an: so this is a short little five-minute attempt at a stream of consciousness, because I feel like all the writers I aspire to be have this kind of poetic-like rhythm to their fics, and I needed to dip my toes in and see where I want to go with this. Because I'm, like, crazy jealous of how wonderful their stories are. Please be nice, hopefully I'll get better as I do more of this.
Two words.
When Peter Parker turned into nothing more than a blur of ash in a gust of wind on a planet that was nothing more than one big desolate wasteland only two words left Tony Stark's mouth.
He didn't say stay with me (because in his defense those words seem too trite anyway).
He didn't say I've got you (because he didn't have him).
He didn't say I won't leave you (because we don't make promises we can't keep).
There was no hollow, shattered scream of anguish.
There was no burning, fiery, vehement stream of expletives.
Just a stunned silence and a pair of wide-eyes on a bleeding face and two words.
You're alright.
Two words.
One monumental lie.
Peter Parker was not alright, would maybe never be alright ever again.
And the last two words he heard from Tony Stark were you're alright.
Tony laughed. Then screamed. Then smashed his bare hand into the metal of his suit.
His stupid, fucking suit.
The suit that housed the man who said Peter Parker would be alright when he was anything but alright.
The suit that housed the man who wasn't enough to defeat Thanos.
The suit that made the man inside a superhero. The suit was one big fucking lie too.
There were a million things Tony should have said.
I won't let you go (when the kid said "Mr. Stark I don't want to go.)
This isn't your fault (when the kid said "I'm sorry").
I'm so proud of you. I won't stop fighting for you. I'll make this right, I swear to you.
Because he meant all of those things. He just didn't say them.
Peter Parker had held his shoulders so tightly, as if the grip of his fingers could pull harder than the grip of death.
And for a second, it did. Until it didn't.
And then a child crumbled to nothingness in his arms and he still didn't say anything.
He just stood and stared blankly as the world crumbled to ash around and him and god if that wasn't a metaphor for so much of his life.
And now Peter was gone and he was alone and there was nothing to say anymore.
Because the worst had come and gone and Tony had let it happen with only two words of protest.
You're alright.
He wished he'd just died in a cloud of ash like Peter but that didn't happen (because life isn't fair).
And now the only thing he heard ringing in his ears were the two words that were supposed to be enough for Peter.
You're alright.
The words repeated over and over and over in a sick twist of irony.
You're alright. You're alright. You're alright.
Because, like Peter, he wasn't alright.
He might never be alright again.
And it was only fitting that he was cursed to hear the same lie he told Peter.
Again and again.
Because life has a funny sense of balance.
And a twisted sense of humor.
Because when the end of the world came Tony Stark could only manage two words.