Chapter Text
At least he'd die for a reason. He had to say that if he did have to go out, it was pretty awesome to die for the universe, especially after flipping Thanos off with the infinity stones. And 'I am Iron Man' had to be in the top ten on the list of best last words, if there was such a thing. But oh sweet Lovelace it hurt.
Tony Stark was used to pain. His chest ached all the time now-- even with the artificial reconstruction Cho had done on him, there was no way to restore everything, and the artificial skin had never fully integrated (though he would never have admitted it). He'd been beat up, drugged, tortured, defenestrated by mad gods, thrown off of various high surfaces, nearly blown up, nearly drowned (an uncomfortable number of times) set on fire, frozen, and sprayed in the eye with fire extinguisher foam (thanks, Dum-E). This, though, it hurt like nothing he had ever felt before, even Extremis. His side felt like it was ripping itself apart, muscles tearing with every ragged breath, and he couldn't feel his hand at all, which couldn't be a good thing. Everything seemed to be swimming in a golden haze as he looked dimly down at the thing which had been his hand, and which was now nothing more than blackened flesh and molten metal, set with infinity stones like some twisted version of the Infinity Gauntlet. Around them, Thanos and his Black Order are crumbling to dark ash on the wind, like a nightmare ending with the rise of the sun.
"Mr. Stark?" Tony didn't have the energy to turn around, but he could hear Peter running up to him, see him vaguely through the halo of golden light exploding in his vision, like the stars behind clenched eyelids. "Hey- Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? It's Peter. Hey. We won, Mr. Stark- we won. You did it, sir. You did it!" Boyish arms wrapped around him, and if he'd had the strength he would have tried to hug back. "I'm sorry, Tony," Peter murmured breathlessly into his shoulder, voice shuddering on the edge of a sob. Tony wanted to tell him that it would be ok, but he couldn't force anything out of his burning lungs. Dimly, he watched as Peter was gently led aside, and then Pepper was in front of him, smudged with ash and halfway to crying. "Hey."
He forced his lips to move, trying to fill all of his senses with her while he still could. "Hey Pep..." he managed, lifting his head just enough to look her in the eye. She knelt beside him, and he wanted to apologize, wanted to say she was right all along, that being Iron Man would kill him. Wanted to apologize for forcing her to raise their daughter alone. But the shimmery gold has intensified to such a degree that he could barely even see the outline of her face now, and he was beyond speech.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y?" he heard her voice say, and he heard F.R.I.D.A.Y's response, her Irish lilt suddenly worried and afraid, like a child not knowing what will happen next. "Life function critical," she says, and he managed another smile for the A.I. through his tears. At least one of his metal children will outlive him.
"Tony. Look at me."
He blinked open his eyes, trying to focus. Pepper was still kneeling there, smiling sadly. "We're gonna be ok. You can rest now."
He thought dimly that it must read like a fairytale, the dark knight giving up his life to make the spell work and destroy the evil which threatened his world, allowing his people to have their ever after. He wondered what the history books will say, if Morgan would have her mother's smile, if Peter would actually end up marrying that girl MJ that he's always gushing about, if Cap would still push to be an Avenger after all of this. He wondered a lot of things, but in this moment they don't matter anymore.
And the world swirled and was gone.
When Tony woke, he knew at once that he wasn't on earth, and likely wasn't alive, either, since for the first time since he was in his thirties his chest did not hurt, and he could draw breath so easily that it nearly made tears come to his eyes. Where he was was a little less clear. He was flat on his back on some of the softest sand he had ever felt, and when he opened his eyes the clearest night sky, studded with a thousand stars, swam into view above him. It might even have been earth, except for the two moons, which was kind of a dead giveaway. That and the fact that he couldn't remember having ever seen so many stars before. The sky looked like Dum-E had been in charge of putting up a set of paintbrushes-- that is, spattered with a thousand pale colors, like a Jackson Pollock painting, and when he turned his head, all he could see were crystal mountains, reflecting the light of that unearthly sky. This was definitely not hell, not that he really believed in an afterlife anyway. So where-? He was interrupted in his thoughts by a burst of something that might have been music, spine-tingling and chilling and like nothing he'd ever heard before. He got to his feet slowly, only mildly surprised by the fact that none of the usual aches and pains he'd had to deal with were making themselves known. He was in his undersuit only, no weapons, no armor. What had happened? Where was he? Where were the Avengers?
And then all at once all the memories came rushing back. Thanos. The infinity stones. Pepper! He whirled around, half expecting the grey smoking wreckage of the battlefield still, but instead, all around him, crystal mountains soared up to the star-splashed sky, glowing eerily under twin moons, and that weird shimmering landscape seemed to stretch on forever in all directions, nothing but crystalline crags and pure white sand and little outcroppings of pitted silvery rock that looked like it belonged on the moon. The music also became even more unnerving when he realized that sound did not seem to work in the same way here, when kicking a pebble made no noise and the shout he made to test his hypothesis did not come out, even though he could feel his throat working with one hand. But he could hear the music fine. So either something was the matter with his ears (was it something internal?) or the air in this world was not meant to carry the frequencies that a human could hear. Or maybe something else, for all he knew. So he was likely on an alien planet, because even if he had been a religious man, this did not seem like any kind of afterlife he could conceive of. Sue him, so maybe he'd expected harps or brimstone. Probably brimstone, in his case, so maybe it was a good thing that he was on some sort of weird-ass alien planet. Was this something to do with the infinity stones?
Tony sat down on the sand and had a bit of a mental breakdown, because it is one thing to sacrifice himself for the universe, expecting it to be his last hurrah and already mourning his family only to find out that not only was he somehow still aware but that he was somewhere utterly alien. And alone. Would he ever be able to see Pep and Morgan and Rhodey again? Would he ever hear Peter's voice, see F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s eager holograms and powerpoints, help Harley with the newest iteration of his spud gun? Was Thanos even really defeated? Maybe this was some sort of vision, like what Maximoff had cast on him; the Mind stone could do that, couldn't it? Had he dreamed all this, only to wake up in a few hours to hear that they'd lost the war? What if he was in a coma-- he'd certainly had plenty of odd dreams under painkillers before....
All at once there was that music again, a distant, eerie wail, like an Aeolian harp mingled with some sort of strange, half-human voices, and his anxiety seemed to drain away entirely, which really ought to have made him even more uneasy. The music wasn't even something restful, but at least he supposed it was something to focus on, something that might distract him a little. Besides, it was not unpleasant, in an alien sort of way. He waited a few more moments to catch his breath and calm himself the rest of the way down before getting back up and brushing the powdery white sand off his undersuit. He was here, wherever here was, and there was nothing he could do about it now except start walking and try to find water and shelter; if he wasn't dead he wasn't going to sit around until that rectified itself. He was Tony Fucking Stark, he could find his way back to his family as soon as he got his hands on some kind of tech, it didn't matter if it was alien. For now he should just enjoy the fact that nothing hurt.
It seemed like there was nothing here but sparkling mountains and sand and silver moonrock. Sometimes he thought he caught sight of something flickering in the corners of his vision, but he never actually saw anything substantial, so it could have just been a product of the constantly shifting purplish shadows. He kept walking and walking, slow panic starting to build, but nothing changed, and he himself didn't seem to be getting any more fatigued either, which didn't make any sense, because at the rate that the moons were moving through the sky he should have been walking what would have been at least several earthly hours, but his breathing was better than it had ever been, even before the arc reactor, and he wasn't even sweaty or sore like a normal human being who'd been hiking over sand and space rocks for several hours. As a matter of fact, the only thing that suggested that he wasn't just treading in place was the fact that the music kept getting louder the further he got, and the fact that the mountains, while all of the same shimmering material, did not actually seem to be alike, as some were tinted rosy pinks and golds and some more sedate purplish-greens, and so on. The polychromatic light bathing them seemed to be affecting their color a little, but some of the tint seemed actually to be natural.
And that was when he broke through into a little clearing, and saw the first signs of life that he'd seen on this planet.
On one side of the clearing the crystal mountains seemed to give way to purple moss as thick as Rhodey's favorite shag comforter, so lush and tall it might almost have been grass except for the fact that it seemed to have some sort of phyllid rather than leaves. This moss was broken up in places by more crystal boulders, and there were also a few chunks of silvery space rock (heavily covered with that same moss) but there were no mountains in that direction, and it seemed like it would probably be Tony's best bet when it came to shelter, and (maybe?) food. Beyond, more alien vegetation grew up in what looked kind of like a forest, except it was definitely not any kind of forest he had ever seen before, even if he didn't do much hiking. For one thing, the trunks of the trees were metallic- golds and silvers, and silvery-blues- like tantalum, only bluer- and the leaves drooping in bunches from the ends of the warped branches were white, shot with crimson like human veins, while larger, pink leaf-like projections fanned out from their bases. He took a cautious step closer, than another, feet sinking in the shaggy moss, and then, when nothing reached out to grab him, he wandered further into the dappled shade, staring up at rustling white leaves and investigating weird gold and copper and purple trunks which were totally smooth, except for the tiny pits in their smoothness, like a weevil carapice under a microscope, almost animalian. Pitcher plants dripping clear, sweet-smelling fluid hung from some of the 'trees', glowing with all the colors of the rainbow and some colors that were nameless, indescribable, and little flower bulbs whose sides were striated with trails of glowing orange and blue dots poked out of the purple forest floor at intervals. Strange, candy-like polyps on the rocks and 'tree' branches released brightly colored powders into the still air every so often, and it sifted down in little showers of red and purple and orange and pink and lime green, dusting the moss below. As curious as he was, he didn't touch any of them, or the powder they released, which was probably a good thing, because as he took another step into the weird forest he accidentally stepped on one of the flat 'leaves' at the base of one of the tree-like organisms, and a thick rubbery tentacle-like thing shot out from somewhere above and tried to loop around him. The scientist in him was fascinated (even if he wasn't a biologist) but the little remnants of self-preservation that had survived his literal martyrdom spurred him to flee the carnivorous forest as fast as he could, deciding that he'd better not explore until he had some sort of weaponry.
He could still hear the music far in the distance, and maybe he was going crazy from the isolation, but was it louder?
Back in the clearing, he shot a last wary glance at the forest which had tried to consume him (c'mon, he survived Thanos, he was not going to be eaten by a glorified plant) and then looked around for something else which might afford shelter or resources without a murdery edge. One of the crystal cliff sides seemed to have a cave in it, which might be helpful once he was significantly more desperate (he hated caves in general, after Afghanistan, and who knew what sort of creatures might be lurking in it).
There!
Between two of the mountains was a thin trail of water, a tiny stream, glinting in the light of the two moons. Unless the water was acid, or had some sort of toxin in it, or was some sort of substance unknown to man, it was probably safe to follow the stream. So Tony followed it as it widened into a little creek, followed it as the first moon set, darkening the sky, and the second hurried past the zenith of the sky to follow it, until at last he came to a vast shoreline, dotted with shells that would likely have made any zoologist squeak in excitement, and washed by waves so clear that he could see all the way to the bottom, even as it deepened and deepened until it finally dropped off into a trench cleaving the sea floor some sixty feet below. Even more oddly, the waves, while lapping enthusiastically at the shore, did not make the slightest sound as they did so, and the air around him was so warm and still that whatever was agitating that strange little cove had to be within it. The music was almost unbearably loud now, shaking him down to his very bones, and it seemed to be emanating from somewhere far out, beyond the water. And suddenly he had to get there. The hell? That was not good; he should be figuring out how to make himself a shelter, maybe try to catch a fish or see if twigs from the carnivorous trees could be used for tinder. Any kind of music that was trying to make him follow it was probably malicious. He decided that he'd best turn around and head in the other direction...and couldn't move.
Tony couldn't have described the horror that he felt then, when his legs decided that it would be a good idea to step into the weird sea, one step closer to the music, and he found he could do literally nothing to stop himself.
The second moon was setting over the water in all its pale effulgent glory as it soaked up the legs of his undersuit, and he was shaking even as he took another step, and another, silty mud squishing under his feet-- Tony and water did not get along, but somehow the music was more compelling that the fear seizing him at the thought of the water rising past his ankles. It was as warm as fresh blood and it was so clear that he could see anything which might might try to prey on him. Not that he could have stopped it, in the trance-like state that was beginning to seize him. Another step, and then another, and then it was past his waist, up to his chest, and he instinctively flinched in anticipation of the phantom spurt of pain that always hit him when his chest got wet, but he no longer had his reactor in, and nothing happened. And then there was a sudden drop-off which he hadn't anticipated, hadn't even seen, and he was treading water in a panic, paddling blindly towards the music and the last pale glow of the moonset and he was swimming and swimming but he didn't seem as if he was getting anywhere and the water which had seemed buoyant and clear and warm was growing darker and murkier, and he could barely keep his head above the water and it was getting in his mouth and nose and he was going to drown and please, oh god, he would do anything if they just let up, he couldn't breath, he would build them the goddamn Jericho if they would just let him breathe, and any minute the rusty wires attached to his chest would get wet and this time it would be it for him and...then he was panting and sobbing, his cheek against cool solid stone, his undersuit waterlogged and slapping against his skin in about nine inches of water. He was safe. He could feel solid rock under his palms, and he raised his dripping head to see he'd washed up on what looked to be some sort of man-made (or alien-made) island.
He staggered to his feet, raising shaking hands to try to wring some of the moisture out of his hair and get it out of his eyes so he could breathe.
He was on a little outcropping not more than maybe twenty-five to thirty feet across, which looked almost as though it had grown out of the sea on its own, like some sort of alien coral, but for the symmetrical shape and the even pattern the stone had been shaped into. It looked almost woven, if one could weave rock. The water around it seemed shallow and innocent, lapping at its sides, but Tony shrunk back from a little foamy wave which happened to wash over the edge, irrationally afraid it would suck him back down. Or maybe not irrationally; this entire place seemed as if a few screws which had secured the laws of physics and nature to it had been loosened a little by some godly screwdriver, so maybe the water did want to murder him.
'Antony Stark'
Tony jumped, whirling around with a start. Was he going insane here, or had he heard-
'Antony Stark'
Yeah, ok, this was not good. If he wasn't actually hearing things, then whoever was here already knew who he was; on the one hand, he might be able to get some answers. On the other, usually only his enemies went out of their way to try to find him. Maybe whoever was talking to him was the one responsible for bringing him here?
'Antony Stark'
"Ok," Tony said cautiously. "You've got my attention."
A sudden hint of strange spice, and gunpowder, and, oddly enough, his néni Ana's favorite perfume whispered into the air around him. He turned around, just in time to see a sheet of peachy, pearly smoke, like those clouds that you see sometimes when the sun is just barely beginning to rise, roll out from the woven archway behind him, and then, out of that smoke, like genies from that old storybook that Jarvis used to try to read to him (despite his father's disapproval) six...beings took shape.
One of them took the form of a woman with skin as dark as the skies above, and wrapped in robes that looked like variegated galaxies. Her hair was braided back with little stars and beads like miniaturized planets, and a starry tiara set with a single blue jewel rode on her high forehead. When she blinked, her eyes showed pure white, like the center of a quasar. One of the figures was dressed in emerald green robes. She was entirely bald, and blue-green tribal tattoos covered every inch of her skin visible, showing what looked like scenes from a thousand plays and histories. As Tony watched, wide-eyed, her entire body shrunk and aged, hunching until she had to lean on her jewel-tipped staff, and then finally shrunk down into a child, unable to hold her staff and practically swimming in her robes, but with dark and ancient eyes. She seemed then to grow up before his eyes, slowly but visibly, until her robes suddenly fit around her again and her staff was more a scepter than a tool. One of them was a tall busty Amazon of a woman, dressed in leather and gold armor that managed to both cover everything and still highlight her enormous biceps and holding a gleaming gold and amethyst battleax, the air fairly crackling with ozone around her. One of them looked for all the world like his AP-Calc. teacher, with frizzy brown hair half falling out of its bun and square glasses and an armful of books and laptops and instruments, except for the topaz comb in her hair and the fact that the air around her was full of glowing golden mathematics problems and strange hieroglyphics that seemed to pop up around her like they were summoned by her presence. The fifth figure looked like no one in particular, because her face and hair and outfit kept changing, constantly, and her features seemed distorted as if by rain or warped glass. The only thing constant about her was the ruddy tint to her skin and hair and the red jewel glinting at her throat.
And then the last figure stepped out of the shadows, and Tony choked on a sob. Because she was dressed in warm brown, with a hand-knitted shawl pinned around her shoulders with an amber broach, and her face was so very like Ana's that if it wasn't for the glowing amber eyes and the ember cupped harmlessly in one slender white hand he might have thought that she was indeed Ana Jarvis, back from the dead.
"Um, not that I'm not flattered, but what's going on?" he managed, when he'd finally managed to regain a little composure. They were obviously supernatural beings of some sort, but why would they be visiting him? They smiled, but none of them said a word. Oookay, that's helpful. His eyes caught on the jewels that they all wore, then, the blue tiara and the green staff and the purple battleax and the yellow topaz comb and the red choker and the amber broach. Those colors were really familiar.... "Wait. You're the Infinity Stones, aren't you?"
"You are wise, for a mortal," Space said, silvery-white eyes glowing in what he hoped was approval. "But not quite right. We are what you would call the Stones, but we were never the Infinity Stones, and never meant to be stones at all. The story was always Infinity and the Stones, when it was first told, but doubtless something got lost in translation."