“Who’d you lose?” asks the blue alien, Nebula, on the trip back to earth. The spaceship is silent, and her words echo around the hollow metal.
Tony doesn’t respond. He doesn’t think he could even if he tried. There are no words left on his tongue; all that’s there now is ash.
-
“Who’d you lose up there?” asks May.
He sees the realization hit her all at once, and then she’s crumpled against the Parker’s doorway. She’s suddenly in his arms, head against his shoulder, gasping for air, whimpering, “No…” and suddenly he’s back on Titan. He’s not crying, but he’s not breathing either. He knows if he tries, his lungs will fill with ash.
-
“Who’d you lose?” asks Natasha, her voice hollow.
They’re sitting next to each other on the floor of his lab. Somewhere, floors above them, what’s left of the Avengers are talking in circles, trying to form a plan.
When he remains silent, Natasha doesn’t push. She just silently hands him the bottle of tequila, and he washes away the taste of ash.
-
“Who’d you lose?” ask Steve.
This is their first official conversation alone since the Snap, but it’s not awkward between them. Tony thought that he’d felt loss, when Steve crushed his trust along with his ark reactor.
He knows what real loss is, now. And sure, Steve lied and hid and betrayed him, but thats faded to a dull murmur in the back of Tony’s head. He’s not even sure he remembers what it feels like to hate Steve.
He doesn’t hate anyone, anymore. Except maybe himself. And Thanos. Tony is going to make sure that fucker burns if it’s the last thing he ever does.
Steve hugs him when he doesn’t respond. Tony doesn’t hug him back. He just stands there and breaths, Steve’s arms firmly around him, and tries not to gag when he sees the ash clinging to Steve’s shoulder.
-
“Who’d you lose?” asks Clint dryly.
He says it like it’s a joke, but Tony knows better. Clint’s eyes are that of a father who’s lost everything. Tony knows that look all too well, because it’s the same one he sees every time he looks in a mirror.
“My kid,” he says finally, and his voice cracks from lack of use.
There’s anger in Clint’s eyes. He thinks Tony’s fucking with him, and that’s a blow so low that for a second Tony thinks Clint might shoot him with the arrow notched firmly against the bow.
But Clint meets his eyes, sees the brokenness, and exhales slowly. The arrow imbeds itself in the target, where it belongs.
“That sucks,” Clint says.
They both pause for a moment. Tony’s never been friends with Clint, hell, he’s never even liked him very much. But in that moment, Tony understands him in a way that he’s never understood anyone before.
“I can still taste the ash,” Clint says, and his voice breaks. “God. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Tony wants to tell Clint that ash doesn’t have a taste. It’s the dryness that gets him; no matter how much he drinks, his mouth is always dry, always full of that tasteless, odorless dust.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy and low. “I can still taste the ash, too.”
-
“Who’d we lose?” asks Peter from the infirmary bed, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling.
Tony’s hands are clasped around one of Peters. He almost laughs at the irony; Peter came back from the dead less than a day ago, he’s been awake for all of five minutes, and he’s already focused on how everyone else is doing.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” says Tony firmly. He reaches out a hand and brushes the curls out of Peter’s eyes. May is waiting for them, back on Earth, and all Peter has to do is hold on for a little longer.
“Who died?” Peter insists. His eyes slam shut, and a tear leaks out from the corner.
You did, kid, Tony wants to say, but he can’t.
He can still taste the ash. Maybe he’ll always be able to. But all Peter tastes is saliva and blood and the mint chewing gum Strange gave him. So Tony thinks he can live with the dryness.