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“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark!”
Anton’s eyes flicker open.
He’s… in the hull of the donut ship. He thinks. Some kind of wreckage, anyway.
He’s having a hard time pulling a full breath. Something about his left lung just… won’t cooperate. It’s agonizing. All the way through his side. He can’t feel much else besides the pain. And the cold. He’s fucking freezing.
Peter’s hovering over him, Iron Spider suit still on and helmeted. Anton’s suit must be helmeted too. He can see the HUD. Knows that he should be able to see more of it, but his peripheral vision doesn’t seem to be getting the memo.
“Mr. Stark, can you hear me?” Peter asks. “Are you awake? Please tell me you’re awake, Mr. Stark— I— I don’t wanna be alone up here.”
“‘m awake,” Anton grunts, trying to sit up. Slamming back down as the searing, horrible pain rips through him. “Oh yeah. Got stabbed.”
“Y-yeah, yeah you got stabbed,” Peter says, half-laughing, half-crying. “Um. Thanos— Thanos won. Doctor Strange, Thor, Captain Danvers— Drax and that raccoon guy, Rocket. They all… it was like they disintegrated.”
For once, the overwhelming, piercing horror seems far away. Like his panic attack is happening to someone else. He feels oddly calm.
“I saw it from where— where I carried you, after you got stabbed, and Doctor Strange surrendered the Time Stone if— if Thanos promised not to kill you,” Peter says. “A-and, the rest of the Guardians, and everyone— they were going to get Mr. Quill’s ship— but then Thanos must’ve got the last Stone, and— and I think… I think they thought we died, too. I saw them fly off, a-and I tried to get their attention, Mr. Stark, really, I did— but— I mean, I guess they didn’t see me.”
“Stealth tech,” Anton groans, closing his eyes. “Biting me in the fucking ass.”
“Please don’t die, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, fully sobbing now. “Please— I don’t— I don’t know how to get home from here.”
Anton reaches up, eyes still closed. Fumbles for a moment before his hand falls on Peter’s face. Pats his cheek in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.
“Not gonna die,” he says, only somewhat sure of it himself. “Heal right up, in a couple hours. Maybe a day. ‘m gonna sleep now. Need rest.”
“Mr. Stark— Mr. Stark!” Peter shakes him by the shoulders, and he cries out in pain as it jostles the wound. “Oh man, I am so sorry, Mr. Stark— um. You— you can’t go to sleep yet, right? You’re in shock, or something.”
“I’ll pull through,” Anton mumbles, already drifting out of consciousness.