Chapter Text
The earth is covered with ashes. Even the most desperate person is looking strictly ahead now, not under feet. Everywhere but not here.
from the outside, it looks like an insurrection of the insane.
Someone was lucky not to pretend but crack up for real. Tony would be happy to echo this sort of optimism but that plague touches only the selected. Iron man is vaccinated from sentiment in all possible ways. The red planet has done its work, the old woman can rest in peace.
Stark carefully washes his hands, white foam smells of bergamot and copper.
oddly as there has been no blood.
If you lick those ashes, will it be salty? Or sweet? Did Thanos have any idea how to cremate alive or was it a sick improvisation?
Tony would have liked if along with the people had also disappeared all their houses, belongings, their photos. He would have liked to not be able to go back to where you just simply have no power to return.
rush on the autopilot of morality, at the speed of light. It’s a good thing that the traffic rules do not apply to the framework of the apocalypse.
When Stark announced a new residence, no one was surprised. They compared everything and decided that, yes, they need a sagging sofa and a terry carpet in the living room. They need the comfort of an ordinary person, not a den of refugees.
A little later, the duty to act and decide will come again. It is already breathing down the back but you can brush it off a couple of times. Thanks to Steve and his orders.
steve told everyone - at ease. And at ease means everything is permitted.
For the tenth time rewind the answering machine, just for the sake of three words - that is quite masochistic.
The rest are more fortunate. No one except Peter used such nonsense. Spy principles. Steve could have done such a stupid thing, but no one has taught him.
Rogers, as it should be, is patient. He is the spitting image of James Barnes now, save for a ripped-off arm and drawn stars across the chest.
Steve is cold, frozen-hearted inside and out, but it’s not so funny anymore. Actually, laughing at his stone face seems to be the unfunniest thing nowadays. Captain cleaned out the nails from the loved one just mere twenty minutes ago and then gave way to Stark. A noble gesture, if only he’d stop staring.
Because Peter is everywhere. On clothes, in his hair…
In order to get rid of his voice, you’ll need at least Hydra. Secret codes, shock therapy, freaking hypnosis.
"Please, throw the answering machine away."
"Already did."
Tony is glad. They both know that there is a whole archive of video and audio recordings on the base. That’s why they are elsewhere.
Steve pulls out a pink towel without waiting for a request. Not the olive branch but still fine.
"Thanks, Cap."
The captain looks through Tony, through his fleeting relief. He’s gazing either at parallel worlds or at Hell itself. Thanos should have snagged these eye while he could because they do not yield to the stones of infinity even for a little bit. These eyes will take away their own - snap whatever you want, Purple.
"Steven Grant Rogers, what are you up to?"
"Do you have Fury’s number?"
"You offend me, I'm a genius and remember it by heart."
"Call him."