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They didn’t see it coming.
Not the Decimation. Not the silence that followed.
And definitely not the jagged streak of metal that tore across the sky weeks later, blazing back through Earth’s atmosphere.
It crash-landed at the end of the Avengers Compound, trailed almost instantly by what was left of Air Force intelligence and SHIELD’s remnants, now operating more like a ghost crew than an agency.
Within hours, the world knew
Tony Stark was alive.
But no one had seen him yet.
No photos. No oficial confirmation.
But the questions were already flooding in.
Official Stark Industries Statement
Date: June 23, 2018
Source: Official Press Release from Stark Industries
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Stark Industries confirms that Owner Tony Stark has returned to Earth.
His current physical and psychological condition is being closely monitored, and he is under full medical supervision.
In light of recent global events and out of respect for the grieving, we ask for privacy as our team processes the magnitude of what has occurred.
We are working closely with international bodies to provide any information that may assist in understanding this phenomenon.
No further comment will be made at this time.
— Stark Industries Communications Office
The statement was meant to calm the world.
It didn’t.
The next morning, the Avengers called for a global press conference —their first unified appearance since the Decimation.
The stage was small. A temporary setup inside the United Nations Assembly Hall, broadcast in real time across every continent.
On stage stood Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor of Asgard, Clint Barton, and James Rhodes.
And in the middle, slightly behind them, Tony Stark.
He was in a wheelchair.
Pale. Gaunt. A line of IV hidden poorly beneath his sleeve. There was no tie, no arc reactor glowing through the fabric. His skin was pale —too pale— and his eyes… his eyes looked like someone had taken the light out of them— deep, hollowed-out things.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just stared ahead.
THE AVENGERS PRESS CONFERENCE — Partial Transcript
Date: June 25, 2018
Location: United Nations Assembly Hall, New York City
MODERATOR: “We’ll begin shortly. Please remember: one question per outlet.”
(The crowd murmurs)REPORTER 1: “Captain Rogers, can you confirm when Mr. Stark was found and his condition upon arrival?”
STEVE ROGERS: “Tony was recovered alongside Nebula of the Guardians of the Galaxy in a derelict spacecraft with minimal life support. He… survived through willpower and luck. As you can see he’s home now, and under care.”REPORTER 2: “Do you know what caused the disappearance event? Is there a plan to reverse it?”
(Steve glances to Bruce. Bruce explains the encounter with Thanos. The failed attempt. The destruction of the stones.)
“Are the vanished alive somewhere else?”
“Can this be undone?”
Each answer only deepens the silence.
Then, finally—
REPORTER 6: “Mr. Stark, can you tell us what happened in space? Did you... did you see it happen?”
(Mr. Stark doesn’t respond. He stares ahead. His hand twitches against the blanket covering his knees.)
REPORTER 7: “Mr. Stark, what did the aliens say? Are there any other survivors? Is it true you were torture?”
(Mr. Stark does nothing. Bruce Banner leans in, whispers something. Stark doesn’t blink. His lips move once —soundless— before his eyes drop to the floor.)
The silence grows heavy.
Even through the cameras, the audience can feel it — like grief so thick it’s swallowing the air.
Then a voice cuts through the tension.
REPORTER 9 (mid-row): “What would he care? He hasn’t lost anyone.”
The words hang there.
For half a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then everything erupts.
Tony’s chest rises sharply —too fast, too shallow. His hand jerks toward the IV, pulling at it. The chair rattles as he tries to stand.
Rhodey lunges to catch him, a second too late.
The microphone nearest him picks up the sound of the crash as Tony hits the ground.
Gasps. Shouting.
Pepper and Happy appear from the side.
A doctor pushes through the crowd, sedative already drawn.
Someone kills the feed.
But not before a hot mic catches Tony’s broken whisper —barely audible:
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, please… please… kid…”
And just like that, the broadcast ends.
They called it a “press conference,” but it looked more like a memorial service disguised as politics.
They say in a catastropy you can see peoples true colors.
The next morning, the headlines split the world in two.
“STARK COLLAPSES DURING PRESS CONFERENCE — HEALTH CRISIS?”
“WHAT HAPPENED TO EARTH’S HERO?”
Yellow headlines. Political Columns. Conspiracy threads multiply.
The nicer ones think it’s a survivor’s guilt thing.
The truth, of course, is quieter.
And sadder.
When they carried Tony off the stage, his face was wet with tears he didn’t seem to notice.
Pepper held his hand the whole way back.
And when she finally spoke — softly, the way you do when trying to wake someone from a nightmare — he blinked, like he’d only just realized where he was.
Tony was a shell of what he once was.
Time had done that to him.
He had already asked to see Wong—to ask if he’d seen Peter—but no. No one had seen him. The portal had opened, but no one had come through.
Tony was still weak, his body struggling to adjust to being back on Earth. He’d tried to put on a suit once, during a rare moment when he was left alone, and collapsed. They’d found him on the floor, barely conscious, and he’d needed to be treated again.
Dozens of doctors had their go at him—each trying to undo the damage of starvation, dehydration, and cold. His body was a map of cuts, bruises, gashes, and rashes. Several ribs were cracked. His body couldn’t regulate temperature properly anymore; sometimes he shivered so violently he’d pull muscles, and sometimes he overheated so badly he thought he was burning alive.
And like that, five days passed. Five days of sedation, of his body giving up mid-command to FRIDAY, of him waking up only to find himself drifting in and out of consciousness, forgetting entire conversations. He asked for May a couple of times. There was no proof she had survived either.
He kept searching anyway—until they shut him out of everything. And even then, even when he wasn’t allowed access, he still tried.
Because Peter was the only thing keeping him together. His boy. His only hope. The reason he had survived that long on that dying ship.
After five days confined to a bed, he finally had enough strength to stand on his own. So, in the middle of the night, he took the first car he found keys to and started driving.
He’d heard about a wall—a mural, a memorial of sorts—that people had built for the vanished. A Wall of the Missing. And it was in Queens.
All he had to do was get there. Check that Peter wasn’t listed on that wall. Because if his name wasn’t there, it meant he was somewhere out there. Someone had seen him. Someone had to have seen him.
So he drove.
And when he found what he had hoped not to find—he broke.