I am in a dream.
Overwhelming certainty slams into Tony like a punch to the chest; like his own blade piercing his gut. Pain lingers like a cruel phantom, while any hope his newfound conviction should elicit remains buried even as he tries to dig it free, but he knows deep down he must surely be trapped within his own mind. It is the only way to explain the relentless horror of these past hours (Hours? Days? He's lost track); the only way to justify a reality in which he has been left alone on a desolate rock, having watched his allies crumble to ash.
Hasn't he envisioned this scenario before? The image of his loved ones lying dead while the universe fragments under the weight of his mistakes is an all-too-familiar one of late. Granted, this level of detail is extreme even for him and the shadow looming over the universe has never boasted a title or face before (Honestly, 'Thanos'? His subconscious could surely have conjured something more imaginative...) but this outcome is a familiar one. Any minute now, Tony can expect to wake with his heart lurching into his throat and shudders racking his frame, until Pepper's gentle hands reach out to comfort him. All he needs is one last push. One last reminder that this reality – this all-consuming emptiness – cannot be real.
(He refuses to believe it is real)
I am in a dream.
Sometimes that reminder helps. If he's lucky, a momentary taste of lucidity is enough to wake him from visions of the wormhole, or Afghanistan, or whatever else his mind has chosen to throw his way.
Mostly it makes no difference. No matter how certain he becomes that everything transpiring around him is mere fantasy or memory or a sick combination of both, his nightmares continue to unfold until they leave him shattered in their wake. FRIDAY often asks why he staves off sleep until he's dead on his feet - well, there's her answer. It's harder for an exhausted mind to conjure untold cruelties, he's found, and dreamlessness is a goal he strives for constantly.
He's not sure what he's done to deserve this current torture (for as cruel as his mind can be, it has never stolen Peter from him before) but he supposes he'll simply have to dwell on that once he wakes.
If only he could hurry up.
Doing so feels like a surrender, but Tony takes the risk anyway and opens his eyes. Being greeted by the image of Titan's barren wastes - her once-proud structures falling to ruin and dust around him - does not surprise him as much as he wishes it would. The world tilts on its axis as tired eyes adjust to the influx of light and nausea rises in his gut, though Tony supposes the pain isn't helping matters. Lowering hands rendered sticky with blood and... and ash, he tries to focus and erase his surroundings until they're replaced with the warm light of his bedroom or – more likely - workshop, but the fuzziness of his vision and the heart racing in his chest makes such a task seem monumental. He would commend his subconscious on its commitment to realism as pain radiates from his torn side to consume the rest of him, but he's already grown accustomed to that particular feature of his dreams.
Was it only last night that he was offered a vision of a child to call his own? The comfortable weight settled on his chest as Morgan slept had seemed so real, Tony had woken with a sense of crippling loss, only for reality to remind him he'd never had a child to mourn in the first place.
Or rather, he had,only to realise that truth far too late as Peter grew lighter and lighter in his arms, leaving Tony grasping nothing but ash and air...
That can't have been real. As cruel a mistress as reality often is, Tony's always trusted his mind to be crueller; this level of agony is his specialty.
Any minute now, he will wake with Pepper curled against his back. He will call Peter and assure himself of the boy's safety, letting him rave about the field-trip he's been anticipating for weeks without interruption. Tony will wake and this nightmare will shatter like glass and the world will keep on turning because that's what it does.
A choked laugh bubbles past his lips alongside blood and dust (he's still dying, he remembers, though in this state it's difficult to care). The strangled sound disturbs the quiet for only a moment before it's quickly replaced by a sob which threatens to tear his chest apart. He must make for a pathetic sight, though any pride has long since left him to the point where he can't bring himself to care, and he doubts there's anyone left alive to watch him fall apart.
Tony wonders what Pepper would say if she could see him now.
(He wonders if Pepper's still alive to berate him, and any sanity he may have been clinging to finally shatters)
A hand suddenly comes to rest on his shoulder, the touch burning with such ferocity he practically jumps out of his skin. The solid, undeniable presence of another acts as the final nail in the coffin for any lingering hope that this is mere twisted fantasy, and Tony feels all tension leave him in a shuddering breath. With that release comes a resurgence of pain, alongside a renewed awareness of minute shudders racking his frame as his heart and lungs are pushed to their limits. How long he's been hyperventilating, he cannot say, but his chest burns fiercely from effort, forcing him to close his eyes and take in what he hopes is a deep, grounding breath.
It helps, albeit only a little. The fog in his head clears and the foreign hand remains on his shoulder like a tendril tying him to earth. His unannounced companion doesn't bother waiting for an acknowledgement before her harsh voice disturbs the quiet; emotionless as steel, though there's an edge which implies she's holding back more pain than Tony can fully comprehend.
"We can't stay here," she states plainly, her voice seeming to echo across Titan. Tony glances up only to find black eyes fixed to the horizon, as though she's afraid acknowledging the broken creature at her feet will cause her to shatter as well.
Any attempt to recall her name comes up empty. During the battle, Tony had simply referred to her as 'the blue one', but Quill seemed familiar enough with her to suggest she had links to his crew. She exudes a bitterness that would unnerve Tony if he had the energy, but there's enough humanity – if that's the right word for one so distinctly alien – lurking within eyes which may otherwise be mistaken for soulless to make him trust her.
Tony knows the facade she's wearing well; understands her desire to put on a mask of composure when deep down it feels like the universe is falling to pieces.
He's caught it in a mirror often enough.
Her hand leaves his shoulder when he offers no response, though the ghost of her touch lingers like a brand on his skin. The sudden loss of contact makes him feel uprooted – as though any minute now he'll be left floating in space – and his temptation to giggle at such a mental image is all the proof he needs that he requires medical help sooner rather than later. His nanotech can plug the hole in his side to its heart's content, but it won't do his internal bleeding any favours.
God, he wishes Bruce were here. If anything, the man's insistence that he's 'not that kind of doctor' would bring some familiar comfort to this hellscape.
A flash of movement draws Tony's attention to his companion's extended hand, accompanied by an expression which implies her unspoken offer will not stand for long. Her clear desire to leave is hardly one Tony can blame her for, though his own hands remain stubbornly clasped against his chest. Instinct should be screaming at him to take her up on her offer - for survival's sake if nothing else - but it seems he's too exhausted to complete even that miniscule task.
The way he sees it, he has two options. He can stay here and wait; close his eyes and bask in silence, until either he wakes in Pepper's arms or death claims him as her own. It might be poetic in a morbid sense - being left to rot on a planet bearing a legacy of ruin and decay, close to the spot where his failure cost Peter his life.
Or he can accept this woman's offer of escape. He can force himself to his feet and, somehow, find the strength to keep going. He can endure untold agony as reality crashes down upon him, forcing him to comprehend the true extent of what's been lost.
That's if he even survives the trip to Earth. His limited medical knowledge tells him he has a matter of hours at most, if he's optimistic enough to assume their mode of transport has basic first-aid equipment. Perhaps he truly has no choice beyond whether he'd rather die alone or in the presence of a nameless stranger.
The temptation to stay is momentarily overwhelming. It would be so simple to turn away from this woman and let her abandon him to the wasteland which will form his grave. To let himself fade away, before he's forced to face everything he's lost and spend the rest of his life trawling through guilt and grief and failure.
"It was the only way," rings in his ears like an accusation. Not for the first time, Tony wishes Strange had kept his mouth shut and let Thanos reduce him to dust for the universe's sake.
He supposes it's too late to dwell on that now.
In the end, no matter how much his body protests at movement – no matter how desperately Tony wishes he could cling to the notion of this being an outlandish nightmare – he supposes there was only ever one choice he could make. Considering the prospect of carrying on feels like someone is reaching into his chest and crushing his heart, but he's never successfully fixed anything by lying around moping. And if Strange can truly be believed, it would appear he has half a universe to fix.
Tony finally lets his gaze meets his companion's - this imposing creature composed of steel and fire, who offers his only chance at absolution.
He takes her hand.
A/N - So apparently I'm not finished with Infinity War aftermath stories just yet...
Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it and any feedback is appreciated.