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He’s put together a couple dozen recordings, all his rambling thoughts since losing Peter… since losing everyone.
Not everyone. He hopes not everyone.
He tries not to think about the odds, but it’s hard to keep his brain from going there. Fifty percent chance that Pepper’s still alive. Fifty percent chance that Morgan’s still alive. Only a twenty-five percent chance that they both are.
One out of four.
One chance in four that Pepper will raise Morgan as a single mom, mourning the loss of her husband alone; Morgan’s barely old enough to remember him, and Happy might be gone as well. There’s virtually no chance that this ship or its contents will get close to Earth in the next hundred years, so Pepper’s going to spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to Tony, unable to move on from that uncertainty.
That’s the thing she wanted most from him, to stop all the uncertainty. But there’s nothing he can do about that, not anymore.
She might not even be around to care. One chance in four that Pepper is gone, but Morgan remains. A few days more and she’ll be the only Stark left alive. Will she be raised by Happy, by Rhodey? Or by strangers?
Is Morgan—Pepper’s eccentric uncle, the one they named the kid after—still alive? He can’t recall; his memory’s been getting fuzzy. If the guy survived (fifty percent chance), maybe Morgan will get raised by Morgan. At least she’ll grow up offbeat, unfettered by social norms; that’s something that Tony has always hoped for her.
One chance in four that Tony’s the only one left… and not for much longer.
He shoves that thought into the blackest pit of his mind before it can undo him.
The dust stretches out around him, an endless desert sea, and his feet sink further in with each exhausted step; it’s up to his thighs now, and soon enough he’s going to stop, and sink into the dust himself, and it will all be over. After everything he’s been through, it’s a comforting thought.
Ahead of him, there’s a flash of golden orange, and two figures half-submerged in the dust. Pepper turns toward him with a sad little smile, Morgan in her arms, and as he’s struggling toward her with the little strength remaining to him they’re slipping further under, to Pepper’s waist and Morgan’s shoes, to Pepper’s chest and Morgan’s neck, and he’s reaching toward them he can see the light through their fading bodies he’s choking on the dust can’t even scream—
He jolts awake to Nebula poking him on the shoulder, and as his mind sorts out what’s real again, he starts to shake, curling over into her lap as she awkwardly rubs his back and says nothing.
Speaking hurts, these days. They’re too dehydrated to even cry.
The oxygen’s run out; they’re not gonna last another day. The exhaustion is almost too much to bear, but the dreams are worse, so he’s going to stay awake as long as he possibly can.
He reaches for the helmet and hesitates, not quite ready to push that button one last time. If Pepper’s still alive (don’t think about the odds), he doesn’t want his last message to be any sadder than it needs to be. In case she ever sees it. She or Morgan.
I should probably lie down… for a minute, rest my eyes.
Please know, when I drift off… I’m fine, totally fine.
And I dream about you. Because it’s always you.