A million miles an hour. That's how fast he's certain his heart is racing.
Which is slow compared to his mind.
Thanos. And. Dust. If. Promises. You. Table. Died.
Table?
The table beneath him might be cushioned, or it might just play host to the burning spikes inserted in his body from head to toe. His injuries are far more grievous than he's ever received, and that includes needing a car battery to survive.
There is no return from this. No way to reverse what's happened. No universe in which he survives.
The pyre on which he sits will host his last breath.
That is, unless the Weeping Angel can perform miracles.
She stands to the left of him. Disheveled blonde hair, greasy and more of a caramel color closest to the scalp. Dirt smudges across skin that hasn't seen daylight in ages. Dark circles underneath a narrowed gaze.
Vampire?
Tony shifts as she removes the shreds of his shirt. Choking back a gasp, he winces as her fingers move deftly over fresh wounds and tender bruises. Each place she presses hurts worse than before, and somehow, he knows he deserves it all.
Fourteen million. I. Six. Feel. Hundred. Like. And five…
He deserves death.
Until she pulls out a tray full of medical utensils he's never seen before. Metal instruments twisted in ways he'd never imagine, bent in forms that don't make sense. It's then all those alien autopsy torture stories have Tony rethinking his trip to space.
"Look," he coughs, lungs burning as he squirms away from her. "I'm pretty sure you don't take my insurance and I'm not looking for an out of network bill. Those are super costly—"
"What planet do you hail from that's asinine enough to speak when Outriders are present?!" she snarls, ice thick in her tone as she clearly disregards anything he has to say. "Earth?!"
Tony swallows back one reply in exchange for another. "Who's piloting this ship?"
The Weeping Angel side-eyes him before letting out a heavy sigh. She runs a hand over her face and leans her forehead against her palm. "Shit… You're an Earther."
"Ta-da?" he sing-songs before trying not to hack up a lung.
From icy to frantic in seconds, the Weeping Angel hooks several wires to him, the last of which confirms his heart is beating uncontrollably. He's not sure where she procures a jar from, but her fingers are slick with a soft blue gel from it. She slathers it over what are possibly less severe wounds—probably to staunch some of the bleeding.
If she ca—
He cries out, and it echoes throughout the room. He's not sure which wound caused it since they all bring agony.
Thanos. And if. Promises. You. Dust. Died…
Her attention is drawn to his shoulder. He's completely unprepared for her swift movements which pop it back into place. He's also surprised that she doesn't even flinch as he screams. Breath jagged, he doesn't have the strength to fight the tears slithering freely down his face.
I feel… Fourteen million. Like. Six hundred. That's. And five…
Her watchful gaze catches everything. He can't even pretend to be a strong man because the pain is so overwhelming. It sears through his every thought, jumbling it into a warped mixture he works so desperately to sort out.
The only positive is that her glare softens into a more neutral gaze.
On me…
Releasing a burning breath, Tony struggles to breathe. "You from… You from Warf Hell—"
This coughing jag brings a metallic taste to his mouth.
The Weeping Angel doesn't respond. Her brow quirks as fingers gently press around his ribcage. He recoils at a soft spot on his left side, writhes onto the table, and gasps for air. Dark spots fill the world around him.
And if you died, I feel like that's on me…
Eyes scrunched closed, he begs for death. Screams for it. The pain is unbearable. Physically. Emotionally. Each breath worse than the last. Knives slowly tearing into lungs ripping the breath from him.
*TiC* TiC* TiC*
"Adopted a new pet, Rogers? I heard those can be good for the elderly."
The calming monotony of the swish-swish halts. Steve pauses mid-sweep to look up at Natasha. She leans against the remains of a building, arms crossed, sly smile on those red lips of hers. Voice low and smoky as always.
He chuckles. "Nah, made a friend. Maybe you should try it sometime."
"Funny, Rogers, but we know people are more likely to befriend a senior citizen." With a smirk, Natasha looks over at the raccoon picking up trash several feet from them. "Cute little creature. Heard they can be quite vicious."
"So, you're relatives?" Steve teases as he goes back to sweeping. Swish-swish.
"I'm cute?" She bats those long eyelashes of hers and flips her blonde hair.
"Vicious," he corrects.
"Pretty funny for an ancient artifact," she scoffs with a roll of her eyes. Sighing, Natasha tilts her head slightly as if that makes her appear less formidable. "He remind you of anyone we know?"
Swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish. "Me, to an extent."
"Come on, Steve."
He shrugs. Swish…
"Winter Soldier ring any bells?"
Swi—
Drifting into the breeze. Starting with a metal arm. Slowly enveloping an entire figure. Dust. The gun thunks against the soft forest floor just as the broom thunks against the sidewalk.
He can't think about that.
Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
He has people depending on him. Looking for him to lead. He has a plan to come up with. People need him to solve this crisis. People need to be reassured. People need…
Bucky needed me, and I failed him.
No.
If he pushes it out of his mind, if he doesn't think about what happened, there's still a chance Bucky could be out there. All he has to do is track him down again, find his hideout. Remind him who he is.
But in trying to escape reality, he ends up at another treacherous place.
Sam…
He died alone…
And I haven't even spared him a passing thought.
"We all lost people," Steve tells her, ignoring the fact he sounds just like the raccoon. It's about all he's capable of because truth be told, he can't think about this. Can't stay here. Can't listen to Natasha.
Picking up the broom, he shoves it into her hands. Steve sidesteps her and turns a corner. He just needs a moment. Needs space.
The world tilts around him, spinning faster and faster. It's dizzy. It's maddening. Something he's not entirely familiar with. The black spots. Shortness of breath. Round and around he goes on a twisted carousel he can't get off.
Steve?
His heart beats roughly against his rib cage. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if it ends up bruised. Might be the least of his concerns. He's in desperate need of a joke, a laugh, and neither Bucky nor Sam are there to provide it.
He's not on anyone's left.
"Want me to scratch her eyes out?"
Slow breaths leave his lips as his heart calms. The world begins to steady beneath his feet. Rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, his muscles relax.
Looking to his right, Steve sees Rocket's followed him.
Like always.
And not for one moment does Steve miss the irony of being on the raccoon's left. God works in mysterious ways…
Blinking back tears, he shakes his head.
"Debris in your eye?" Rocket asks but doesn't appear to be looking for an answer. He simply walks beside him as they continue through the streets. It's quiet, nearly silent, with only ambient noise and far-off voices.
Coming to the edge of town, Steve stops to gaze at the lake.
Despite everything that lies behind, the water is peaceful and tranquil—unlike the large building they stand near which has been reduced to rubble. How is it that something so large, so fragile, is left so unaffected? One touch produces ripples. One toxic dump and it's destroyed. Yet, an army of space aliens attack and the lake has withstood the slaughter.
How is that so?
Steve begins to follow the water's edge. It's mushy and slippery, but stable compared to how he feels inside. Calm compared to the turmoil within. And it isn't long before his boots are caked in it which isn't terrible since he hasn't showered in days.
However, it's probably not easy for the little raccoon to navigate.
Glancing back, he notices Rocket hasn't followed but is instead eying the building.
"What is it?" Steve asks.
One paw bats at him for silence. Ears pointing forward, nose twitching, the raccoon moves slowly at first. One foot after the other, even going so far as to lower himself onto his forepaws. His head tilts left then right. As he comes to part of the fallen cement building, his gaze narrows.
"I think there's someone under here."
Steve rushes to the raccoon's side. Bending at the knees, he grabs the bottom of the wall. "I'll lift, you run under and check. Ready?"
"I ain't—" Eyes wide, Rocket pauses, then takes a deep breath and sets his gun to the side. "Don't kill me, Shield Boy."
"Promise," Steve says with a smile before lifting the fallen wall.
Fast as lightning, the raccoon scurries under. Rocks scuffle about underneath. There're a few deep sniffs along with a heavy grunt, but Rocket doesn't return.
His arms shake, and Steve can feel his muscles giving out. However, he made a promise, and he doesn't intend on breaking it. Not even if he pulls a ligament or breaks a bone.
He won't let the raccoon die.
There won't be more needless bloodshed.
He's gasping as the raccoon drags a body from the wreckage. As soon as they're clear, Steve drops the cement. Panting, he closes his eyes and he falls to his knees.
He hasn't lifted that amount of weight since trying to keep the helicopter from—
No.
Once he's caught his breath, Steve looks to see Rocket slowly rising and studying the teenage girl they've just saved.
Steve's brow rises as he checks her pulse. "Your Highness?"
*TiC* TiC* TiC*
I don't need that…
The first time he wakes, the world flashes before his eyes. There're glimpses of colors he's never seen, a low humming in his ears. Head lolling to the right, he sees the Weeping Angel down to a torn undershirt and trying to patch some massive wounds of her own.
…on my conscience.
The next time he wakes, the world slowly filters into view. He doesn't hurt anymore. Sure, his muscles ache but he's no longer in pain. In fact, he can breathe again. Looking around, he sees the Weeping Angel sitting feet from him, fidgeting with something in her hands.
"Seriously, is no one driving this thing?" His voice rough and coarse in his throat.
"Are you so simple, you do not have autopilot on Earth?"
"We do," he responds, cheeks warm. Maybe making an asshole out of himself isn't currently the best idea. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Thank you for saving my life."
She nods, eyes on the object in her hand. "Yes, I suppose a thanks is in order."
His brow quirks in amusement at her haughtiness. He wonders if every being beyond Earth has a complex such as hers. If so, Earth's arrogance seems humble in comparison.
"Although you brought the Outriders with your loud chattering, I would not have made it off that dock had you not used whatever power source this is."
The feeling that hits him he can't quite place. There's something about the way she speaks, the way she phrases her words, that leads him to believe she's not as prideful as he assumes. After all, she did thank him despite it being his fault. Perhaps her culture acts a certain way.
It still doesn't let her off the hook, though. "That's a backhanded comment if I've ever heard one."
She gives a shrug. "Don't mistake my honesty for lack of gratefulness. I do recognize I would not have survived."
Tony nods, thinking there might be a balance between pride and humility he doesn't yet understand. In any case, he's fearful he'll chase away, or worse kill, the Weeping Angel. He can't take the loss of someone else because of him.
Plus, he's so far from Earth with no one to help him except her.
Standing, she walks to him. The fingers of her right hand gently move over the holographic information displayed on the edge of his bed. "God smiled upon you."
"You have God out here?" he questions, curiosity piqued. Steve would get a kick out of that.
Tired green eyes meet his gaze. "You assume Earth to be the only one with beliefs."
Currently, he doesn't know what he assumes. He's never left the planet. How could he have ever guessed the universe was…
Blinking, he notices in the glowing object in her hands is his arc reactor. As she continues to study the holograph, her fingers absentmindedly trace the grooves.
"That's mine, yanno," he says with a nod at it.
She looks down. Focus chasing away some of the exhaustion in her gaze. "Your energy is so…archaic."
"You're too kind," he deadpans and rolls both shoulders. Neither hurt which he finds fascinating since one was definitely dislocated. "Are you a doctor?"
"Everyone living in Warf Hell, as you deemed it, depends on themselves for survival," she answers, fingers pulling up a new set of vitals.
His head tilts. "So… there are no doctors out here? Just amateurs like you, Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman?"
"What do you mean Doctor Quinn?"
"It's a joke," he explains, trying to emphasize the point. "One where you laugh."
"I see," she replies and taps a few of the holograms. "Perhaps it is better understood in context."
"She's from a television show. On… Earth."
She gives a curt nod, before tapping a few more holographs. "A place I am not from. I think therein lies the issue with your… humor."
"Obviously," he replies and purses his lips. If she isn't going to find him funny, it's sure to be a very long ride to Earth.
Her gaze flicks to his for a moment before she studies another reading. "What identifier do they give you, Earther?"
"Identifier?"
Her lips purse as she eyes him. "Name."
"Oh." He opens his mouth.
Only to close it again.
For once, he doesn't have an answer. He's not known in the universe. And if he was, would he be welcomed anywhere? Would any open their homes to him? Especially after he let Thanos win?
Clearing his throat, he gives her the only name he can think of. "Edward. Friends call me Eddie."
Her brow rises like she knows he's lying but says nothing. Instead, she clears the holograms and takes a step back. "Well, Edward, I believe you are healed."
Pushing himself into a seated position, Tony looks at his smooth skin. He checks for the wound in his side. Winces at the memory of Thanos slicing him through with his own blade. However, it's as if the wound was never there.
His fingers rise to the scar from his reactor.
"That could not be removed," she responds, shifting towards him. "The others are more recent or made with simple items: knives, a bullet, you understand. Whatever was here, though, was…an anomaly."
He nods to the reactor still in her grasp. "A version of that."
"I understand." She looks down at it. "Humans are not meant for such things, even if it is archaic."
Tony doesn't have the slightest idea what that's supposed to mean.
*TiC* TiC* TiC*
What did it cost?
The smell of fresh green grass wakes him.
Life.
So vibrant. So fresh. So rich.
It calms him where the dream does not. He is well aware of the cost, and he doesn't need the reminder. No, he is prepared to spend the rest of his days keeping the universe in order. Keeping them taken care of. Keeping them safe.
…
Or so he tells them.
—Incoming Transmission—
Goodness, gracious!
Sorry for the super late post.
After finals, I came down with a horrible cold I'm still getting over.
Thank you for being patient with me as I recover. I am so grateful for the reviews and follows and fav's. I can't thank you enough. It has greatly encouraged me and helped me.
Thank you for being awesome.
As always, hit the follow button to make your life easier.
Lastly, if you catch something, let me know. I'm only human.
Also, hope you're enjoying. If you are, let me know.
—End Transmission—