It's over. It's all over. Isn't it?

Nebula, the RoboCop lady, is still attempting to send out a signal, still trying to find appropriate jump points that'll cover large distances. Apparently, more than 50 jumps isn't good for a human, and I'm in an especially pitiable state.

I don't why she's bothering trying to preserve my life. I'm done.

But, I know she hopes there are still people who are fighting. She hopes there are people who would still be willing to move against Thanos. She's trying to take the ship to Earth, Terra as she calls it, hoping that I might be able to rally a team.

I don't want to rob her of that. Hope can be a powerful motivator and if she still has it, I'm not going to take it away. Not when I've lost all of mine.

It's almost funny how, after having faced death so many times, I've kinda developed a sort of sixth sense for it. I can feel it creeping up on me now. And I know that this time, it's real.

The mask of the Iron Man suit is staring at me, waiting, mocking. The rest of the nanobots are still stored in my chest compartment, but the mask... I need it, battered and dented as it is.

"Is this thing on?" I mutter, tapping the small recording button on it.

I take a second to figure out what I want to say.

"Miss Potts?" Professional. Just like old times. Not Pepper. Not Pep. Not Mrs Stark, like she was going to be. No need to make this hurt more for her than inevitable. Keep it distant and unattached.

"If you find this recording, don't feel bad," I instruct firmly. My voice is cracking from god-knows-how-much-time of disuse.

"Part of the journey is the end," I muse. Technically, a happy ending is also supposed to be part of a journey, but even I can't delude myself into thinking I deserve that.

"For the record, drifting along in space with zero chance of rescue is a lot more fun than it sounds." That probably isn't the right thing to say, but I'll be damned if I can't make a joke out of my own death.

"Food and water ran out four days ago. Oxygen runs out tomorrow morning. And that'll be it." I know Pepper isn't going to accept it, and I hate that I have to put her through this, but I'm also relieved. I don't deserve a happy ending, but maybe I can find some peace. And at the same time, I'm glad that Pet- Spiderli- Undero- the kid went so easily. Fast. Painless. Not this slow torture.

"When I drift off," I murmur. "I'll be dreaming of you." You, your smile when I told you about my dream, your unshakable faith in me that I would always make it back to you. The faith I'm breaking now. Well, so much for unattached.

"It's always you," I whisper. It's a promise and it's the truest thing I've ever said. Not a goodbye; just because I'm dying, doesn't mean I'll stop loving her, or missing her. I'll come back as a ghost just to see her if I have to.

I turn the recording off, hoping the quantum homing system will be enough to bounce the message from port to port until it gets to SI satellites and then to Pepper.

And I can't help but caress the mask, can't help but imagine it's Pepper cheeks, or Rhodey's shoulders, or the kid's hair.

I think of them, of FRIDAY, JARVIS, the bots, Vision, even Steve and Natasha and Clint. Of Bruce. Thor. I think of Stephen Strange, how he trusted me enough to sacrifice the Stone for me.

I think of a kid in Tennessee, who'd thought Iron Man was the coolest hero.

I think of all the people back on Earth who were dusted, the people who'd watched their loved ones crumble.

I'm pretty sure I've failed them all.

I just wish I had the will left to regret it. Instead, all I have the energy to do is lean back against the wall of the ship and wait for Judgement.

Then again, I'm not a religious man. So maybe not peace, but oblivion?

I'll take it.