They all knew it had to happen at some point.
Tony had collapsed into Bruce's arms as he'd stumbled through the entrance to the room where the survivors--the Avengers in some past version of life that now seemed so far away--were gathered. Tony had shaken with a mixture of relief and shock, gripping his friend's shoulders as though if he loosened his grasp, Bruce would slip through his fingers and become dust like everyone else that had mattered.
When he had composed himself, he looked up--and his eyes locked with those of the man who used to be Captain America, but who was now just a haggard, worn, and grieving Steve Rogers.
The air in the room had been tense before. Now it was as if any piece left of shattered hope had been instantly suspended on a strained tightrope, and to even breathe was to risk causing everything to fall apart. As if it could get worse than it already was.
Natasha looked at both men with something almost like compassion, as though she knew, somehow, what was to come.
Tony's shoulders stiffened and a hardness leapt onto his features. It was as though he had summoned an invisible suit of Iron Man armor, to protect him and his fragile mental state from whatever would happen next.
Steve stood there silently. He held himself upright, but he felt everyone's eyes on him and the man who was once his friend, and it added an even larger weight to the crushing burden his broad shoulders were already carrying.
There was a small piece of hope resting in his eyes--dancing on a tightrope that was strung across the room, connecting to Tony.
"Tony," Steve said, as the tightrope started to shake. "It's been a while."
Natasha kept looking at them both. Bruce glanced worriedly up at Tony's strained face.
"Captain," Tony said. The hardness of iron scratched in his voice.
Steve noticed, and the iron cut the tightrope, and the piece of hope fell off its precarious, doomed perch and collapsed into oblivion.
"I gave up that name a long time ago," he said, the soldier in him readying himself.
Bruce put a hand on Tony's chest and looked desperately at Steve.
"Guys, come on," he pleaded, his voice almost breaking, "we've just lost half of everyone and everything. Don't do this. Please. It isn't important enough. I don't even know what you were fighting about, but--"
Tony cut him off. "We fought over a bunch of paper that would have put us in check. Because I knew that this was going to happen, and I didn't want it to. And people died because of it."
Steve clenched his fists. "People were going to die anyway, Tony. Sometimes you can't save everyone. Believe me, I know." He looked down, thinking of battles lost and friends that could never be seen again. Then he locked eyes with Tony.
"But I couldn't sign the Accords. I didn't believe in them."
"Why is that so important?" snapped Tony, the anger compressed for so long, so deep within him, rising to the surface. Bruce kept his hand on Tony's chest. "You're too sure of yourself and your high-and-mighty ideals to take a hit for the greater good?"
"You don't get it, do you?" growled Steve, his voice menacingly low. "I heard a lot about the 'greater good' in the first war I fought in. Everyone had their own ideas about what it was, everyone thought they knew best about things that impacted everyone else. It didn't end well." He grimaced.
"That's what happened with the Accords, too. I saw something that reminded me too much of what I'd seen before, and it wasn't good. I couldn't fight for that.
"You aren't a soldier. You never were. You don't understand how important it is to believe in what you're fighting for. If you have that, if you can cling to that, then all the pain and suffering has a reason. It can be understood." He paused, staring at Tony with renewed intensity and anger.
"But if you don't? Then all the pain is purposeless. And you're the one causing it. You're to blame. That's something I'm sure you'd understand." Steve never dropped his eyes from Tony's as he raised his shield, just as invisible but just as real as the armor Tony was wearing.
"You can't ask me to fight for something I don't believe in. It's my hell."
There was a frail silence for a moment. Bruce looked anxiously at Tony, and saw the blaster beginning to charge.
"Sometimes, Cap,"--at this, Steve's face grew a little darker--"you have to face your hell." The bitterness in Tony's words was almost palpable.
"Want to know what my hell is? Since you feel like preaching so much, let me tell you. My hell is everyone I care about, all the Avengers, dead. Except you.
"You're dying, though. And your last words?" Tony's eyes burned with anguish.
"'You could've saved us.'"
Tony took a shaky breath. When he resumed speaking, his voice seemed like it would break under the strain of his rage. "That's been my hell for six years. Know why?" There was another brief pause as he attempted to control himself.
"Because Wanda showed it to me. I knew it was gonna happen. And now it is. Half of the universe is dead, half of the Avengers are dead, I can't find Pepper, my kid is dead--"
Tony broke, and he put a hand to his mouth as Bruce moved to comfort him. Natasha tentatively extended a hand, offering sympathy from across the room.
Steve lowered his shield a little, and let some softness into his voice.
"Tony...you had a kid?" he asked, gently.
There were fourteen million shades of pain in Tony's voice, in Tony's soul, as he replied:
"I dreamed it. And for a while, it was real."
The group was respectful and waited in silence, holding out whatever tenderness was left in their hearts to this broken man who was once, in a dream that had been life for a while, a father. He cried softly into his hand, as Bruce wrapped his arms around Tony and held him.
When his tears were spent enough that they would no longer overflow, Tony looked up again and met Steve's eyes. There was a kindness in them that had not been there before.
"I," Tony began, "am living my hell." He lifted his arm and gestured to what remained of the world. "But I'm not going to let it stay this way. I'm trying to do something about it."
A little strength found its way into Tony's voice. "Now you can help me. Help us. Or you can stand there and watch everyone suffer because you were too proud to reconcile."
Steve hardly blinked as he stared back at Tony.
"Tony, I'm never going to change my mind about the Accords. I believe I did the right thing...and, by that logic, you were wrong."
Tony inhaled sharply. "So help me, Rogers, you can't be serious," he breathed.
"But," said Steve, and with that word thousands and thousands of pieces of hope leapt back up and began to fill the air.
"But there's something bigger than that now. This is a danger that's threatening the Earth--and the universe. You say you want to protect it."
Steve walked across the room and stood in front of Tony, his massive frame contrasted to the smaller one a matter of inches in front of him. Tony was trembling imperceptibly, to anyone except Bruce.
A trace of a smile played on Steve's lips. "Protecting the Earth, the universe..." he said, looking into Tony's eyes.
"That's a cause I can believe in."
He extended his hand.
A piece of hope landed in Tony's eyes as he clasped Steve's hand in his own.
"We on good terms?" he asked, somewhat brusquely. Everyone knew that it was because he didn't want to get too emotional.
Steve decided to say nothing for the moment. Instead, he withdrew his hand. Then he wrapped Tony in an embrace that was far too long in coming.
Tony stood stunned for a moment, and blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. Then, hesitatingly, he put his arms around Steve as well.
"God, Steve," he whispered shakily, "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too, Tony," Steve replied. He pulled away. "And we are on good terms. But," he said, looking around at the group of people left with them in the room, "I'm pretty sure we have work to do."
Steve took a step forward, striding confidently towards the door. Natasha smiled as she filed in beside him, Tony on his right; Bruce and the others, as though it had been rehearsed--but really, as though it was simply how things were supposed to be--took their places behind the three of them. Hope danced everywhere around them, and determination gleamed in their eyes.
"Avengers," Steve shouted, looking straight ahead, "Assemble!"