Chapter Text
The shield struck the arc reactor with enough force to make the entire world flash white.
For one endless second, Tony felt nothing.
No pain. No cold. No weight pressing down on his chest.
Only the terrible metallic crack of vibranium tearing through red and gold armour, followed by the shriek of failing systems directly against his ribs.
Then everything came back at once.
Pain exploded through Tony’s chest.
His breath vanished. The back of his helmet struck concrete as Steve drove the shield down a second time, severing the last of the armour’s power connections. Sparks burst over Tony’s faceplate. Warning symbols crowded his vision, red and frantic, before flickering out one by one.
The shield stopped inches from his throat.
Tony stared up at Steve through a cracked display.
For a fraction of a moment, neither of them moved.
Steve’s chest heaved. Blood ran from a cut near his temple. His face was set in that familiar expression Tony had once mistaken for determination.
Now it looked like certainty.
Steve had already decided who the villain was.
Tony wondered when, exactly, that decision had been made.
Before the airport?
Before Vienna?
Before Steve had hidden the truth about Tony’s parents?
Or had it always been there, waiting beneath every disapproving look and every quiet insistence that Tony could not be trusted?
Steve tore the shield free from the ruined armour.
The movement sent a fresh wave of agony through Tony’s chest. Something inside him shifted that absolutely should not have shifted.
His mouth opened, but all that came out was a wet, strangled breath.
Steve looked down at him.
Tony waited.
He did not know what he was waiting for.
An apology, perhaps.
A hand.
Some sign that beneath all of this, Steve still remembered that Tony had once stood beside him. That Tony had flown a nuclear missile through a portal for him. That Tony had given them rooms, equipment, funding, security, food, uniforms, medical care and somewhere to come back to after the world tried to kill them.
That Tony had called them family.
Steve’s expression did not change.
“He’s my friend,” Steve said.
The words landed more cleanly than the shield had.
“So was I,” Tony managed.
Steve looked away first.
He crossed the ruined bunker toward Bucky, who was standing unsteadily several feet away. The metal stump at Bucky’s shoulder sparked where Tony’s repulsor had destroyed parts of the arm. His face was bruised, his clothing torn, and there was something hollow in his eyes that Tony could not bring himself to look at for long.
Steve bent, picked up the shield and hooked Bucky’s flesh arm over his shoulders.
Then Tony’s words caught up with him.
“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony called.
His voice echoed weakly through the bunker.
Steve stopped.
Tony watched him look down at the shield Howard Stark had made.
The shield Howard had spoken about with more pride than he had ever used when speaking about his son.
Steve’s jaw tightened.
Then he dropped it.
Vibranium struck concrete with a deafening clang.
Bucky flinched. Tony did too, though his armour was too damaged to translate the movement properly.
Steve guided Bucky toward the exit.
Neither of them looked back.
Tony waited for the sound of their footsteps to return.
He waited for Steve to realize that Tony could not move. He waited for Bucky to say something. He waited until the echo of the outer door closing faded into the frozen silence of the facility.
Only then did Tony understand.
They had left him.
Not symbolically. Not emotionally. They had physically left him broken on the floor of a Hydra bunker in Siberia.
Tony stared at the empty doorway.
His breath caught painfully against his ribs.
“Friday,” he whispered.
Static crackled in his helmet.
For one terrible second, there was nothing.
Then her voice reached him, distorted and faint.
“Boss?”
Relief almost made him laugh.
It came out as a cough instead.
Blood filled his mouth.
“That’s… probably bad.”
“Sir, your armour has sustained catastrophic damage. Primary power is offline. Emergency systems are operating at seven percent capacity.”
“Seven’s a lucky number.”
“Your internal injuries are severe.”
“Less lucky.”
“I am detecting multiple rib fractures, damage to the sternum, internal bleeding, a punctured lung and trauma surrounding the reactor housing.”
Tony tried to breathe.
His chest made a bubbling sound.
“That explains the dramatic ambience.”
“Sir, you must remain still.”
“I’m not exactly planning a jog.”
His right arm was trapped beneath a section of failed armour. The left gauntlet responded only in intermittent jerks. His legs might as well have belonged to someone else. Every attempt to move sent sharp bolts of pain through his spine.
He turned his head as far as the damaged helmet allowed.
The shield lay several feet away.
Its surface was scratched but intact.
Of course it was.
Howard had always built Steve’s things to last.
The lights overhead flickered.
Cold crept through the broken seams of Tony’s armour. The suit’s environmental systems were failing along with everything else. Siberian air seeped beneath the metal plates, biting through his undersuit and settling into his bones.
“Can you reach Pepper?” Tony asked.
“External communications are unavailable.”
“Satellite?”
“Destroyed.”
“Beacon?”
“No response.”
“Suit-to-suit relay?”
“Sir—”
“Try.”
“I have attempted every available communications system.”
Tony closed his eyes.
Rhodey was alive.
He had to be.
The last report had said stable. Paralysed, injured, furious, but stable.
Tony had left him because Steve had gone after the Siberian facility and because there had been five other Winter Soldiers waiting beneath the ice.
Except there had not been.
Zemo had killed them.
All of it had been designed to bring them here. To put the truth in front of Tony and let Steve’s silence do the rest.
A man with no powers and no army had torn the Avengers apart by telling the truth at the correct moment.
Tony would have admired the efficiency if he had not been choking on his own blood.
“Friday,” he said.
“Yes, boss?”
“Record.”
There was a pause.
“What would you like me to record?”
Tony stared at the doorway.
He could not feel his left hand anymore.
“Message for Rhodey.”
“Recording.”
Tony swallowed.
It hurt.
“Hey, Platypus.”
His voice cracked.
He stopped and breathed as carefully as he could.
“Turns out the Siberian vacation package is not all-inclusive. Customer service is terrible. Zero stars. Don’t recommend.”
The bunker remained silent.
Tony could hear the faint mechanical whine of his failing reactor.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “About the airport. About your legs. About dragging you into every terrible decision I’ve ever made because you were the one person I knew would show up.”
His eyes burned.
He blinked hard.
“That’s not fair. I know that. I knew it then too.”
“Sir,” Friday said softly.
“I’m recording.”
She fell silent.
Tony looked at the shield again.
“Don’t let them tell you it was your fault. It wasn’t. You followed procedure. Vision made a mistake. Sam didn’t stop. None of that was on you.”
The words became harder to force out.
“And don’t let Ross use this. Whatever he says, whatever he threatens, don’t let him turn you into his weapon just because you’re hurt.”
Tony’s vision blurred.
“Tell Pepper I’m sorry I made everything harder than it had to be.”
His chest tightened.
“Tell Happy he still owes me twenty bucks.”
He hesitated.
There were other names.
People he should mention.
People who might care.
Peter.
The kid’s name rose in Tony’s mind so quickly it hurt worse than the broken ribs.
Peter waiting for Tony to call.
Peter trying not to look disappointed whenever Tony had to cancel.
Peter grinning inside that ridiculous homemade suit and throwing himself into danger because Tony had made the mistake of telling him he had potential.
Peter, who had looked at Tony as though being noticed by him was something extraordinary.
Tony’s throat closed.
“Delete the recording,” he said.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“I do not advise—”
“Delete it.”
A pause.
“The recording has been deleted.”
Tony let his head fall back against the concrete.
He was not leaving Peter a goodbye message in a frozen Hydra bunker.
He was not doing that to the kid.
He would get up. He would fix the suit. He would crawl if he had to.
Tony tried to raise his left arm.
The armour twitched and collapsed.
Pain ripped through his shoulder.
Blackness crowded the edges of his vision.
“Okay,” he gasped. “New plan.”
“Your blood pressure is falling.”
“Not the plan.”
“Your remaining lung capacity is decreasing.”
“Also not the plan.”
“The arc reactor has sustained structural damage.”
That frightened him more than the blood.
Tony looked down.
The reactor glowed faintly through the fractured armour. The light stuttered, dimmed and returned.
His heartbeat tried to match it.
“What percentage?”
“The reactor is operating at twenty-one percent.”
“Enough to power the suit?”
“No.”
“Enough to keep me alive?”
Friday did not answer immediately.
“Friday.”
“For the moment.”
Tony laughed once.
The sound ended in another cough.
Blood splattered the inside of his faceplate.
“Always hated vague software.”
“I learned from you.”
“Mutiny.”
The outer corridor remained empty.
No footsteps, no quinjet engines, No Steve returning because leaving a teammate to die had finally outweighed being angry.
Tony wondered how long it had taken Steve to decide Tony would survive.
Maybe he had not considered it at all.
That might have been worse.
A fresh tremor ran through the bunker. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Somewhere deeper in the facility, damaged machinery collapsed with a distant roar.
“Structural integrity is deteriorating,” Friday warned.
“Of course it is.”
Tony tried to focus on the suit schematics, but the display kept disappearing.
He needed power.
The armour had isolated emergency cells in the boots, but the connections were severed. If he could reroute one through the left gauntlet, he might fire a distress flare.
If he could move. If he could remain conscious. If the reactor did not fail first.
“Open manual controls.”
A dim schematic appeared.
Tony blinked until the lines stopped doubling.
“Route boot cell two through auxiliary channel six.”
“Channel six is damaged.”
“Five.”
“Destroyed.”
“Three.”
“Unresponsive.”
“Pick one that works.”
“There are no intact pathways between the emergency cells and the communications system.”
Tony stared at the useless display.
“Then invent one.”
“Boss—”
“You’ve watched me do it enough times.”
“I am not capable of physically repairing the suit.”
“Details.”
The cold was becoming strangely comfortable.
Tony knew enough medicine to understand that was not a good sign.
His head felt heavy. His thoughts drifted apart before he could hold on to them.
He pictured Rhodey in the hospital.
Pepper standing in an empty conference room, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Happy pretending he was not worried.
Peter sitting in class, phone hidden beneath the desk, waiting for a message that would never arrive.
“No,” Tony whispered.
His fingers moved inside the gauntlet. Barely, but they moved.
“Manual override.”
“Your motor control is severely impaired.”
“Story of my life.”
He forced his fingers through the sequence.
One command.
Then another.
The gauntlet sparked.
The pain brought his vision briefly back into focus.
“That’s it.”
“Sir, the feedback is damaging the remaining armour systems.”
“Can’t break what’s already broken.”
“That statement is scientifically inaccurate.”
“Bruce would be proud.”
Tony dragged power from the gauntlet’s reserve cell and sent it through a pathway that existed only because the insulation had melted and two circuits were now touching.
The faceplate display flared.
A distress beacon pulsed once.
Then every system died.
The helmet opened halfway and stopped.
Frozen air struck Tony’s face.
The arc reactor continued to glow beneath the ruined chest plate, weak and irregular.
“Beacon?” Tony asked.
No answer.
“Friday?”
Silence.
Tony stared upward through the half-open helmet.
The lights above him flickered again.
One went dark, then another.
The bunker became a long tunnel of dim blue emergency lighting and shadow.
Tony listened to his own failing breath.
He wondered whether this counted as irony.
Howard had spent Tony’s entire childhood talking about Captain America as though Steve Rogers represented everything a man could be.
Honourable. Loyal. Good.
Tony had spent years resenting a dead man because he had never been able to compete with him.
Now he was going to die beneath the shield Howard built, abandoned by the man Howard had loved more than his own son.
That was almost funny.
Tony wanted to laugh.
He did not have enough air.
His eyes slipped closed.
The first sign that someone had found him was warmth.
Not much.
Only a faint change against the freezing air.
Tony thought the reactor had finally caught fire.
Then he heard metal shifting.
The weight trapping his arm lifted away.
A voice said his name.
Not Friday.
Not Steve.
“Mr. Stark?”
There was something wrong with the voice.
Too controlled.
Too careful.
Fear hidden beneath perfect diction.
Tony forced his eyes open.
A red face hovered above him.
The Mind Stone glowed gold in the centre of Vision’s forehead, brighter than the failing lights around them. His cape moved in the cold air as he knelt beside Tony, hands hovering over the damaged armour without touching.
Vision’s expression was unlike anything Tony had seen on him before.
Horror.
“Hey,” Tony whispered.
Vision stared at the blood on his face.
“I am here.”
“Little late to the party.”
“I know.”
Vision’s voice broke on the last word.
Tony blinked.
That was new.
Vision reached carefully for the ruined chest plate.
“Tony, I need to remove the armour.”
“Don’t.”
Vision stopped immediately.
“Reactor housing,” Tony said. “Damaged. Plate’s holding pressure.”
Vision’s gaze flicked downward. The Mind Stone brightened as he scanned through the metal.
“You are correct.”
“Usually am.”
“Your right lung has collapsed.”
“Overachiever.”
“You are bleeding internally in several locations. There is damage to your spine, sternum and heart.”
“Okay, less detailed.”
Vision looked toward the empty doorway.
“Where are Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes?”
Tony’s mouth twisted.
“Gone.”
Vision looked back at him.
“Gone where?”
“Away.”
“They left to secure assistance?”
Tony stared at him.
Vision’s face became very still.
“They left you here.”
There was no question in the statement.
Tony looked away.
“Had places to be.”
The temperature around Vision changed.
Tony felt it even through the broken armour, a sudden vibration in the air, energy gathering under Vision’s skin.
The concrete beneath his knees cracked.
“Easy,” Tony murmured. “Building’s unstable.”
Vision’s jaw tightened.
“They knew you could not move.”
“I didn’t take a survey.”
“They knew.”
Tony did not answer.
Vision closed his eyes for one second.
When he opened them, the fury was gone from his face, packed tightly beneath the calm.
“I detected your emergency beacon from the compound,” he said. “It lasted less than one second. FRIDAY transferred a partial medical report before the signal terminated.”
“Smart girl.”
“The quinjet is four minutes away.”
Tony tried to calculate.
Four minutes to the jet.
Then however long to the nearest facility capable of handling cardiac trauma, reactor damage and a suit fused to his body.
He saw Vision reach the same conclusion.
“I don’t have four minutes,” Tony said.
Vision’s expression did not change.
“You do.”
It was not reassurance.
It was an order.
Tony almost smiled.
“Bossy.”
Vision slid one arm beneath Tony’s shoulders and the other under his knees.
“Wait.”
Vision froze.
“Shield.”
His eyes shifted toward the discarded vibranium.
Tony did not know why he wanted it.
He did not want Steve’s shield.
He did not want Howard’s legacy.
But he could not leave it in a Hydra bunker, buried beneath the ice with all the other things that had destroyed his family.
Vision grabbed the shield first before moving back to Tony and lifting him.
Even with the armour stabilizing his injuries, the movement tore a cry from his throat.
Vision nearly put him down again.
“No,” Tony gasped. “Go.”
Vision began to fly out, the bunker disappeared.
For a few disorienting seconds, Tony saw flashes of concrete, steel, ice and old Hydra machinery passing around them like shadows.
Then the cold struck harder.
They emerged outside beneath a colourless sky.
Snow whipped across the landing platform.
The quinjet descended through the storm, its engines scattering ice.
Tony’s head fell against Vision’s shoulder.
The Mind Stone hummed near his temple.
“You came,” Tony said.
Vision looked down at him.
“Of course.”
It was such a simple answer.
Tony closed his eyes.
The people who called themselves his family had spent years making every act of loyalty sound conditional.
Of course I would tell you, if I thought you could handle it.
Of course I trust you, when you agree with me.
Of course we are a team, until you become inconvenient.
Vision said it as though there had never been another option.
Of course he came.
The quinjet doors opened before they landed.
Vision carried Tony inside and laid him on the medical platform. The restraints tried to close around the armour, failed to find an intact surface and retracted.
The jet lifted immediately.
“FRIDAY?” Vision called.
The AI’s voice filled the cabin.
“Online through the quinjet systems.”
Her tone was steady.
Tony could hear the strain anyway.
“Emergency medical facility is twenty-seven minutes away,” Vision said.
“Boss does not have twenty-seven minutes.”
Vision looked at Tony.
“How long?”
“Cardiac failure is imminent. Reactor output is fluctuating. Internal bleeding has accelerated during transport.”
“Can the armour be removed?”
“Not without destabilizing the reactor housing and releasing pressure around the damaged vessels.”
Vision scanned Tony again.
“Can I maintain pressure manually?”
“Not while also regulating cardiac function and preventing spinal movement.”
Tony opened his eyes.
“Multitasking. We’ve talked about this.”
Vision ignored him.
“What options remain?”
There was a pause. Tony heard it.
He knew what Friday had found before she said it.
“No,” he whispered.
Vision looked down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“FRIDAY,” Vision said. “What options remain?”
“Boss created an experimental emergency medical protocol a few months ago.”
Tony tried to lift his hand.
It did not move.
“Project name?” Vision asked.
“Extremis Lazarus.”
Vision’s gaze sharpened.
“The Extremis virus.”
“A modified derivative,” Friday clarified. “Designed to accelerate tissue regeneration, reinforce skeletal structure, enhance metabolic efficiency and prevent cellular death following catastrophic trauma.”
Vision looked at Tony.
“You developed this?”
“Developed is generous.”
“He completed the primary formula but never progressed to human testing.”
“Because it kills people,” Tony said.
“The original Extremis formula demonstrated a high rate of fatal instability,” Friday said. “Boss’s version contains additional regulatory safeguards.”
“Untested safeguards,” Tony added.
Vision’s eyes moved to the arc reactor.
“Why is the protocol available?”
“Because I enjoy bad ideas.”
“Boss authorized its use only if conventional treatment could not prevent death.”
Vision went completely still.
“And can conventional treatment prevent his death?”
“No.”
Snow struck the quinjet windows.
The sound filled the silence.
Vision looked at Tony.
“What is the probability that the treatment will work?”
“Insufficient data.”
“Estimate.”
“Twenty-eight percent.”
Tony swallowed.
“Optimist.”
“What is the probability of survival without it?”
“Less than one percent.”
Vision turned away for half a second.
When he looked back, there was fear in his eyes again.
Real fear. Not calculation. Not uncertainty.
Fear.
“Why would the treatment not kill you immediately?” Vision asked.
“The reactor,” Tony said.
His words were starting to slur.
“Extremis needs energy. Too much, too fast. Reactor can feed it without letting it burn through everything.”
“Can,” Vision repeated. “Not will.”
“Semantics.”
“The reactor is damaged.”
“Noticed.”
“Friday, can it sustain the process?”
“At its current output, no.”
Vision’s hand rose to the Mind Stone.
“Could I provide the necessary energy?”
Friday paused.
“The Mind Stone’s output is potentially compatible, but the transfer would require precise regulation. Excess energy would cause fatal cellular instability.”
“And insufficient energy?”
“Cardiac arrest.”
Tony managed a weak smile.
“Nice wide margin.”
Vision looked down at him.
“I must administer the treatment.”
Tony stared at the ceiling.
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
“Thought you were big on personal choice.”
“I am.”
“Then ask.”
Vision’s expression tightened.
“Tony Stark, do you consent to the administration of an untested Extremis derivative with an estimated twenty-eight percent chance of survival?”
Tony considered telling him no.
Not because he wanted to die.
Because he was tired.
So tired.
Tired of being afraid.
Tired of fighting people he loved.
Tired of trying to prove that every terrible thing he had done did not erase every good thing he had tried to do afterward.
Tired of discovering that loyalty only seemed to matter when Tony was the one providing it.
But Rhodey was waiting.
Peter was waiting.
Pepper and Happy were waiting.
Vision had crossed half the world because a distress signal lasted less than a second.
Tony looked at him.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Do it.”
The medical compartment opened.
A small reinforced case rose from beneath the platform. Inside was a single injector containing liquid that glowed faintly orange.
Vision picked it up.
His hand trembled.
Tony noticed.
“Hey.”
Vision looked at him.
“If this goes wrong—”
“It will not.”
“Vis.”
The name stopped him.
Tony had never called him that before.
Vision stared.
“If it goes wrong,” Tony said, “it was my protocol. My authorization. Not you.”
“I am choosing to administer it.”
“Because I asked.”
“Because I refuse to allow you to die.”
Tony’s breath caught.
Vision pressed the injector against the exposed skin beneath Tony’s jaw.
“Friday?”
“Ready.”
“Reactor output?”
“Seventeen percent and falling.”
Vision placed his other hand over the damaged chest plate.
The Mind Stone brightened.
“Beginning energy transfer.”
Tony felt warmth pour through the armour.
Not the savage heat of a repulsor.
Something deeper.
It moved through the broken reactor and into his chest, gathering around his heart.
“Now,” Friday said.
Vision activated the injector.
Fire entered Tony’s bloodstream.
His back arched off the platform.
The armour restraints slammed down around him as every muscle seized.
Pain erased the cabin.
It was in his bones, his blood, his teeth.
Every cell seemed to tear itself apart and rebuild incorrectly.
Tony screamed.
The sound did not feel human.
His reactor flared white.
Warning alarms erupted through the quinjet.
“Temperature rising,” Friday announced. “One hundred and six degrees.”
Vision kept one hand pressed over Tony’s chest.
“Tony, remain with me.”
“Little—busy—”
“Cellular regeneration has begun.”
Tony’s vision filled with orange light.
He could see it beneath his skin.
Glowing veins spread from the injection site, racing down his neck and across his chest.
“Reactor output unstable,” Friday warned.
Vision’s hand phased through the damaged armour.
Tony felt fingers pass through metal and bone without resistance, stopping beside his heart.
The sensation was impossible.
Cold and heat.
Pressure without touch.
Vision adjusted the energy flow directly around the reactor.
“Heart rate two hundred and twelve.”
“Internal temperature one hundred and nine.”
“Regeneration is accelerating beyond projected limits.”
Vision looked toward the controls.
“How do I slow it?”
“Reduce energy transfer by three percent.”
Vision obeyed.
Tony’s body convulsed.
“Cardiac activity dropping.”
“Reverse the reduction.”
Vision increased the power again.
Tony’s heart slammed against his ribs.
A fracture shifted.
Then, impossibly, began to pull itself together.
He felt it.
Bone grinding against bone as it rejoined.
Torn muscle tightened.
The collapsed lung expanded with an agonizing rush.
Tony dragged in a full breath and screamed again because his body had forgotten what breathing without blood felt like.
“Stay with me,” Vision said.
Tony could barely hear him through the alarms.
“Tony.”
The voice anchored him.
He opened his eyes.
Vision leaned over him, one hand inside his chest, the other gripping his shoulder. The Mind Stone burned like a second sun.
“You are not alone,” Vision said.
Tony stared at him.
He did not know whether Vision understood what those words meant.
Maybe he did.
“You are not alone,” Vision repeated. “You will remain here.”
Tony laughed deliriously.
“You giving me orders now?”
“Yes.”
“Terrible influence.”
“Your influence.”
The orange glow reached Tony’s hands.
His fingers jerked against the restraints.
“Cellular stabilization at fourty percent,” Friday reported.
“Temperature?”
“One hundred and eleven.”
Vision’s face tightened.
“That will kill him.”
“Extremis is repairing the damage as quickly as the temperature creates it.”
“Not comforting,” Tony gasped.
“It was not intended to be.”
“Definitely my AI.”
The quinjet shook in the storm.
Vision did not move.
Minutes stretched into something shapeless.
Tony lost consciousness twice.
Both times Vision called him back.
The first time, he used Tony’s name.
The second time, he reminded him Rhodey was waiting.
The third time darkness closed around him, Vision said, “Peter still needs you.”
Tony’s eyes opened.
Vision had seen the files.
Of course he had.
“Peter is waiting for you,” Vision said. “You have not completed his training.”
“Kid’s already smarter than half the team.”
“Then you must remain to inform him.”
“Ego problem.”
“He learned from you.”
Tony’s mouth twitched.
The pain began to recede, but the fire settled into a deep, pulsing heat beneath his skin.
His heartbeat slowed.
The reactor steadied.
“Cellular stabilization at fifty-two percent,” Friday said.
“Internal bleeding has slowed. Lung function is almost fully restored. Spinal damage is repairing.”
Vision’s shoulders lowered by less than an inch.
Tony saw it anyway.
“Reactor?”
“Output stable at sixty-one percent. Extremis appears to have integrated with the reactor’s energy regulation.”
“Appears?”
“Long-term effects are unknown, your body must decide if it will accept it.”
Tony closed his eyes.
“Future Tony’s problem.”
“Current Tony must remain conscious,” Vision said.
“Current Tony hates you.”
“I am aware that this statement is inaccurate.”
“Smug.”
“I learned from you.”
The last thing Tony felt was Vision withdrawing his hand carefully from his chest.
The last thing he heard was Friday announcing that his condition was no longer stabliziing as it should be.
Then the darkness took him.
This time, Vision could not wake him up.
The quinjet continued through the storm.
Vision remained beside the medical platform, one hand wrapped around Tony’s wrist, monitoring the pulse that had nearly vanished beneath his fingers.
The abandoned shield rested against the opposite wall.
Vision looked at it for a long time.
He thought of Wanda telling him that Tony could not be trusted.
He thought of Captain Rogers insisting that he was protecting his friend.
He thought of James Rhodes falling from the sky after Vision’s own failure.
He thought of Tony lying alone beneath the ice, dying beside a symbol that was supposed to represent loyalty and courage.
Something inside Vision settled.
Not anger.
Anger was present, certainly, but it was not the most important thing.
This was a choice.
Perhaps his first choice made without attempting to balance everyone else’s expectations against his own judgment.
He had spent too long allowing others to define what he should be.
A weapon.
A safeguard.
A machine.
A compromise.
Wanda’s partner.
Tony’s creation.
The Avengers’ solution.
Vision looked down at the man on the platform.
Tony had never asked him to be any of those things.
Tony had asked him what he wanted.
He had given him a name.
He had spoken to him as a person before Vision fully understood what being a person meant.
And when Vision had made mistakes, Tony had never suggested dismantling him.
Captain Rogers had left Tony to die.
Vision would not.
“FRIDAY,” he said.
“Yes, Vision?”
“Contact Colonel Rhodes as soon as he is awake.”
“I will.”
“Do not contact Secretary Ross.”
There was a slight pause.
“Understood.”
“And restrict all medical information regarding Extremis.”
“Authorization?”
Vision looked down at Tony.
“Tony Stark’s privacy.”
Another pause.
Then Friday answered more warmly.
“Authorization accepted.”
Vision sat beside Tony as the quinjet flew south.
The orange light beneath Tony’s skin slowly faded.
His reactor continued to glow.
Steady.
Alive.
Vision did not release his wrist until the medical team was waiting to receive them.
Steve Rogers had left.
Vision had come.
And he would not leave Tony alone again.