Chapter Text
Tony’s body felt like it had been hit by a dump truck. And then struck by lightning. Perhaps also spun around in a blender. Add those three and sprinkle getting tackled by the Hulk on top, and it might come close to how he felt, physically.
His head was in splinters, reaching out to grasp the slippery noodles of memory but falling flat at every turn as he blinked. And he blinked hard. Several times. But nothing came to his vision but black. Utter blackness, with no dimension or feeling accompanying it. He began to grope around the darkness to feel his surroundings, but he felt as though he couldn’t move his arms or legs; no amount of mental pleading could force them upright.
Upright.
Ok, so he was lying down. Good to know, he supposed, though it helped him figure out absolutely nothing.
Where was he?
He squeezed his eyes shut. What was the last thing he remembered?
Thanos.
The stones.
Rhodey.
The kid.
Pepper.
Pepper. The kid. Rhodey. The stones. Thanos.
What the hell had happened? And where the hell was he now?
He felt a buzzing starting in his fingertips. It wasn’t a particularly good sensation-but at least it was a sensation.
A dull pulsing was beginning in his head as he tried to bring his memories to the front of his mind. He’d gotten the stones. He’d snapped.
He hadn’t been in pain afterwards, not really. He didn’t exactly feel anything.
Thanos’ body had evaporated.
The stones had fallen from his impromptu gauntlet.
Rhodey had been tearing up.
The kid, Peter- oh, Peter- he was alive. Thank god, he was alive-had been sobbing. He’d been apologizing.
And Pepper. His Pepper, his most beloved girl, she hadn’t been crying. He told him that everyone would be okay, and she held his hand.
And then…nothing. Nothing at all.
He felt his heart rate increasing, rapidly, scarily so-had he…no. No, because if he’d died, he wouldn’t be wherever here was. He wouldn’t be thinking anything. He wouldn’t be feeling this intense soreness, this pain, throughout his body. There would be nothing.
Unless this was afterlife?
He shook his head, or at least tried to; his body wasn’t really listening to his mind right then. He didn’t believe in any of that dumbass religious mumbo-jumbo; he was an engineer and a scientist.
But, you know, Gods were real. He’d met one, he was friends with one, Thor. And so were wizards. So was an afterlife really that much of a stretch? If he’d been able to shrug, he would’ve.
All this thinking, not a lot of conclusions.
Where the hell was he?
He needed to move, to investigate.
Awareness was returning to his body, albeit slowly; his fingertips slowly began to respond to each of his commands for them to wriggle, as did his toes.
And soon- well, was it soon? He didn’t exactly have a good gauge of time. But, regardless, he was sitting up.
He had a heavy hand pressed against his chest as his breaths came in laboured puffs. Why was sitting up so hard?
Well, he reasoned, the stones had put his body through a lot of strain. It was a wonder he even still had the entirety of the right side of his being still attached.
He rubbed at his eyes.
And then he opened them again and everything was bright.
And wet.
And….muddy?
Rain was splattering him relentlessly as he blinked the spots from his vision. He was in a field of some kind, with grass filling in the area around him, and trees dotting the landscape. There was a pond or something-no, bigger than a pond, a lake? A reservoir of some kind, anyway, to his left off in the distance.
Hanging onto a tree that was to his left, he pulled himself to his feet. Using the newfound light surrounding him, he examined himself.
He was wearing his Ironman suit, the same one he’d been wearing when he snapped, just as tattered as it had been that day with metal splintered off in the fight. His right hand was scarred, and, as the nanotech flecked away, so was the rest of his arm. And side. And leg.
He assumed perhaps part of his face and neck were scarred, too.
It wasn’t too gnarly, the scarring on his body, at least. Raised, curled white tendrils intertwined and encircled one another, creating an abstract sort of pattern reminding him of some of the modern paintings that Pepper adored.
Maybe that was giving himself too much credit.
There was a plaque ahead of him, maybe 50 feet.
Slowly, using the trees to steady himself, he trudged forward and reached it.
Inscribed upon it read:
NYS HISTORICAL MARKER #232
Upon this site the battle of Thanos was waged. Here, half of the universe’s population was restored after Tony Stark, alongside many brave heroes, gave his life to end the conflict. Their sacrifice ensured peace for generations to come.
His breath rattled and writhed in his chest, his fingers gripping the rain-soaked concrete harder as he re-read its inscription.
Gave his life?
He was dead?
Well, obviously, he was not dead, as here he was, living, breathing, and reading.
“Friday?” He said.
There was nothing.
In an instant, his breath was coming in quicker puffs, the tell-tale sign of a panic attack. He forced his breathing to even as he spun on his heel.
This was where the compound was. The thought settled in his mind as he attempted to wipe some of the water from his face. And all the debris was gone. The land was most likely re-graded. Trees were planted, grass was grown.
How long had he been dead?
***
After dry-heaving on the ground for a few, more like many, minutes, he settled on a few hypotheses.
When he snapped his fingers, he accidentally transported himself to a parallel universe
He was a sleepwalker with severe brain damage/amnesia after what his body was subjected to by the stones
Something magical was afoot
And, by god, if it was option three, he’d be pissed. He’d much rather navigate back to his home reality, or cure his brain damage, both with science, rather than some magical bullshit.
But regardless, currently his pockets were void of money, Friday was offline, and he was alone.
He didn’t want to risk flying around in his Ironman suit, because he had no idea how people would react to seeing that blip in their vision, and it was in dire straits. He didn’t know how much fuel was left rumbling inside those nanoparticles, and without Friday, he had no way of figuring that out when he was away from his lab.
But this was clearly a historic site.
So there had to be a parking lot nearby. And so, Tony Stark, who vaguely despised spending time outdoors, especially in the pouring rain, began to walk.
It was a weird feeling, the one that had settled in his gut as he trudged along, his nano-tech armor disappearing into his arc reactor in his chest.
The last he remembered, he was in battle. Well, he was in the direct aftermath of a battle. And he was dying, surrounded by his most loved ones.
Steve had been there; he was remembering. Stoic Steve, or should he say Worthy Steve, who had wielded Thor’s hammer?
Where was Rhodey now? Was he alright, was he mourning? What about Peter? He was just a kid. Barely seventeen.
Tony grimaced despite himself, his stomach doing a sick backflip as he remembered the last time he’d seen Peter, before his resurrection. The look on the kid’s face, as he realized he was dying.
That was something Tony’d never forget. The look in the kid’s eyes.
What about Pepper? His breath caught, his feet stumbling, Morgan. His darling, baby girl. Was she alright? How many years had she gone without a father? His heart squeezed in his chest.
He needed to get to his family, to Pepper. Morgan. Peter. Rhodey. Steve. Everyone. As soon as possible.
But first, he reasoned, he needed to find civilization.
And he did.
The parking lot was void of many cars, a few models sparsely scattered in the large lot. He was hiding behind a large oak tree, his eyes peeking around its bark as he settled on a target.
A man was leaving his Ford truck, holding an umbrella, talking on the phone rather loudly.
“Man, c’mon. You know she wants me…yeah yeah, I’m seeing her tonight after I get done at my run…yeah even in the rain, the grind never stops, gotta keep my body tight for her…bro, she needs me. Absolutely, she does…” The man’s voice trailed as he walked onto a lightly mulched path into the woods, and Tony cracked a smile. His perfect victim.
Hot wiring the car was no difficulty for the tech whiz, and so there he was, going 55 in a 30, hurtling down the road.
He clicked the radio on, hoping for it to steal his thoughts from the morbid direction they were currently heading in.
Instead of music, it was some kind of podcaster speaking.
“The Masked-Menace has struck again!” A voice projected loudly into Tony’s ears, “Spider-Man was reportedly involved in the destruction that occurred at Damage Control a few hours ago, and let me tell all of you, my beloved listeners, I am not surprised. This is exactly that little worm's MO, what’s that, Gwen?” There was a brief pause. “I hear the bug may have been fatally injured! And let’s all hope that this is true, and we are all finally rid of the menace!”
Tony’s fist slammed into the radio’s off button before he was able to understand that his hand was moving from the steering wheel at all.
Injured? Fatally?
His breath was coming fast, too fast. He pulled the car over, pressed a flat hand to his chest, trying, again, to force his breath to slow.
Damage Control? Why the hell was he there?
The same question struck between his ears yet again: how long had it been since ‘The Battle of Thanos ’?
Well, one thing was clear to him: he needed to get to Peter. But where was he?
He clicked the radio on again.
“Spider-Man is reportedly being treated at the Steve Rogers Memorial Clinic-” Tony’s hand slammed the thing off again.
Steve Rogers Memorial Clinic? Steve had been fine! Steve had survived the battle; he’d been there when Tony’d died.
Tony’s hands, both of them, were balled into fists so tight he was breaking skin.
What in the world was going on? How was Steve Rogers dead?
He settled on this: Steve Rogers was most definitely not dead. There was no way. It wasn’t possible; the man had survived too much to be dead.
And at that positive denial, Tony put the car into drive with a click, and began flying down the road as he sucked in a few deep breaths that smelled of wet upholstery and Axe body spray, and turned on the radio hoping to learn more information about Peter.
“-And the Masked-Menace has just been on a streak recently! Anyone else remember the Mysterio tapes? Spider-Man killed a hero, Mysterio sacrificed his life for us, and that bug killed him in cold blood. How anyone supports him after that is a shock to me. And now, we will take callers at 880-JJJ-KING.”
Tony shook his head, scoffing, yeah, as if Peter Parker, who called for help when he saw bugs in the bathroom, could kill someone.