‘You're not the one to make the sacrifice play.’
God how I wish I could take that back.
“Close it.”
It came out hoarse as I choked the syllables.
I was so mistaken.
He didn't even hesitate as he valiantly soared in his suit into the portal, Nuke on his back.
Natasha’s struggles broke through the silence on the coms. No one else dared to break the mourning, not only for Tony Stark, the man I’d belittled and demeaned to no end, but for the man who had idolized me, and eventually died per my failures as leader.
Just like how I’d failed Bucky.
Tony had insisted on his independence from the role of a soldier, yet played into every standard I’d built myself on without hesitation.
I hated him for it.
I hated how he could be so like me while opposing me at every turn.
To no end, I cursed how I’d failed another Stark. Their lineage was imprecating my existence as the failure who couldn't save Howard from a spiral or Tony from himself.
I watched the portal shrink. Unable to tear my eyes from the rip in space quickly enveloping a man I had yet to apologize to.
I had so completely stumbled past the truth of his self-sacrifice while closing my eyes to anything that disproved it. I’d looked past when he had willingly put himself in an engine, that when up to functioning speed could shred him in an instant. Or how he chose to stall Loki all on his own, not caring for what the consequences could entail.
How I had been so completely incorrect amazed me. I underestimated Stark’s depth behind his overwhelming ego and closed my eyes after one glance into his character.
I wanted to scream for Tony to fall back through, to yell at Natasha for listening. I wanted to cry, to beg, to force Stark’s suit to fly through with the confidence it usually holds.
I got what I wished for.
He fell through right before it sealed.
I could have mustered something of intelligence. I could have screamed God’s praises. I could have begged Tony to never do anything like that again. Instead, I said the only thing my scrambled mind could conscript.
“Son of a gun.”
I stared in amazement as the son of one of my closest friends tumbled through the air.
Then I saw it.
The unending frozen state of him. He wasn't flailing. He wasn't even using Coms.
Silence. Ringing in my ears. Thor said something. I didn't care.
I watched as Hulk brought him to our feet.
I studied him as his faceplate was ripped off, the golden mask scraping against my deafness like nails on a chalkboard. I leaned in. I listened for a heartbeat, laying my heavy head on his armored chest. The same chest with scratches, dents, and a main circle that didn't glow.
I stared at the reactor. I waited for its light to shine the way it shone through his shirt, or displayed itself steadily through the suit.
How I longed for the stability the arc reactor would bring.
I lifted my head; slowly, begrudgingly. My gaze fell on his unmoving, wounded face. The way his eyes lay closed in defeat.
Then Banner broke the silence. His roar snapped me to my senses. Yet I couldn't draw my eyes from Tony.
A gasp.
A sudden, urgent jolt.
His jagged breathing grounded me.
I felt my tension melt as I leaned back, shifting my weight to my arms. The numbness lifting from my soul. Freeing me in a way I haven't felt in a while.
He’s alive.
I wanted to crush him in an embrace. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to run away and lose myself in the anxiety.
But I stayed.
Rooted in my spot.
Gaze locked on his.
“What the hell?”
I finally registered him. His battered face. His gravelly voice. His distinctly metallic scent.
“What just happened?”
I stared, afraid to blink. Scared of the prospect that this is just a wishful hallucination conjured by my guilt, my longing for his safety.
“Please tell me no one kissed me.”
Humor.
I laughed.
Something guttural.
Something I didn't know a statement so distasteful could elicit.
“We won.”
And win we did.