Onboard
As soon as the ship opens, Peter gives a little squeal and turns into a ball of frenetic energy, examining everything there is to see, fiddling with all the things he probably shouldn’t touch, rushing about so fast that it makes Tony’s head spin.
No, that’s probably just… his head still hasn’t caught up to Peter not being dead.
As Cyborg Smurfette secures the ship, Tony sinks down into the nearest thing resembling a seat, and rests his forehead in his hands, wondering vaguely if he’s about to throw up.
Under normal circumstances, he might be trying to reason out what happened, and what their next moves are, or how much they can trust the blue chick. But all he can focus on, with cold despair clutching at his heart, is whether there’s any real hope for the future: any chance they might be able to undo the horror or reset the clock or in any plausible way improve upon their fate so far.
He’s never been the type to just accept whatever fate throws at him. What’s that quote he’s got framed in one of his bathrooms? The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
Tony has tried his hand at both sides of that maxim, and it’s the times he’s tried to be reasonable that have blown up in his face. The risks he’s taken, the times he’s stubbornly refused to quit, those have left him with more than his fair share of trauma… but they usually work. However unlikely that might seem at the time.
Except, it turns out, when it matters most.
And the awareness of it all, it’s just—too much. The enormity of what just happened… and then, on top of it, Strange’s prediction that this was the best of all possible scenarios, the only one in which they could possibly win. As if all other possibilities were somehow worse.
Predictions like that aren’t the sort of thing Tony would usually buy into, but Strange… Strange could see the future, apparently. And even in his last breath, knowing he was about to crumble to dust, the guy had reasserted his prediction. So either he was a madman, or… or even his own death was an acceptable sacrifice, compared to the alternatives.
Fourteen million possibilities, and only one victory? Seems ludicrous on the face of it. Surely…
But then, now that the worst has come to pass, the idea of winning at all seems somehow even less plausible. Fourteen million to one? He doesn’t even want to begin to consider all the factors that add up to a calculation like that, but he wouldn’t put money on any better odds.
Except… he would, wouldn’t he? He’d put his life on the line, just like every other time, plying ingenuity and tenacity against common sense and fate, striving to somehow come up with a better outcome.
…wouldn’t he? Even now?
It’s all too much to think about, pounding inside his head.
So he just sits there, with his head in his hands, and tries not to think about anything at all.
Aside from wondering if there’s anything on board that might be considered alcoholic. (Or maybe some kind of alien weed. At this point, he’s not picky.)
Eventually, Peter’s nonstop babbling starts to get to him. For a while, it was comforting, a clear sign that the kid’s still there even when Tony’s got his eyes closed. But it’s not consistent enough or familiar enough to fade into a background noise, and yet it’s too much for his brain to make sense of right now, and when Peter finally finds his way back to the same room Tony vaults to his feet and collars the kid.
“Enough with the gerbil in a new cage routine. We need to…” He blinks, and shakes his head, because his internal RAM seems to be on the fritz. “Something. Other than that.”
Peter stares at him with a confused frown. “How are you not excited about this? We’re on a spaceship! When’s the last time you got to ride in an actual spaceship?”
“On the way here,” Tony points out, exasperated.
“Yeah, when we were too busy, y’know, dealing with bad guys and rescuing Doctor Strange and stuff. Now we’re safe and surrounded by alien technology and c’mon, you can’t tell me your inner geek isn’t flailing about like an enthusiastic Muppet right now.”
“My inner geek is still stuck trying to figure out why you’re even here.” Which is something he actually doesn’t want to think about, but now that he’s said it, his mind skims back over Peter’s words and the obvious answer springs to mind. “Strange did this, didn’t he? With the Time Stone.”
Peter shrugs. “I guess? I mean, he did something, right before Thanos showed up. Set up a, a trigger or something.” He frowns. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“The Infinity Stones are capable of feats beyond mortal comprehension.”
The voice comes from right behind Tony, making him jump and spin while triggering the kind of adrenaline rush he doesn’t need more of right now. The sudden pounding of his heart just intensifies the pounding in his brain.
Cyborg Smurfette stares at them dispassionately. “The mechanics are less mystifying than the choice to use such power to bring back an overactive child.”
“Hey! I’m not—uh—”
“That ‘child’ is one of the most powerful fighters we have,” Tony says coldly. Logic be damned, he’s not letting some robo-alien assassin-chick get away with insulting his boy. “You saw him hold his own against Thanos, remember? Besides, Strange—Doctor Strange, the guy who could see through time—said that he’d seen many possible futures, and only one of them let us win. So maybe he tried using his get-out-of-dust-free card on everyone else, and this is the one that actually helped.”
She levels an unimpressed gaze at him. “Win? The damage is done. Whatever plan the sorcerer came up with, clearly it failed to prevent the inevitable.”
“So maybe the point isn’t to prevent it in the first place. Maybe the point is to, to undo what happened. Whatever Strange saw of our future, he was still convinced as he was turning to dust.”
“Then he is a fool, or a liar. Most likely both. And you are even worse of a fool for believing him. If there were any chance to undo what Thanos has wrought, this tactic would be destined to fail.”
“Maybe that’s what he meant,” Peter chimes in, face flickering through uncertain expressions. “He told me…” His gaze shoots up and to the side, trying to recall exact wording. “Sometimes it takes an unusual tactic to win a war.”
With a scoff, she folds her arms. “The war is over. All that is left is revenge.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not so ready to give up yet,” Tony counters, almost without thinking. “The Stones of Power are still out there, right? So we’ve got a chance of getting them back. Undoing all this.”
Leveling her gaze at him, Cyborg Smurfette raises an eyebrow. “The combined forces of six systems protecting the Stones was not enough to prevent him from claiming them, and you think it will be easier now that you’ve lost half your forces?”
“At least we’ll still have a team,” Tony points out, crossing his arms. “You seem determined to run off on your own and face down the guy who just defeated the cosmos. How’s that gonna work out for you?”
She leans forward, eyes intent. “With his victory secured, he will not be on guard against a solitary assailant. Not after the last time I failed. This time, I will succeed.”
And despite how reckless it sounds, he does understand that impulse. Yinsen, Pepper, his parents… Tony is no stranger to vengeance, to the lengths that loss will drive you to. Even the team, before it disintegrated, was formed around that concept, baptized in Coulson’s blood.
Because if we can't protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it.
But the day he said that was also the day they decided to stand up against overwhelming forces—six warriors against an entire invading army—and somehow, against all odds, managed to drive them back. Giving up too soon has never been his style.
Hell, look at him now: Not even an hour after trying to lay the cape down again, he’s picking it back up. Like it was inevitable. But then… as weary as he is, he’d still rather do something than just sit down and accept his fate. The chance of success might be low, but he’s never let that stop him, and the benefit if they win…
Ninety-eight percent chance that at least one of the six died. Two chances in three that at least half of them died.
It’s worth it to keep fighting. Isn’t it?
Besides: “Hey, it works out either way. You take him down all on your lonesome, and then he can’t stop us from reclaiming the Stones. So we still have a chance to fix this.”
There’s a brief stare-down, which Tony ends by spreading his hands. “Well, nothing to be gained by sitting around, then. You said you needed my help with the ship?”