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It’s safe to say that it’s been a complete shit storm on Earth, Carol muses behind her cup of coffee.

Of course, it’s not just Earth that’s undergoing complete mass hysteria from the reversed blip. Other planets and societies beyond the Terran solar system were facing the after-effects of what had happened, too- and it doesn’t help that Earth was so cut off from the intergalactic systems, so nearly everyone else didn’t know of what had happened.

So least to say, she was quite busy trying to maneuver her way through the galaxies (with help, of course) to try and spread the word of what had happened.

Regardless though, she’d thought that after weeks and weeks, perhaps maybe the news would’ve slowed down a little bit. And it seemed to have, just a little bit, but for every time news slows, another wave comes in.

The first wave was about, obviously, the reversed blip. Of course, that one didn’t have enough time to slow down as the next wave came around. The death of Tony Stark was announced a week after the fight- just so his family and friends had enough time to mourn in privacy. Then the next one about the sacrifice Natasha Romanoff made- though it was a smaller wave, it was one that still had a huge impact. And for a while, it seemed like that was that- weeks pass, and just barely had the craze around the reverse blip (Lord, there’s got to be another name for this, Carol thinks) lessened.

And then (Name) Stark is pronounced dead.

To say the headlines erupted once again in a mad-dog-like frenzy would be an understatement. Hell- Carol would even dare say that it was almost as talked about as his father’s death. Of course, it was in part due to, well, (Name) fucking Stark being pronounced dead. A man of his status was bound to capture the headlines with his passing for weeks, just like his old man.

But it was also in part credited to something else: the timing and nature of his death, or lack thereof.

Carol remembers watching the SI press conference a couple of hours ago, just as it finished broadcasting. She was a few light-years away from Earth as she heads back for check-in.

(New message, 3 hours ago: Maria R.

‘Hey, I think you might wanna watch this before you come back to Earth. Just broadcasted. It’s about (Name) Stark.’

Carol pauses, midway through drying her hair as she’s about to put her uniform on. She’d be lying if curiosity wasn’t eating at her, so she still clicks on the link Maria had sent her.)

(Name) was… A prominent figure within Earth’s society. Being the CEO of Stark Industries (a massive company, so she’s been told), a superhero/ Avenger, and the world’s 'longest-running most eligible bachelor’ (Carol scoffs- why is that one of the main things the public likes to point out so much?) definitely lands you underneath the people’s microscope more often than not.

They’d pick at every nitty-gritty detail one by one and shred into it without mercy.

And even in his death, they did the same thing. Unsatisfied, they practically crucified Stark Industries and the Avengers after SI’s press conference. 

She glances around her, the local tavern loud with nothing but one word on their lips: Stark.

'Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he died from like, an inside job or something.’

'Died too young, man. The kid had so much potential to be great… May God rest his soul.’

Carol shakes her head. They weren’t wrong- from what she’s seen working with (Name), he was a hard worker, that’s for sure. Sighing, she left a tip at her table and quietly left.

Hopefully, for Earth, they’ll come to find some peace soon.

“You okay, punk?”

'No,’ Steve fiddles with nail absentmindedly, 'I’m not.’

That’s his honest answer to the question. He wants to scream and shout to the world that no, he is not okay whatsoever, but he knows that’s one of the many luxuries he’ll never get to have anymore- even to the people closest to him. Too much of a burden no one would want to carry.

So, instead, he smiles at Bucky with more teeth than necessary, face straining ever so slightly. 

"Sure thing, Buck’. Are you?”

The brunette offers him a small, sympathetic smile back. It’s not the same as Steve had remembered- it used to be confident and relaxed, but nowadays it’s always tense and careful. But then again, it wasn’t like Steve was the same man either, so he’d be hypocritical to expect the same man from his memories from his old pal.

“I’m managing.”

It was always something along the lines of that. Never an okay, never a not okay. Just… managing. Short and simple.

It’s scary how much Bucky’s reserved presence reminds him of how Steve himself used to be, back when he was wide-eyed and naive to what the world has become without him. He didn’t really feel like he was actually there and knowing how separated he and the rest of the world were made him want to close in on himself.

On one hand, he’d never wish that feeling of emptiness on anyone. But on the other hand, he’s almost relieved he’s not the only one who’s felt so completely alone in this world anymore.

Almost.

Steve doesn’t say anything as Bucky comes over to where he was in the living room and sits adjacent to him on the couch. For a brief moment, they say nothing as the TV plays the news station. Steve pretends to watch the news, but he can’t find the energy to care about what’s going on in the news. It’s all the same thing nowadays: Blip, Blip, Avengers, Blip, Starks…

Settling down in his seat, he lets his mind drifts off other places instead.

It drifts to a cramped, moldy apartment that was too small and cold for the average person, but just enough for him. 

It drifts to an ugly tower, placed right at the epicenter of one of the most beautiful yet terrifying cities he’s ever been in. Charming, and in every way a wonderful representation of the future.

It drifts to the loud yet comforting hum of the inside of the quinjet, sailing ever so smoothly into the night sky after a successful mission. Bruised, but satisfied.

It drifts to a sly redhead with one too many daggers slipped around her person, sitting next to a tired brunette wrapped up in blankets. Deadly, yet delicate. Open, yet intimate.

It drifts to a mystical long-haired blonde and an erratic billionaire, sitting together and joking about as if they hadn’t just fought neo-nazis no less than an hour ago. He remembers a rush of fondness glossing over him as he passively observes them.

It drifts to a pair of warm, mirth filled eyes as they listen attentively to Steve ramble on and on about the war as if he had hung the moon. He relishes in the spotlight of their monopolized attention.

It drifts to the nights where life’s not as unbearable as it usually is, as he sits across from a usually aggressive young adult quietly chatting about books they’ve read together: their own secret club. Warm, he reconsiders, comfortable. Content.

It drifts to quiet nights where he tries to focus on the ceiling rather than the erratic beats of his heart, images of his own teammate grinning tiredly at him, lips bruised, split, and inviting. Guilt courses through his veins, but so does heat.

Steve’s mind drifts through lots of things before Bucky murmurs into the air nonchalantly.

“It’s about Stark, isn’t? The son?”

Steve holds back a flinch, praying that Bucky doesn’t notice the red crawling up his neck. He wouldn’t have been embarrassed if Bucky had meant Tony- of course, Steve misses him dearly- but for Bucky to go straight to you instead is mildly humiliating, to say the least. He can feel Bucky’s eyes burning holes into his skull. It’d be no use trying to deny it, so Steve conceded with a reluctant nod.

“That obvious?”

“It’s written all over your face.”

Steve doesn’t offer to say more, so Bucky continues, quieter this time.

“He seemed like a great kid.”

Steve huffs with a small amused smile. He thinks back to when you two spent Valentine’s Day together- not as a couple, obviously, but you claimed that the two loners on the Avengers team should have each other’s backs. He chuckles absentmindedly. You two did nothing but watch movies and critique them all night.

Granted, it was more one-sided as he spent the whole night listening to you go on and on about how objectively, the Hunger Games books were far better than the movies, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It was nice to hear you talk, especially when it’s about something so trivial but important to you.

“One of the best,” Steve half-heartedly offers. 

“Tell me 'bout him.” Bucky isn’t looking at the TV anymore as his eyes are trained on Steve’s.

Steve shrugs with a sigh.

“What more can I say that hasn’t been said already?”

Ever since the SI press conference, countless of people came out to say great things about you, as they did with Tony. Countless of people praised you, especially with your efforts to help society get back on their feet ever since the blip. Even random people gave their one anecdote with you, whether it be a barista that had served you or folks at Morgan’s daycare center whenever you picked her up.

Nothing but words of praises and kindness for you.

Bucky hums, understanding what he means. It wasn’t like he hadn’t looked at the news as of recently, either. For every 10 headlines that are published, chances are 9 of them have at least one mention of a Stark, whether it be the senior or junior.

They sat in silence once more, something Steve noted as a reoccurring theme between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did make Steve’s skin crawl, hoping for the other to say something just once.

“… You were sweet on him, aren’t you?”

Though, maybe this was the one time he wished Bucky would’ve just stayed silent.

It would be horrifying to hear someone accuse him of being in love with his own (ex-) teammate if he hadn’t already come to terms with it. Still, it’s unnerving to hear someone pinpoint his feelings within a matter of a week or two when it had taken him up until it was too late to figure it out.

“Did it matter?” Steve runs a hand through his hair, almost as if it were a defense mechanism, but he insists it’s not, "It’s not like he was interested in me, anyways… Not especially after…“

Steve laughs quietly, almost bitterly so. If he thought he had any chance with you before, he sure as hell threw that chance straight in the garbage the moment he locked eyes with you at the airport. And it sure as hell didn’t help when he had practically rag-tag teamed up against your own dad.

"Besides… He’s a man of the future, Buck. He’s so… so bright compared to everyone else. I can’t- I don’t have much to offer. I’m just- all I’m good for is fighting.”

He sighs, and he’ll deny it if anyone comments on how resigned it sounded.

“Not to mention, there’re other people that he’d be happier with. People that wouldn’t- wouldn’t hurt him,” 'Like you did,’ his subconscious bitterly reminds him. And he wasn’t wrong- there were other people you could be wonderful with.

You and Queens already had some chemistry, from what Steve’s heard in the air. There was never anything substantial, but he’d pass by a few newspapers mentioning you and Spider-Man spotted together more often than not. You two would’ve been cute, Steve reluctantly admits. He wouldn’t even be surprised if you two were dating.

Then there were a few others, too. Surprisingly enough, he saw you and King T'Challa, of all people, together too often in the New York Times, and even Wakanda’s own news websites. His Highness’ explained it was only ever about the Accords, but Steve wasn’t so blind as to not notice how much more genuine T'Challa’s smile seemed when you were brought into the conversation.

There was also Thor, too. You stopped talking to the rest of the Avengers save a select few after the initial blip in 2018, so there wasn’t any new thing between you and Thor, but Steve reminisces when he’d catch you joking around with Thor and teasing the poor God. If not lovers, you two were most definitely good friends. Steve hates the fact that he’s exceptionally happy at the prospect of you and Thor being just friends.

Not to mention the other seemingly boundless amount of people who you’d make a great couple with. Maybe it was just Steve being excessively attentive when it came to you, or maybe it was because everyone’s eyes just seemingly happen to gravitate to you, no matter if there’s hundreds of people in the room at the same time.

Bucky sighs and mutes the TV. Steve gives him a questioning look, but Bucky only raises an eyebrow back as he looks at him straight on.

“Those just sound like excuses. Never took you for a coward.”

Steve bristles.

He’ll admit that he’s a lot of things. Frustrating, thick-headed, and quick to anger. And knowing other people, they have a whole list to add on to those too, whether it be positive or negative. But one thing he’s never been was a coward.

“I’m not- look, I just know a lost fight when I see one, okay? He just- wasn’t interested in me, and that’s fine. Hell- he’s probably not even into men.”

Steve’s mind lingers back to a picture lying in your old room, back when he used to come visit you just to say goodnight, or to ask you to join him in his morning jog. He never brought up the picture, rationalizing that it was too invasive of a question. You were with a girl- both of you seemed quite young- but it was obvious that you two were more than friends judging by the way you held her and the very obvious hickey on your neck.

His ears burn, and he’s not sure if it’s with embarrassment or envy.

“But you don’t know that, though, do you? You ever asked him any of that? If he was into fellas? If he was into you?’”

Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky’s stare, feeling his eyes burn into his skull.

Sure, he never asked you outright anything Bucky had mentioned, that much was obvious. And sure, even entertaining the (pleasant) idea that you were into men, it didn’t take a genius to guess that you absolutely loathed Captain America. It was obvious, too. Especially ever since the 'scandal’ of you deleting any tweets or photos you had uploaded that Steve was in. 

(Of course, you deleted any photos the Rogue Avengers were in, but that didn’t make the stinging hurt any less when Steve had found out.)

Bucky sighs and turns the sound back on. There was a tension in the air between them, but Bucky beat Steve from saying something as he speaks up.

“And the whole thing 'bout you knowing a lost fight when you see one?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. Bucky half-smirks.

“Not the Steve Rogers I know.”

He gently punches Steve’s shoulder and ruffles his hair, much to Steve’s amused annoyance.

“The Steve Rogers I know would’ve charged headfirst into a battle, even if it was just him against the world. Oh wait- you already tried doing that.”

Steve rolls his eyes and playfully shoves Bucky. The amount of razzing he had gotten from Bucky- and others, too, like Sam and Bruce (his heart curls, knowing that Natasha would’ve been among them as well, telling Steve off for trying to pull a 'bull-headed’ move)- was more than enough for Steve to feel bad anymore at this point.

“Shut it.” Steve jests.

They fall into a comfortable silence again, though this time Bucky turns back on the TV to a low volume. Steve glances at Bucky, who’s got his chin rested absentmindedly on his hand.

“You know… You’re taking this awfully well.”

Bucky pauses, peering at Steve with a raised eyebrow.

“Taking what?”

“Me bein’,” Steve pauses, trying to find the right words before giving up, “Er, into ladies and fellas.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a solid minute, and before Steve was about to start rambling, trying to just get Bucky to say anything, the brunette speaks up, but timidly so.

“It’s… not somethin’ I ever thought about, y'know? You bein’- bein’ into guys, I mean.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. He keeps his eyes glued onto the TV with a soft gaze, so distant that Steve wants to know what he’s really thinking about.

“We just… Never talked about it. Never… Never gave it a thought. I’d be lying if I said I was 100%, er, up to speed with it.”

Bucky pauses mid-sentence. He waves his hands and flickers his attention to Steve for just a split second, almost as if he’s nervous about what he’s saying.

“Not the bein’ gay thing, or whatever. Just… How open people nowadays are with that stuff.”

Steve unclenches his jaw, not even realizing it had been clenched this whole time. It wasn’t something that Steve had thought would be new to Bucky, and he almost feels dumb for not realizing it sooner. Hell, even when Steve himself had been defrosted, it shocked him that something as gay relationships were accepted now. Not that he was against it- but to see that the world had progressed like that without him made him hurt less whenever he thought too hard about the old times.

“Oh, Buck…”

Steve places an encouraging hand on Bucky’s shoulders, and he almost seems to sag into it.

“Back then, you’d practically be crucified if you were caught.”

Bucky’s eyes are unfocused, lips pressed in a firm line. Steve doesn’t say anything since he doesn’t even know what to say to that.

Bucky, seemingly haven snapped out of it, smiles; though, it looks more like a grimace in Steve’s opinion.

“Just- give me some time, 'kay? I’ll come round sooner or later. Just… It’s all still a lot, even after years of bein’ here…”

'To the 21st century,’ the words lingered on his tongue. Steve sure knows how that feels, to be overwhelmed by the new world. It’s almost suffocating, knowing how much you’ve missed out on, and how different everything is now. It’s like drowning, really.

Surrounded by so much, too much, and at one point it even feels like Steve’s being dragged down further and further away from the surface no matter how much he tries swimming up. There’s no one there to save him, either. No one to dive their hand down into the waters, no one to hold onto as they pull him back up to the surface.

It’s just Steve, alone, in a bottomless ocean, drowning. And it’s constantly filling up and up and up and God all Steve just wants to do is get away from there and be able to breathe.

Steve pats his shoulders, pulling him in for a side-hug as Bucky returns the gesture. He playfully ruffles the blonde’s hair, much to Steve’s annoyance, and gives him a lopsided smile that makes the tension in Steve’s shoulder loosen.

“B'sides, you’re still my Stevie. Not like you’ve sprouted horns and started killin’ people.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on that. Once again, they fall into a comfortable silence, though Steve’s shoulders feel unexplainably lighter than it has in days.

The sun’s almost gone by the time Steve gets home from the group therapy session he was at. It was the same old, same old. Go in, talk about your feelings, and listen to other people afterward. Sure, it helped, and it felt great to empower people to get back up from a great fall, but it just…

It doesn’t really fulfill him nowadays.

Hell, he’s not sure what can fulfill him now.

Settling in, he notes that Bucky’s room is dark; chances are, he’s probably out right now. Before, Steve used to be worried about him, but now it’s not uncommon for Bucky to be gone every now and then. Steve doesn’t really ask where he’s going, so long as Bucky doesn’t tell him. One day, maybe he’ll ask.

Regardless though, Steve rummages around in the fridge to see what he has to work with in terms of dinner. But before he could even take out anything, his phone buzzes with a notification.

Taking out his phone, still halfway into the fridge, Steve glances at the display name.

It’s from Rhodes.

Raising an eyebrow, he taps on the notification. It’s rare that Rhodey texts, and it’s even rarer for him to text Steve of all people. Nowadays, other than any Avenging business, they don’t really talk. Granted, Steve also never finds the energy to talk to anyone these days, save a select few and those at the group therapy sessions, but that’s beside the point.

So if Rhodey is texting him, it’s gotta be important.

And judging by how fast Steve had bolted out the door and onto his motorcycle, it sure as hell was important. 

From: Col. James Rhodes.

To: Capt. Steve Rogers, Dr. Bruce Banner, +3 others.

“Dr. Strange’s back. He has new information about (Name), and it’s major. He’s not staying for long. - James.”

Pepper doesn’t want to be here.

There was no going around it- as composed as she was and had to be, she knew she could only take so much before she would snap. And sitting in the compound once again, she wouldn’t be surprised if what she was about to hear would be the final straw.

She had plans today, too. She was supposed to take Morgan to go see the neighborhood fireworks festival, and she remembers distinctly looking forward to taking Morgan on the ferry-go-round, too. And yet, here she is, at the compound which once used to be lively, but only whispers of her husband and son echo in the hallways.

She had already been sitting in here for an hour before Steve had finally made it. By then, Bruce and Strange had already explained why they were here.

Just like Tony and Natasha, it seemed like your fate had already been set in stone the moment Stephen had spared the time stone for Tony’s life.

But that wasn’t what they were called in here for; or at least, in a way that Pepper had initially thought. 

Bruce was talking, and as if he was concluding his monologue, he spares a sympathetic glance at everyone in the room, especially at Pepper. She just wishes he’d stop throwing glances at her as if she was a fine piece of China ready to tip over from the cupboard at any moment now (She knows she almost is, but she’d rather be caught dead than to have an emotional breakdown at a time like this. What was it- Stark men are made of iron?)

“And besides… We’ve retrieved video recording of what happened that day. From DAHLIA.”

The only thing in her vision is red. But she doesn’t raise her voice. ('Am I going to have to watch it?’ She thinks) She doesn’t move from her spot as she stares at Bruce, eyes dilated ('Yes, of course, you want to know what happened,’ her subconscious betrays her). Her ears are pounding and she doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh or cry.

“And why did it take you so long to get the recording?”

She watches like a hawk as Bruce and Stephen grimace. They glance at each other with uncertainty, but it’s Bruce who bites the bullet and speaks up.

“Because, ah… We didn’t think about it…?”

Suddenly, all she wants to do is scream. Lifting a shaking hand to her head as there’s now a pounding at her skull, she clenches her eyes shut.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She opens her eyes and boy, does she hate the way that everyone’s avoiding her gaze. Even the ever so elusive Sorceror Supreme (In her head, she knows he’s not at fault. In her heart, she wants to spit on his name.) pretends to be busy, but she knows.

She knows.

She sighs, ignoring the tremble of her lips, and dismissively waves her hand at Bruce.

“Just play it. Please.”

Bruce silently nods and pulls up a recording. It’s dated back to the day of the reversed blip, a quarter past afternoon. 

Pepper crosses her arm, praying that no one sees her hands quake as the recording starts. 

It’s dark and decrepit, with a good portion of the screen glitching out. There are charts and tables everywhere, and Pepper now recognizes them as his health stats. The walls all blur together as she tries to bite back the tears.

There’s rubble everywhere. In the distance are lights from fires, but you’re so far down there’s barely any light at all. Your face isn’t in view, and rather what she sees makes her heartache even worse than before.

A gleam of metal jutting out of your stomach is front and center of the camera. It’s huge- about the width of her thigh- and it’s stained red. Your breathing is labored and short, obvious signs of a panic attack as the sounds of you gasping echo in the room. No one says a thing as an Australian voice speaks up in a frantic.

“Doll! Doll, I need you to breathe! You’re going into shock!”

There’s no response from you as you continue to hyperventilate. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Steve’s jaw clench and Bruce covering his mouth. She doesn’t react to Rhodey’s hand squeezing her shoulder as they all watch on.

There’s a weird sound coming out of you. Pepper’s heart clenches, and at this point, she doesn’t even care that she’s crying now- because she knows what that sound is.

That’s the sound of you hiccuping.

You’re crying.

You- one of the strongest men she knows, an Avenger, a hero, her baby- are crying, alone, and she was none the wiser to your suffering.

You’re moving- oh God, your arm- and the video feed pick up scuttering and growling. Her stomach drops even further. Chitauri. 

Your other arm grasps all over your lower body, barely gliding past your wounds (oh God, please tell her that’s not a steel beam) and into your pockets. There’s an orange tint, barely there, but in your hands as DAHLIA speaks up again.

“Don’t move! You’ve been impaled by a steel beam and your prosthetic arm has been dislocated- any more movement will result in an increased blood loss! I am attempting to contact Mister-”

There’s the sound of glass shattering before the video camera shuts off. The charts suddenly spike unnaturally, going practically haywire as the only thing left coming from the screen is the sound of DAHLIA’s voice glitching. 

“-er-er-er!”

It was a horrific way to go if Stephen’s being honest.

Of course, as both a doctor and Sorcerer Supreme, he’s seen- and even experienced- his fair share of gruesome injuries and deaths. It was par the course, so it wasn’t enough to make him want to empty his guts.

But he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t at least feel his stomach curl in when he had to witness your 'death’ the first few times. 

Seeing you crushed under debris, your prosthetic arm hanging by a few strings, and literally impaled by a steel beam wasn’t a pleasant sight whatsoever. Add on watching your scared form hyperventilating and hearing your A.I. trying to calm you down with heartbreakingly real panic in her voice, and it was downright unbearable.

And that was the best of it: there were ones where the steel beam had sliced through your skull or where you had been straight up mauled by the Chitauri as you didn’t have your suit on hand, for whatever reason. There were other scenarios where the chitauri had mobbed-up your decapitated head, and Thanos had presented it to the older Stark, just as he was about to grab the stones. That one move proved fatal for everyone, as even Stark had lost his composure at the sight of his dead son.

As much as Stephen doesn’t want to say it, he knew that what had actually happened to you was the best possible route that had been chosen for you.

The video ends, and the Captain leans away from the wall he was positioned on. 

“What the hell happened? One moment- he was trapped under rubble, the next, nothing? Suddenly we lose all contact with him? What- did he just- pop out of existence?”

He’s frustrated, angry. Stephen would be lying if he didn’t feel an inkling of the same emotions as him. Stephen runs a shaky hand through his hair.

“You’re not entirely wrong, Captain. What happened to him was similar to that of St- Tony,” He corrects himself prematurely, “and Romanoff.”

“You telling me he was meant to- to die too? Like Tony and Natasha?”

Stephen shakes his head, ignoring the seething anger in the captain’s voice. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Rhodes wrap his arms around Pepper, who’s sat still in her chair, staring blankly at Stephen. It’s almost as if she’s seeing past him for a split second as if she’s looking at someone else behind him.

There’s only a wall next to him. He ignores her, skin prickling at her unwavering attention, yet eery silence.

“It’s a means to an end. I can’t pick their fates, Captain. That’s not how my powers work.”

'Though, it would’ve been better for the sake of everyone had it did work that way.’ Stephen bitterly remarks.

“Besides that, I never said he’s dead, Captain. Or, shouldn’t be, anyway.” Stephen carefully avoided answering if it was a necessity that you were to go.

Stephen internally sighs, knowing immediately that wasn’t the right thing to say judging by the 'oh God’ Pepper just muttered.

Rhodes speaks up with a clenched jaw. He had been silent this whole time, but Stephen wasn’t foolish enough to not recognize how even he had been bothered by the film. Whether it was because of the gore, emotional connection, or both, Stephen doesn’t care enough to ask.

“Then what exactly are you saying?”

Stephen, once again, ignores how confrontational his tone is. He doesn’t blame Rhodes for his frustrations; being a doctor, it’s inevitable that he’d come and get used to people like this.

'They’re mourning,’ he hears imaginary Christine chiding him.

Stephen sighs. He’s not even sure how to break it all to them, as even he’s not too sure of what has become of you after the film. But regardless, Stephen reels himself back in and composes himself.

He pulls back the need to add any fluff words and says what he’s been inching to say ever since he had attended Tony’s funeral.

“Stark’s traveled back in time; the only problem is, is that we don’t know when and where.”