Tony Stark thought he knew pain.
He'd been captured by rebels and held in a cave as a prisoner for months.
He'd been a pin cushion for bomb shrapnel.
He'd woken up with a hole and an electromagnet in his chest.
He'd suffered through almost fatal levels of Palladium poisoning.
That was nothing compared to watching a two-foot long piece of shrapnel lodge itself into his chest cavity.
Tony had always heard people describing stab wounds as being "white-hot" or "fiery". He himself had experienced this sensation when he was hit with shrapnel in Afghanistan. The pain had been hot and heavy, like having, well, melting metal in his chest.
The pain from this shrapnel was much, much different. The second it pierced his skin, he was chilled to the bone. Goosebumps arose on his arms and legs. He could hear the sound of his teeth chattering bouncing around in his skull like he was empty; like every thought or bit of energy he'd had left was now leaking through his wound and into the Earth.
A cold breeze that hadn't been blowing before now enveloped Tony. Time stood still. It was like he could see each swirly tendril of air lick his clothes and rustle his hair that he'd let grow out a bit too much these last few months.
It took him several moments to realize he'd fallen onto the ground and was now laying on his back, staring at the pink sky. The sun was setting beyond a mountain ridge to his left. There wasn't a cloud in sight.
What a sickeningly beautiful way to go.
The enemy that speared him in the first place had been neutralized. That's how Tony ended up with the hunk of metal jutting through the space between his fourth and fifth ribs on the right side of his chest. He'd been so focused on playing offense that defense had totally slipped his mind. He'd taken down his opponent at the expense of his own personal protection. Plus, his suit was already compromised from the earlier parts of the battle and was doing him no favors, but he hadn't had the heart to take it off. It was a security blanket for Tony, something that defined who he was.
Tony Stark is Iron Man.
I am Iron Man.
No, he would not take the suit off, as useless as it may have been.
Now he watched his own blood leak through the suit's joints and cracks, it's color blending with the shiny red metal of his armor in the fading daylight.
He was really cold.
I am Iron Man.
The sky's pink hues had since turned violet and indigo, yellow stars making patterns in the cosmos.
I
am
Iron
Man.
"Yes, you are."
Tony found the energy to gasp. Well, more than he had been in the last few minutes. Breathing was becoming a difficulty. The scrap metal must have punctured his lung.
The voice was faint, quiet. Young. And familiar. Oh, so familiar. He hadn't heard that voice in months. Not since Thanos snapped his goddamn fingers and took away everything he cared about.
"P-Peter?"
"Hiya, Mr.Stark."
Tony's pain-ridden, blood-loss affected mind must have been playing tricks on him, for he could have sworn Peter Parker was standing at his feet, looking just as he had on the day Tony lost him. His hair was messy from being shoved under the mask, which was nowhere to be seen. He was still in his Iron Spider suit, web-shooters glowing faintly. As was the rest of him. The boy was surrounded by a sort of sapphire glow.
"Parker. How are-- what's going on? You're-" Tony choked on his words, the cause of his stutter being lack of oxygen or extreme grief, he couldn't tell. "Are you really here?"
"Yes, Mr.Stark. I'm here. Not here, but I'm here, like, with you. Somewhat. Do you get what I'm saying?"
"Not really, no."
Peter could see the confusion, the distress, the pain, the angst, in the look Tony was giving him. He offered a gentle smile. "You're close, Mr.Stark. They said I could be here with you."
"They? Who's they?"
Peter knelt next to him, sitting on his own feet and reminding Tony of something painfully similar to the way a small child sits. "It's not as bad as you think, actually. It's not sharp blackness or screams or crying. It's soft, like my favorite blanket from when I was little. The blue one that always smelled like May's perfume."
The sky was black, now. Yellow stars turned white and the moon seemed to glow brighter than it ever had.
"I don't feel so good, Peter."
Peter chuckled in a sad sort of way. If Tony didn't know better, he'd have thought there were tears in the boy's eyes. The moonlight was turning them silver. "I know you don't. It'll be over soon."
Tony was quiet for several moments. He took some time to collect his thoughts, his breaths. The sounds of night were all around him; bugs buzzing in nearby plants, owls cooing somewhere in the forest. Lightning bugs were whizzing past his line of sight, almost blending in with the stars above them.
"Does it hurt? Dying?"
Peter pulled his gaze away from the lightning bug that had just landed on Tony's arm, its tail-end blinking cheerfully.
"Quicker than falling asleep."
"Stay with me. Until the end."
"Of course, Mr.Stark. Always."