfall and we were all that stood between a Titan and the Universe?” A thousand to one. This was the only way. “And what did you tell me? That if we lost, we’d lose together? Because I went up there, and you were nowhere to be found. Because I lost, and I lost alone.”
At that Rogers looks chastised, sympathetic – pitying, and Tony – Tony can’t believe this bullshit. With an unwavering gaze and ice in his voice, Tony says, “You didn’t get it when I reminded you of the people who died needlessly when we destroyed cities trying to save the world. Fair enough, you didn’t know them. So, try this on for size: Peter Parker. Happy Hogan. James Rhodes. Pepper Potts. The Winter Soldier. They’re gone, and I blame you.”