Chapter Text
Hell and back was nothing compared to the sight unfolding before Tony Stark. Think falling through space after launching a nuke at a spaceship expecting yourself to fail and never get back home but much, much worse. This time though, this time he actually failed. And now he was paying the price for everything he had done. There was nothing he could do as he watched each person around him, one by one, disintegrated into piles of dust.
Panicked, Tony looked to the wizard. He knew what he was doing, right? That infinitesimal amount of hope Tony held disintegrated too. Just like Strange, holding up a single finger. One fleeting look to reassure him that this was the right timeline, that they would win. Considering the situation, Tony held a lot of doubt.
As if he wasn’t terrified and alone already, his heart shattered as Peter uttered a quiet “Mr. Stark?” behind him. Those few seconds were simultaneously too long and too short for Tony’s liking, as Peter tried to hold on. Tony desperately wanted to assure the kid that it wasn’t his fault, but the words refused to escape his throat. By the time he got a sound out, Peter had joined everyone else as nothing but a pile of dust.
He didn’t know how long he sat there in spiraling shock. He’d had anxiety attacks, but not to this extreme. Not a single thing was in his vision save the spot where his little spiderling once laid, and even then, he wasn’t processing it. Just a dream, Tony thought. Or the wizard fucked with your head. Like Wanda. But what Wanda did was happening now, and the coarse dirt beneath Tony was all too much of an indicator that this was reality. He was bursting at the seams yet all too empty at the same time.
He could hardly imagine what he’d tell May if May was even still alive. But here he was, imagining it in detail too extreme. What would he tell Happy, the press, the politicians- hell, what was he supposed to tell Pepper? ‘Sorry for ditching you sweetheart, Gandalf told me the world was ending and the kid hitchhiked with us into space and now they’re both dead, did you decide what tablecloths we’ll have for our wedding?’ What were the other Avengers doing? How were they coping? How many of them are gone? Hell- what are you even supposed to do when half the universe’s population just died?
Tony blinked once he heard movement. The girl next to him- couldn’t remember her name off the top of his head- stood up from where she grieved. The look on her face confirmed the terror that had overtaken every inch of his skin. They lost.
He couldn’t stay crouching here, he had to do something. Anything. Abruptly, Tony stood up. He felt his knees loudly complaining but mentally brushed it off and started pacing, his mind racing once again with thoughts he didn’t have the capacity to handle. He stumbled a bit, must have sat there longer than I thought. His nervous system then extremely painfully alerted Tony to the rather gaping injury in his lower abdomen. Strange had tried his best instructing Tony’s care for it, but considering he had sacrificed an infinity stone against saving the universe just minutes prior, Tony wasn’t exactly up to listening to the Wicked Witch of Wherever idiotic sorcerers came from. Part of him regretted it- actually, all of him regretted it, but he wasn’t willing to admit that. His little remaining nanotech would be fine to hold the wound steady while he moved.
Tony held the side of some wreckage and grabbed an ankle, stretching a leg. He was briefly reminded of the similar situation that happened just hours before, leaning against the magic cooking pot of what was probably doom, when the news of Thanos arriving was more of innocent preparation than what should have been the expectation of failure. Oh, how naive he had been earlier that day. The aliens attacking New York again should have been the most vibrant red flag out there, but it wasn’t like Tony wouldn’t sacrifice himself for millions of people to survive. But here he was, alive, while trillions were dead. Strange didn’t know a damn thing about Tony and that frustrated him beyond all belief. He gave up the one shot they had at winning and now they were all gone.
Tony’s other leg was sore, so he stretched that one out a bit too before moving on. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He thought he was looking at the ground, but that clearly wasn’t the case, since he stumbled upon an unassuming rock moments after pushing away from the wall. Nebula had wandered towards the wreckage Tony and the Pussycats crashed on, scouring for resources and parts.
Tony’s gaze shifted from her to scan the area, getting a proper good look at his surroundings. As he had thought when he first arrived on this planet, it was rather uninhabitable. There was probably a reason the grape-flavored ruffles chip was the only survivor anyways. Suddenly, Tony’s attention was grasped by a red spot on the ground around ten yards away from him.
Gradually approaching it, Tony discovered it was a pile of fabric, the cape that made Doc all the more dramatic. The closer he got, the more he noticed the thing quivered. It wasn’t difficult to notice that thing had a mind of its own, but Tony couldn’t help but feel sorry for the blanket. It recoiled as Tony’s shadow hovered over it, then fell still when he crouched down for inspection.
The cloak had been through worse, Tony thought, but it certainly looked like it could use a dust beating. An intense pang of sorrow hit him when he realized that dust belonged to the cloak’s master. That was why it wasn’t hovering expectantly, its entire world was gone. If it were any sort of dog, Tony was positive it would’ve died of heartbreak.
As he reached out to touch the cloak, Tony immediately regretted it, as the cloak then proceeded to try and choke him. Every muscle (but specifically his lungs) in Tony’s body screamed as the cloak flailed him around, the hands desperately trying to free his neck soon turned to repulsors and he shot a warning that hardly singed the big red blur blocking his vision. That seemed warning enough for the cape to back off, and Tony held his hands up as the gauntlets retreated back to where the wound in his core had also torn the little scabbing he managed to get in the time he got from point A to point B.
The cloak looked anything but apologetic, helping Tony to the ground, then proceeding to crumple back up into a pile where his master had formerly stood so confidently. Tony couldn’t help but be reminded of Peter, how he would react if Tony had died just like the others. He immediately closed his eyes and tried to force the thought out of his head, but the image of Peter only came back stronger.
His rising breaths must have been noticeable because a moment later he found a corner of crimson weakly resting on his knee. The cape was quivering again, almost what Tony would interpret as crying, and that shrivel of comfort and sympathy it gave him was enough to let real tears fall from himself. The cloak drew closer, wrapping itself around Tony. There was a residue of heat to the cloak, likely from how it curled to preserve it, and the feeling comforted Tony as the few tears soon turned to sobs he hadn’t had a comparison to in a very long time.
There, amidst a battlefield of blood, wreckage, and dust, the two of them curled in on each other, shaking. They had lost. They had lost everything. He lost everything. He lost Peter. An innocent face, eager to help anyone that needed it. Stumbling his way through school. Everything about the kid, gone. And god, did he want the kid back. He knew the cloak wanted Strange back. But neither of them knew how, so they clung to each other in silent sympathy, wracked with grief in what was truly the middle of nowhere.