And if I only could make a deal with God
Tony sat in the cold, white hallway and observed as people rushed from one place to another. Their hurry meant nothing to him, not anymore. He buried his face in his hands and allowed tears to slowly fall down his cheeks.
And get him to swap our places
There he laid, his comrade, soul mate, husband: Steve Rogers. Bleeding, fighting for his life. A silent, red stream was slowly, but steadily leaking out from the bullet wound as death hunted for his soul. Tony felt sick. It was his fault, Tony knew it. And nothing Pepper, Bruce or anyone said could make him believe otherwise.
Be running up that road
"It…It wasn't supposed to be like this…" Tony whispered, his voice cracking from his sobbing. He knew he looked pathetic: The one and only Man of Iron, shaking and weeping like a child. He couldn't really care less; there was something much bigger at stake than his reputation. And for the first time in his life, Tony wanted to pray. He wasn't religious, but at that point he was willing to tryanything.
Be running up that hill
Tony lifted his gaze to see a woman dressed in white walk towards him. As he looked up, he searched the doctor's eyes for any sign of hope; just a little spark would be enough. And yet, he found none. "I'm sorry," the woman said, shook her head and walked away leaving Tony alone again. The worst had happened.
Be running up that building
Steve was dead. Captain America was dead.