It was said that dying was easy. It was an end, be it a good one or a bad one. A final word in the story, a blacked out screen at the end of the tale. Silence then nothing.
It was living that was hard. Living with the guilt, the pain that you had caused. Living to see the look of disappointment and regret on friend’s faces, as you struggle onwards to try and right the wrongs and numb the pain.
At least that was the way Tony had always thought it would be.
He was wrong.
Dying was painful. The hot burning pain of the bullets in his chest, the cold unforgiving stone steps of the court house where his body had landed, the screams of his assassin as he fired the bullets at the former hero. The regret….
The regret that the people he loved were hiding away in a far off country, criminals. Branded terrorists because of a stupid disagreement.
Tony would never get to see any of them again.
Would never again get to see Natasha’s small smile which she tried so hard to hide from everyone, Clint’s stupid jokes which never failed to make everyone laugh, despite their childishness. He would never hear Bruce’s dry wit as the man went toe to toe with him, Visions almost childlike analysis of his surroundings. He would never get to hear Wanda’s quiet voice as she slowly made herself comfortable in her new surroundings. He would never get to see Rhodey walk again, Pepper happy again. He would never get to see Peter grow up into the brilliant man, the hero he knew the boy was going to be.
He would never see Steve’s blue eyes again. The eyes he had loved so much, which had looked down at him with such hatred the last time they had been together, when Steve had shoved the shield into Tony’s chest with all his strength.
Tony would never get to tell Steve how much he regretted everything. No, not everything. Tony could never regret the Accords and what they stood for. And what they meant.
He never regretted becoming Iron Man, despite all the trouble it had caused. He never regretted falling in love with Steve. Of the moments they had shared over the course of their brilliant, ill-fated relationship.
He regretted that Steve had loved him back. Regretted that they had never managed to patch things up. Regretted that Steve would forever believe that Tony had hated him for his betrayal when it couldn’t be further from the truth. Regretted that he had never used that damn flip phone, despite how insulting it had been, receiving that damn letter.
He regretted that this had happened here, on the day the final draft of the Accords was to be signed, regretted the cameras that were no doubt still rolling, broadcasting his death to the whole world.
Would they be watching?
Would Steve be living his final moments with him through the TV? Tony hoped he wasn’t watching. Tony hoped that Steve had heard about the Accords and decided to change channel. Hoped that Steve’s stubbornness had won out and the man had chosen to do something, anything else then watch the TV. Maybe he was spending time with Barnes. Maybe in this final act he had once again chosen Barnes over Tony.
God Tony hoped Barnes was worth it.
How long had it been?
Tony could never keep track of time at the best of times and now…
Had he been lying on these steps for seconds, minutes, hours? He didn’t know. Time seemed to slow down.
There was screaming all around him. People panicking. No Avengers to save them.
It was funny that it had all started off with screaming.
Tony had been making his way to the court house to finalise the Accords, the re-writes he had worked so hard on. The pardon for the Avengers that he had put his all into to try and bring his friends home.
He had heard the scream of the man, his assassin.
“For Captain America!”
Tony, still only half way up the steps, had turned to see what was going on, the first bullet taking him by surprise.
The man had continued to scream his slogan as he pushed through the crowd, firing more bullets at Tony, sending the genius to the ground.
White spots of pain were dancing in front of his eyes. Someone was above him now. A hand holding his.
“Mr Stark.” A voice said.
T’Challa.
Despite housing the fugitives, the king had returned with his bodyguards to see the Accords through. He was a good man like that. Not trying to play the two sides against each other like Ross but simply trying to do what was right for everyone.
Tony could taste his own blood in his mouth as he tried to focus on the other man. T’Challa was putting pressure on one of the wounds on Tony’s chest but it wouldn’t be enough.
It was funny, in a way. Tony had survived so much, even the most impossible odds.
He had been blown up by his own weapon, tortured in Afghanistan. His former mentor and guardian had attempted to kill him by removing his heart. The palladium poisoning from his own life support. His own house destroyed around him, dumping him into the sea.
He had ridden a nuke into a wormhole, gone toe to toe with an enraged Hulk. He had survived every one of those. Hell, even Captain America’s best attempt at beating him down had not stopped Tony Stark. Broken him, yes. But never truly stopped him.
And now, a few tiny pieces of lead were what finally put an end to the infamous Tony Stark.
Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Hero. Murderer.
The Man who broke the Avengers.
If he had the strength, Tony would have laughed at that. His aborted snort must have caught the attention of the King trying to save him.
“Stark. Eyes on me.” The other man ordered.
Tony could feel T’Challa’s strong grip on his hand, the man, the king, trying to give comfort in these dying moments.
At least Tony wasn’t going to die alone. That was more than he ever could have asked for. More than he ever really deserved.
T’Challa wasn’t a stranger. T’Challa, despite everything was a friend. One of the few people Tony could really admire. His help with the Accords had meant everything to Tony, as the two had tried to stop the war together.
Breathing was becoming difficult, Tony’s lungs working hard as they filled with his blood. The pain was starting to fade now.
That was comforting at least.
He forced himself to look at T’Challa.
“Tell…..Ste….eeeve…” He forced out, the blood in his mouth now dripping down his chin, becoming matted in his beard.
His whole body was shaking now, growing cold as warm blood pooled underneath him.
What could he really tell Steve? Tell him that he loved him? That he made a mistake? That he just wanted the solider home?
“Sor…..rry….” Tony forced out the only word he could think of, the only word he had the strength to utter, as violent shudders wracked his body, his vision growing dim.
He was sorry. Sorry that it had to end like this. Sorry he couldn't be the bigger man and forgive Barnes. Sorry he had driven all his friend away. Sorry that he wasn't strong enough. Sorry that he was just a man, playing at being a hero while the real heroes were forced to work around him.
T’Challa’s face was fading, replaced by an all-encompassing darkness.
Somewhere, someone was calling to him, trying to gain his attention but it was too little, too late.
Tony closes his eyes, welcoming the dark. It was a relief. An end. As consciousness slowly left him, Tony remembered one thing, told to him long ago by his father.
There are always casualties in war.