Thanks for all the love, Guys!

Rescue

The kid's pulse beat softly against the pads of Tony's fingers in a steady rhythm. He pressed his fingers in the hollow under Peter's jaw, just firmly enough to be able to feel the blood traveling under his paper-thin skin. He was worried that if he pressed too hard, the kid would shatter in his grasp. Rationally, he knew that couldn't possibly happen. But the way his bones showed prominently against his skin banished rational thought from his mind. Plus, he had come to learn that it was possible for people to dissolve into ash, so who the hell says that they can't shatter like glass as well. He held Peter in a delicate balance; gently enough to not break yet firmly enough to prove to himself that the boy existed. He was real and alive. The repetitive pressure against his middle and index fingers reassured him that life still flowed through Peter's veins, despite his lifeless appearance.

This fragile, gaunt figure that Tony held in his arms was not Peter Parker. Peter was vibrant. He was full of life, laughter and terrible jokes. All of that had been stripped away in an instant once half of the universe had dissolved. Before it became clear that they had no chance of survival, Tony had hoped that Peter would make it back home. Shock and PTSD were souvenirs that no one in their line of work asked for, but they received them nonetheless. He knew that if he could save Peter, if he could get his boy home, he would overcome it with more dignity and strength than Tony ever could. That hope had driven Tony to sacrifice his own rations. To care for the boy in any way that he could. Tony failed in this last endeavour as well. Peter was going to die. He would never be that quirky dork again, and that was on Tony.

Tony's eyes were heavy, but he didn't dare close them. He owed it to Peter to be conscious for as long as he was alive. To bear witness to his final moments of life. Tony was certain that, though neither one of them had long to live, he would still out-live the kid. Peter's metabolism, which had saved his life time and again, was actively killing him now. And all Tony could do was watch his kid waste away.

One.

Two.

Three.

Tony realized that he was counting each pulse that fluttered under his fingertips. There was no logical reason for him to do this. It's not as if knowing how many times Peter's heart beat hours before his death would matter to anyone. But still, he found that he couldn't stop. It was illogical, but everything about their relationship had been illogical.

It was illogical for Tony to recruit a 14-year-old boy to fight for him in Germany.

It was illogical for Tony to enable Peter's crime fighting past time by making him a multi-million dollar suit.

It was illogical for Peter to trust him even though his shitty mentoring had nearly left him crushed to death underneath a building.

It was illogical for Peter to have such blind faith in him, despite how many times Tony had failed him.

'I'll follow you. Anywhere.'

Why? His instinct had been to ask that, but thankfully the small amount of emotional intelligence he had managed to accumulate over the past ten years kicked in, and he remained silent. Tony had done many things over the years that had made him irredeemable. He would be damned if he was about to add 'dumping his own insecurities on to the kid, hours before his death' to his list of reprehensible shit he'd done. Instead he had tried to hold in his own sobs, so the kid wouldn't know how his faith stabbed through Tony like a white-hot knife. He had held Peter a little tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. In his ears, his own words whispered in his mom's voice offered some final advice.

'You know what's about to happen. Say something. If you don't, you'll regret it.'

He had told the kid that he loved him. Perhaps Peter's semi-conscious state gave Tony the courage to say it. He had never been good at talking about his feelings. Always, he deflected with humour whenever someone got too emotional, too real, with him. It had undercut the few relationships he allowed in to his life more times than he could count. No matter how many times he had been burned by his own cowardice, he couldn't seem to change. It would seem that emotional revelations were reserved for the eleventh hour, and not a second sooner.

Tony had known for a long time that he loved the kid. He had never thought of it as love in so many words, but he knew. It was a slow realization on Tony's part, but after a while he began to see how Peter's presence shaped his life. It became more and more evident with each passing day. He still helped Pepper run Stark Industries. He still had responsibilities to follow up on after the accords were finalized. He was still the unofficial and reluctant leader of the, now, highly exclusive Avengers club. Laid out on a table, all those things were overwhelming. Coupled with the bitter sting left by Steve's betrayal and losing the team, they were unbearable. Or, they would have been if Pepper hadn't come back to him, and if Tony hadn't sought out a potential hero in Queens.

The kid's goofy presence took the edge off of the stress in Tony's life in a way that was uniquely unprecedented. He had found himself enjoying the time he spent with the kid. It didn't take long for obligatory once a month lab visits to become weekly welcomed ones. Peter would ramble on about his friends, school, and whatever nerdy thing had captivated his interest that week. Tony would listen while he worked, chiming his two cents in every now and then. Mostly he just took in the happy-go-lucky aura that seemed to accompany Peter wherever he went.

It was nice, having the kid around.

Peter provided him with a relief from the cold corporate world and the all the stuffy business men and government officials that he had to deal with on a daily basis. Lending his ear to listen to the kid's angsty teenager struggles was a nice change of pace. It was a change that Tony had never realized that he wanted or needed. Soon after, he had begun having vivid dreams of having a kid of his own. He knew that was Peter's doing. Before meeting him, Tony had scoffed at the idea of having children. No one wanted more of himself in the world, him least of all. But now, he wanted it more than anything.

Before this unwelcomed voyage in to space, having a family of his own had seemed like a possible future. It was within his grasp, to be happy again after everything that had happened. He had been about to finally move on with his life and wash his hands of that dumpster fire that had been the Avenger's fallout. Tony could see it so clearly when he closed his eyes. His family and a calm life framed by a white picket fence. All of it was waiting for him just behind the finish line.

But then, because life was just one cruel joke after another, that fugly chewed up bubble gum version of Squidward had shown up on Earth. And he was just the pregame for Thanos. Everything had descended so quickly in to hot garbage, and right in the middle of it all, Peter had stood by his side. Cause the kid, with his heart of gold, gave Tony unwavering loyalty that he didn't deserve.

Three hundred fifty.

Three hundred fifty-one.

Three hundred fifty-two.

'So, if anything, it's kinda your fault that I'm here.'

Tony couldn't stop thinking about Peter's cheeky little quip from back when he had discovered that the kid had stowed away on the donut space ship. Over the course of twenty-two days, those words looped in his mind countless times, haunting him more and more as Peter's body deteriorated. Peter had a tendency to place blame for things out of his control on himself. For once, the kid had accurately placed the blame on Tony.

It was his fault that the kid was here, in space, dying in his arms. If Tony hadn't encouraged Peter to embrace the hero life, if he hadn't equipped him with a suit, if he hadn't invited him to join the Avengers, Peter would've stayed far away from that battle in New York. Even someone as stupidly noble as Peter wouldn't dare to enter in to a galactic battle dressed only in sweat pants, a hoodie and goggles. He would've noped out of that situation so fast, and the fight against Thanos' ugly minions would have been left to the adults. He would have stayed with his class and gone to the Museum of Modern Art. He would have had to face the panic and anarchy that was undoubtedly running rampant across the universe, but at least he would have been alive.

If Tony had never gotten involved in Peter's life, he would have missed out on experiencing normalcy. The kid always acted as if he was the lucky one to get to spend time with Tony. Peter never realized, because Tony never told him, that it was really him who was lucky to get to spend time with Peter. He had given Tony brief, shining moments of what it was like to have a kid. That was worth more than the monetary value of anything he had ever given Peter.

If Tony had never gotten involved in Peter's life, his own life would have lacked vibrancy. But, if Tony had stayed away, Peter would be standing on Earth right now. Breathing the copious amounts of air, drinking water that came for free out of a tap, and eating food from the bodega down the street.

Peter's life in exchange for Tony having never known him. Tony would make that trade in a heartbeat.

Four hundred nine.

Four hundred ten.

Four hundred eleven.

An oily curl clung to Peter's temple. Tony brushed it behind his ear and tried his best to not notice how, just an inch or so below his fingers, Peter's cheek bone showed prominently through his skin. He knew it was selfish of him to avoid looking at the life he had destroyed. A stronger man would have the courage to look at the consequences of his irresponsible actions. Despite his best efforts to be a good man, it would seem that a part of him would always remain selfish.

A brilliant light washed over Peter's features, casting the hollows of his eyes in shadow. The sight was unsettling, and Tony lifted his eyes up to see the source of the light shining through the window. For a moment, Tony squinted at a ball of harsh white light. After another moment, he was able to discern a figure in the center of it. A woman, emanating light like a miniature sun, smirked at him before disappearing below the window.

What the…

The Benatar jerked suddenly, and Tony clutched Peter tighter in response. Then, the ship was moving. Not as fast as it had been when the ship had fuel, but still very quickly. Stars whipped by in the distance, but Tony hardly noticed. He kept his eyes on the boy in his lap, who hadn't woken during the disturbance. He hadn't even twitched a muscle. Tony tried to smother the terror clawing at his chest by pressing his fingers more firmly on Peter's pulse.

Four hundred ninety.

Four hundred ninety-one.

Four hundred ninety-two.

"What was that?"

Tony jumped slightly at Nebula's sudden appearance near his chair. He hadn't heard her coming, but then again, he never did. The number of times that the cyborg had crept up on him during their time trapped together was, frankly, embarrassing. She was staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Tony realized after a few seconds of searching that he had no idea what to tell her.

"I don't…" He trailed off, staring dumbfounded at the rushing stars and planets. His brain was fuzzy, but he was also pretty sure that even if he was firing on all cylinders, he wouldn't know how to explain this. Metal clinking on metal sounded in quick succession. Tony tore his gaze from the window to see Nebula standing with her arms crossed, drumming her fingers impatiently on her upper arm.

"How are we moving? Has something hit the ship?"

How to explain, without sounding crazy, that a little blonde human woman was under the ship and that she was, presumably, carrying it on her back? Tony's brain supplied an image of Atlas carrying the world, and he snorted with laughter. Nebula's eyes tightened in what Tony assumed was concern, but he couldn't stop laughing. A metal hand wrapped around his shoulder and shook him violently. On instinct, his arms wrapped more securely around Peter.

"Stop that. "Nebula ordered harshly. "This is no time to go in to shock. I need you to keep your wits about you in case we're not alone."

Well, that sobered him up. Tony glanced down at Peter's unconscious form as dread started to form in the pit of his stomach. He needed to stay sharp.

"Yeah, you're right." He muttered, and ran his hand that wasn't on Peter's pulse over his eyes in a vain effort to wipe away his fatigue. "Thanks for not slapping me in the face."

"Your cheekbone would likely break if I did."

Tony grimaced at the reminder. He might not be as physically weakened as the kid, but he wasn't doing so hot either. If the Benatar was boarded by some unsavory folks and it came down to a fight, there wouldn't be much that Tony could do to protect Peter. The realization of his own helplessness tasted acrid like bile. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to a God that he had never truly believed in. He prayed that the universe wouldn't so unfair as to play one final cruel joke on him. Death was death, he supposed. The end result was the same. But dying from suffocation was infinitely more preferable than dying at the hands of unfamiliar captors. Tony had already done the 'prisoner with merciless captors' song and dance before, in Afghanistan. The thought of Peter, already weakened and vulnerable, in that situation made him feel sick.

"How is the ship moving?"

Nebula's question broke Tony from his morbid train of thought. Something in her no-nonsense tone suggested that she wouldn't ask nicely again. Tony peeled open his tired eyes and took in Nebula's annoyed expression.

"There was a glowing lady that flew under the ship. She's pushing it, I guess. Or carrying it? I don't know." Tony mumbled. Nebula's black eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him dubiously.

"A glowing lady?"

"Yeah."

"Floating in space?"

"Yeah."

"Was she wearing a space suit?"

"No."

"What about an Aero-Rig?"

"I don't know what that is." Tony admitted and leaned his head back against the chair's headrest. He was too exhausted to play twenty questions. "I might've been hallucinating. Who knows."

That was clearly not the answer that Nebula wanted to hear, if her pinched expression was anything to go by. She exhaled sharply through her nose before turning on her heel and disappearing from Tony's field of vision. He didn't need to ask where she was going. Twenty-two days isn't very long to get to know a person, but Tony knew Nebula well enough to know that she was already working out step five of their escape plan in her head. Behind him, he could hear her rummaging through the equipment and weapons that were kept near the outer door.

"Well, even if we are being taken somewhere unknown by possible captors, it's still better than our previous situation." Her voice floated to Tony as she approached his chair once more.

Tony turned to look at her and wasn't surprised in the least to see her sporting every possible weapon and armor that she could fit on her person. If Peter were awake, he wouldn't have been able to suppress his laughter like he had when they were playing paper football. He would have laughed at Nebula's overzealous preparedness. Tony didn't laugh. After everything that had happened, he no longer believed that there was any such thing as being 'over prepared'. He was never prepared enough for the reoccurring shit storms that life threw at him. Case in point, they were being abducted by someone strong enough to carry a whole freaking space ship, and Tony was not prepared to deal with this. Physically or mentally.

"You call this an improvement?"

"Yes." Nebula stated flatly without even turning to look at him. Her gaze remained focused on the window. On the proverbial horizon. "If we're being abducted by Ravagers or Scrapers, we'll just kill them and take their ship."

If only it were that simple. Tony wished he felt that confident. In his current condition, he doubted that he could go toe-to-toe against an angry kitten and win. He really couldn't see how he would be able to fight against aliens when he barely had the strength to stand.

"And if it's someone worse?" He asked and then cringed when his voice betrayed how nervous he was.

"We'll kill them anyway." She replied fiercely.

Maybe Nebula's determination would be enough to save them. To save Peter. Tony hated to admit it, but there was no way that he could protect his kid. Nebula really was the silver lining in this shitty situation. If Tony had to be stranded in space with anyone, he was glad that it was with a cyborg assassin turned friend.

"You'll have to do the heavy lifting for that." Tony admitted weakly. "I'm in no shape to do anything."

He shifted Peter's weight on his lap to alleviate the feeling of pins and needles in his leg. He was getting uncomfortable sitting like this, but he was also unwilling to let go of Peter. The kid was dead weight on his lap. If Tony were in prime fighting condition, he would have tucked Peter away somewhere safe until the adults were done throwing hands. But Tony was dead weight too, and he knew it. If this was how they were gonna go out, he wanted to be with his kid.

"Leave it to me."

Tony glanced up in surprise at Nebula's tone. It sounded… fond? Well, there was definitely a softness to it. It was lying just below the surface of her usual intense determination. Her metal features, hard to the touch and yet flexible enough to convey emotion, were usually guardedly blank or twisted in snarls of frustration. Her face was blank now as well, but Tony could see a warmth in her black eyes. If black could ever be considered warm.

Jeez. How had it come to this, that he was waxing poetry about a cyborg alien's eyes? Twenty-two days of isolation had changed him. It had made him soft.

No.

Someone had made him soft. Tony glanced down at Peter's chest, which rose and fell with shallow breaths. The counting, which had carried on at the back of his brain during his and Nebula's conversation, was brought to the forefront of his mind again.

One thousand seven hundred and six.

One thousand seven hundred and seven.

One thousand seven hundred and eight.

Tony hated waiting.

You would think that after twenty-two days of nothing to do but wait for death, he would've become more patient. But, no, waiting still grated on Tony's nerves like sand paper. It just so happened that waiting for a fight, the calm before the storm, was the worst kind of waiting. Who decided to name this agonizing anticipation 'the calm before the storm' anyway? It was entirely misleading. There was nothing calm about it. It should be called 'internalized chaos and panic before the storm'. Sure, it didn't roll off the tongue quite as nicely, but it was honest at least. Tony's nerves were crackling like live wires, but his body lacked the energy or strength to fidget or pace, like he usually did while waiting. Not to mention, Peter was keeping him grounded.

In Tony's honest opinion, waiting was among the top ten worst things in life. So he completely understood Nebula's frustration. Her subtle twitching, shifting, and fidgeting. It was all completely understandable. That did mean that it wasn't annoying the shit out of Tony. He was about five seconds away from throwing something at her, regardless of the fact that she was his only ally at the moment. She had moved to stand at a vantage point which allowed her to see all of the exits and the window just by turning her head. In Tony's extreme left peripheral vision, he could see her head twitching in different directions every few seconds, like a bird. Or a blue jay. Tony took a steadying breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Sixteen thousand eight hundred and twelve.

Sixteen thousand eight hundred and thirteen.

Sixteen thousand eight hundred and fourteen.

A long time had passed. Hours, certainly, but Tony wasn't sure how many. He was measuring time in pulse beats, since that was all that mattered now anyway. He counted Peter's pulses under his fingers, and he hoped that, on Earth, Pepper's pulse was also beating. He hoped, even though that was a dangerous thing to do, that the universe had granted him that kindness.

Tony's eyes stung again as unshed tears started to pool in them, and he hastily wiped them away with his free hand. His vision cleared and he blinked away the residual stinging that nagged at his eyes. He would probably never find out what happened to Pepper. Perhaps that was the kindness that the universe had granted him; ambiguity. He had no definitive proof that Pepper was dead, so he chose to believe that she was still alive.

Tony focused his vision on the passing stars and galaxies again. It was hypnotic in a way to see all the twinkling lights rushing past. Every now and then, planets would pass by that were close enough to be seen in greater detail. Some were barren while others held civilizations. Some were covered in only one type of biome and others had a smattering of all sorts. Those single biome planets were jarring to look at. Planets that were covered in only sand or ice or tropics. How was life sustainable on those planets? More over, how could anyone stand to live in such homogeneity? Well, maybe it was kinda dickish for Tony to think that. Those planets were home to someone, but not to him. The sight of all these strange little worlds, whizzing past the Benatar in seconds, made him homesick for his own hot mess of a planet.

His own fragile little blue marble. Home to a multitude of environments, cultures and self-destructive lifestyles. He would miss it, even with all of its flaws.

But then, Tony saw another blue marble in the distance. It was rapidly growing larger as the Benatar approached it. A big blue planet that Tony recognized from satellite pictures, but had never seen in person before.

Neptune.

They were going home.

Relief, slightly marred by trepidation, washed over Tony. It was so profound that he found himself blinking away tears once more. Relief because home was so close, and trepidation for the same reason. A part of him was waiting for that final rug pull. Waiting for Peter's life to slip through his fingers now that they were on the home stretch. Since passing out in Tony's arms, the boy hadn't moved a muscle or woken at all. Tony knew that organ failure preluded death in extreme cases of dehydration and starvation. They were within the solar system now, but they were still 2.77 billion miles from Earth. What if Peter couldn't hold on that long?

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and tried in vain to banish the thought. He needed to stay focused on the positive. They were en route to go home and they knew now that the blondie under the ship was a friend instead of an enemy. Drawing a shaky breath, Tony turned to face Nebula.

"You can stand down now, Blue Man Group. I recognize that planet." He said while gesturing to Neptune. It was huge now and about three seconds away from passing by their ship. For a moment, Tony allowed himself to appreciate how breathtakingly beautiful it was. Satellite photos couldn't compare to the real thing. "That's Neptune, one of the planets in my neck of the woods. Rocket Man is taking us home."

Panic was still clawing at Tony's throat, but he could suppress it with humour. Just like always.

Despite Tony's reassurance that Nebula could relax, her posture became only slightly less rigid.

"You said the person under the ship was a woman." Nebula stated and Tony felt his eyes roll of their own accord. God, is this how the kid felt whenever his references fell on un-pop cultured ears? If Peter were awake, and not on death's doorstep, he would've laughed. He always did.

"Why you gotta nitpick my poor dehydrated and sleep deprived brain? Fine, whatever. Rocket Woman is taking us home." He snapped back with as much snark as his tired brain could muster. A silence fell in the room, and Tony wished that Nebula would've risen to the bait and snapped back at him. It was too silent. Silence allowed his mind to stray back to the dwindling life in his lap. He couldn't tolerate that for another 2 billion miles. "Actually, you know what? I'm changing it back to Rocket Man." Tony added. Nebula sent him an annoyed glance before turning back to the window again. She didn't want to talk? Fine. Tony could ramble better than anyone. "It's sexist to change the title just cause the person I'm applying it to happens to be a woman. It's insensitive to gender fluidity-"

"Shut up, Stark."

There was a sharp finality to Nebula's voice, which successfully cut off Tony's rambling. Nebula was the strong silent type whereas Tony was more of a 'ramble on to smother the anxiety' kind of a guy. They didn't always mix. So Tony resigned himself to 2 billion miles of tortured 'what if' scenarios, and prayed that home would show up in the endless field of darkness soon.

Earth, from a distance, looked very unassuming. Like Neptune, Earth also looked just like the satellite photos that Tony had seen. Blue and green. Marbled with clouds. Half lit by the sun and the other half in darkness. It reflected none of the chaos and despair that Tony knew were wreaking havoc on every single remaining life. From a distance, Tony could almost pretend that Thanos and his destruction had been a fever dream.

Almost.

As they drew closer to the side of the Earth that was cast in darkness, Tony could already see evidence of the damage Thanos had inflicted upon the universe. Tony should have been able to see the lit-up outline of the United States as they descending in to Earth's atmosphere. The Eastern Seaboard especially had some of the highest concentration of light pollution because of densely populated cities. Now, they were all extinguished.

Half of all life was gone.

Tony had known that statement was true for the entirety of his time spent stranded in space, but now it was really sinking in. The sight of his planet, the one he had devoted the last ten years of his life to protecting, devoid of light was overwhelming. It gave scope to the horrible consequences of his failure. The Benatar might as well have existed in a bubble for these past twenty-two days. During that time, he could focus his energy on saving Peter. But now, they were home and the unavoidable fall out was waiting for him.

Survivors would be screaming for answers, and Tony had no idea what he would tell them. They would demand that Iron Man help them, and Tony wasn't sure if he could. Before Thanos, Tony had always considered himself and Iron Man to be intertwined. He and his larger than life persona were one and the same. Now, he wasn't sure if could still be both. Iron Man was one of Earth's mightiest heroes. He was a protector of an entire world and he held responsibility for every person's safety. But Tony Stark was just a man. A man with limitations who only had enough room in his heart to care about the safety of a few.

Twenty-five thousand two-hundred and sixty.

Twenty-five thousand two-hundred and sixty-one.

Twenty-five thousand two-hundred and sixty-two.

Tony glanced down from the sight of the Atlantic coast to look at his one accomplishment among a sea of failures. Peter was still alive. Tony had managed to get him home. Or rather, the human-ish woman carrying the Benatar did. Tony suspected that she was somehow connected to the Avengers, as it seemed that she was taking them to the compound in Upstate New York.

"So, this is Terra?" Nebula asked.

Tony glanced up to see her standing close to the widow. She had finally relaxed her posture. Well, it was mostly relaxed. Tony had only ever seen her truly at ease once before, when the kid had charmed her with his goofy eccentricities and metal foil origami. Her eyes were sweeping over the terrain outside the window, taking in as much information as possible. In the distance, Tony could see the familiar silhouette of the Avengers Compound against the night sky.

"Home sweet home." He mumbled. "I think our mysterious saviour is taking us to the Avengers compound."

Nebula threw a confused glance over her shoulder.

"Who are the-"

"My old team will be there." Tony continued with a hint of urgency to his voice. The compound was drawing near, and Tony didn't want to waste any time. He needed to get Peter to the Medical Bay immediately. "I need you to do me a solid." He added. Nebula turned her whole body to face him. "I need you to get Peter to the Medical Bay as soon as we land. Even if there's no one there to ask for directions, ask anyway. My AI will tell you where to go."

Nebula nodded her head and took long purposeful strides towards him. Her metal arms slid between his body and Peter's, lifting him off of Tony's lap abruptly. Tony's hand pulled away from Peter's pulse.

Twenty-five thousand two-hundred and ninety.

The number seared in to Tony's memory, as Peter's life was physically taken out of his hands. He had to trust now in the competence of others, and Tony hated that. He always had. He had always needed to do things himself in order to assure himself that they were done properly. When it came to important things, he only trusted a small handful of people to be capable enough to do them. In the time that they had known each other, Nebula had proven herself to be very capable. In addition to that, Tony had staffed the Medical Bay with the best doctors that his money could employ. Perhaps the worry in this instance wasn't about 'competence' but rather 'existence'. What if FRIDAY directed Nebula to the Med Bay, and no one was there? His entire staff having vanished over three weeks ago? Tony felt cold as the thought entered his mind. Without hesitating, his mind started to run through statistics, trying to calculate the odds of that happening. He didn't have enough data, and his brain was too fuzzy anyway. They would know what had happened soon enough.

Nebula hoisted Peter, none to gently, in to her arms. His head to rolled over on his shoulder and struck Nebula's metal chest with a soft 'clang'.

"Careful." Tony chastised angrily.

Nebula made no indication that she'd heard him. Instead she strode towards the door and waited for the ship to touch down. Panic grasped Tony's heart as he craned his head around to keep an eye on Peter. The top of his head was visible over Nebula's arm. Greasy curls quivered from the force of the ship touching down. Nebula shifted her grip on Peter in order to free one of her hands. She hit the button to open the door and lower the ramp. Without waiting for the ramp to fully descend, Nebula strode quickly out the door and out of Tony's sight. He needed to follow them. He needed to know that his kid would be okay. Bracing his hands on the chair's arm rests, Tony attempted to heave himself out of the chair. He only managed to raise himself up about two inches before his muscles gave out and he collapsed back in the chair.

No.

He needed to get up. His kid needed him and he needed to follow his kid.

'I'll follow you. Anywhere.'

A strangled choking noise echoed in the empty space ship. Once again, Tony was blinking back his tears. This was all so unfair. He couldn't follow his kid, cause his body was failing him. The Benatar, which had always seemed so small and made Tony feel claustrophobic, was suddenly too big. Too empty. For the first time in over three weeks, Tony was truly alone.

But that was fine. He could deal with being alone. He didn't need for there to be people in the Benatar. He needed people in the Compound. In the Med Bay. Because, surely, there had to be someone, right? Someone to bring his kid back from the brink of death.

"Please.." Tony's ragged voice broke in his desperation. The silence greeted him with it's unwelcome presence. "Don't take my kid."

Heavy footsteps were coming from behind Tony's chair, and the sound of them instantly put him at ease. He knew those footsteps. He had spent years hearing them lumbering around the Avengers tower and the compound. Noisy, steady footsteps that always entered the room with a certain learned confidence that only America's most patriotic super soldier could pull off.

Steve Rogers ran in to Tony's field of vision, all disheveled and yet still familiarly clean cut. His wide blue eyes flickered over Tony's appearance, taking in his half-starved form. His face crinkled in that half-pitying half-worried kind of way that was uniquely Steve's. Tony had been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could count. Normally, that look would piss him off because he was always fine before. Now, he just accepted it, cause he really did feel as terrible as Steve's look said that he should.

"Tony."

Just like that, two years of resentment disappeared. Tony had thought that if he ever saw Steve Rogers again he would go ahead and indulge his long held fantasy of punching him in his perfect teeth. He never expected that he would be glad to see him. After waiting for death to arrive for about three weeks, the sight of a familiar face was enough to make him forget old grudges.

"Hey, Steve."