this is just a bad dream, tony promises.
(it’s a lie.)
peter desperately wants to believe him, how could he not believe his hero?
(he doesn’t believe him.)
and yet they both cling to the illusion.
(illusions are all they have left.)
if peter closes his eyes he can feel tony’s fingers carding through his hair, steady, safe.
if tony closes his eyes he can feel peter against his side, radiating heat, warm, comfortable.
if their eyes are closed it feels like just another night. tony comforting peter after a nightmare.
(the only nightmare now is reality.)
if their eyes are closed they can keep dreaming.
but neither of them are the type to close their eyes in the face of truth.
(just this once they wish they were.)
instead they stare, wide eyed, facing the future head on.
(what future? they scream internally. peter’s is crumbling even as he contemplates it and tony can’t even begin to imagine his without peter.)
tony should’ve had the chance to finally marry pepper and have the kid he had always dreamed about. he should’ve been able to finally put away the suits and hang up the armor. he deserved a peaceful retirement, to pass on the torch. he was supposed to steer the future.
(instead the future will steer him.)
peter should’ve had the chance to grow up and go to college and fall in love and have a life. he should’ve inherited the company, and used his brilliance to change the world. tony knows he would’ve done so much better than him, he could do so much more. peter was supposed to be the future.
(instead the future was stolen from him.)
the universe is unjust and fate is cruel.
(they are both idealistic dreamers in a much too realistic nightmare.)
but now peter will never get the chance to live out his dreams.
(he’ll only live out his nightmare.)
tony will never have a child.
(instead he’ll lose one.)
on the sacred, cursed grounds of titan, blood streaks the sky, dust overcomes the planet, and death smites them all. indifferent and apathetic, it avenges.
the ground splits open to swallow them whole.
peter looks up, desperate, terrified, pleading.
I’m sorry, his voice trembles.
peter crumbles.
(so does tony. but only on the inside.)
tony breaks.
(so does peter. literally. down to the bones.)
all that’s left is dust.
(from ashes to ashes, from dust to dust.)
this is just a bad dream, tony whispers.
(but just to himself, there is no one else around to hear him.)
he desperately needs it to be true.
(it’s a lie, it’s always been a lie.)
he presses the ashes against his face, tears rolling down his cheek.
(he doesn’t feel them. he’s numb. everything’s numb.)
he waits to wake up, gasping in bed beside pepper, or alone in his lab with half drunk coffee beside him.
he waits for someone to shake him awake, for a scared, worried voice to say, “mr. stark?” or for a firm, concerned voice to say, “tony!”
but they never come. nobody wakes him up.
(it’s not a dream. it’s never been a dream.)
I wasn’t tricked, I was shown. it wasn’t a nightmare, it was my legacy. the end of the path I started us on.
(all of it was real.)
I watched my friends die. you’d think that’d be as bad as it gets, right? nope. wasn’t the worst part.
theworst part is that you didn’t.
(it’s always worse to be the lone survivor, to be the one left behind.)
why didn’t you do more?
(he tried. it wasn’t enough. it never could’ve been enough.)
we’ll lose!
then we’ll do that together too.
(another lie, another broken promise.)
last night I dreamt we had a kid. it was so real.
(he had a kid and then lost him.)
everything piled on him then, one after another. every mistake and misstep, tragedy and trauma.
happy laying in a hospital bed, hooked to machines and covered in bandages.
pepper falling through the flames to her death, a yell frozen on her lips.
rhodey hurtling from the sky, and tony blasting forward, already knowing it to be a lost cause but trying desperately anyways.
all of his friends dying around him, broken, helpless. steve looking up at him with blame in his eyes, why didn’t you do more?
peter on the ground, shaking, I’m sorry.
this is just a bad dream, tony repeats numbly.
(he doesn’t even believe himself.)
bad dreams have an end. you can wake up. you can escape.
reality can’t be shaken away so easily.
(although can dreams really be shaken off?)
images chase themselves through his mind, insistent and ruinous, they drag him down.
a father’s fist and a cowering young boy running to his mother for safety.
later, an argument between father and son, shaking the house, harsh words exchanged. you’re a disappointment.
two people taken before their time, on an icy night in a horrific car crash. no. a cold metal arm, crushing and suffocating and killing.
parties and alcohol and wild nights, anything to drown the grief.
his own weapons in the hands of terrorists, an explosion and a piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest.
scalpels digging into his heart in a dusty cave in afghanistan. water pouring on his face. suffocating, drowning.
his own creations, his own weapons, killing civilians. his technology. his fault.
the wormhole over new york. the starry sky and unlimited abyss staring into his soul.
his friends helpless and broken and dying on the ground, staring up at him accusingly, why didn’t you do more?
a cold shield slamming against him, and even colder blue eyes piercing through him. frigid and icy.
yet again, the indifferent void of space. this time though, he’s not alone. somehow it’s worse.
dust. too much dust.
this is just a bad dream, tony prays futilely.
(no one answers. there’s nothing left to say.)