"Tony? Tony where are you? TONY!?"
Pepper's panicked voice sounded from the kitchen.
"I'm here! In the garage!" he called out, running towards her. "I'm here. What's wrong?"
"I- I woke up and you weren't there and- and-" The rest of the words did not need to be spoken. They both knew. It happened often when you walked the street, went to the supermarket. A sudden panicked voice calling out a name, someone rummaging through their bag to find their phone to make a call, or just a simple physical touch. Just to make sure the other isn't gone, like so many other people did.
"What are you doing in the garage? It's 3 am."
The two had just moved to the lake-side home that Tony had bought a couple of days after their engagement. Or, better said, Tony had built a couple of days after their engagement. Raising a family – oh god, a family – was something he always wanted to do outside of the city. And now, after all that had happened– being here made him calm. But, he had obviously made sure that there was a workshop for him. Because that was before all of this happened, before Bruce had returned, before that stupid alien spaceship had ruined it all.
"I was… building."
"Building what? Please don't tell me you're building another iron man suit, we've been over this."
"It's not for me."
"Oh, Tony." The rest was silent. What was there to be said? He knew that – that the kid was not coming back. But he still hoped, dreamed. And what if, what if the boy arrived at his doorstep suddenly. The kid couldn't be a friendly neighbourhood spider-man without a proper suit now, couldn't he?
"Come back to bed Tony. It's past midnight. You can work on it tomorrow."
That is what he loved about Pepper. She didn't tell him to stop. She never would. She knew he was mourning, and so was she. Every Thursday evening, he found her on the couch, with her phone in her hand. Working for him, and later as CEO of Stark Industries, left her little time to see her parents in person, so she called them every week, on Thursdays at 8. But now, if she called, no one would pick up. Their wedding had been a sober affair, both missing the people they wanted to be there most. Tony doubted he would ever get over it. Over everything.
"I don't want to go back to sleep." He had been dreaming. He always dreamt, recently. Every night the same: the purple giant, a scared boy and dust, so, so much dust. He had gotten a panic attack only a couple of days ago, when Pepper and he were working in the garden. The black dirt on his fingers, the sand crumbling in his hands – it hurt. It hurt so much. It was his fault the boy had become an avenger. He had asked the child to join him in that stupid fight with Steve Rogers. And what was that even about? What was the use of it? Nothing. The accord wasn't signed, the Avengers had split up, people were locked in jail and separated from their families. All because of that stupid accord. All because of Sokovia. All because of Ultron. All because of him. The boy was dead because of him.
"I know." Pepper simply replied. So the two walked towards the bench on the lakeside and sat, in silence, together. They were together. They were alive. The stars were still shining, the moon still reflecting on the lake's surface, and if he closed his eyes very, very tightly, he could imagine that it was all okay, that nothing had happened, that it was all a dream, one of the many nightmares. That he would wake up from a phone call from Happy informing him about the kid's progress, about his good grades, about the lady that he helped cross the street that bought him a churro. If he closed his eyes tightly enough, all would be well.
He never closed his eyes tightly enough. Not all was well. So it was the next night, and he was working again. There needed to be a filter installed in the mask so there would always be enough breathable air. That had to be added now. What if the kid had to climb up a high building. He had to be able to breathe properly. New York contains many skyscrapers. Why hadn't he thought of adding this feature before? It was simple, really. He was such an idiot. How come he didn't add that to the suit? He had added it to his own suits, and to the War Machine suit. He should have – he should have-
"Tony." A stern voice, but paired with a soft hand on his shoulder.
"Nebula. What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same. What are you working on?"
"It's- It's a suit."
"You know I am already half-machine, right? I don't need a suit."
"No, it's for- " he looked up, at the small smile of the blue alien girl. It was a joke. Of course it was. "Why are you here?" he repeated.
"My eye broke. I can't see depth with it anymore. It's really annoying."
"But it does mean I can beat you!" With a small smile he held up one of the familiar silver triangles, slightly busted from all the times his and Nebula's fingers hit it. He kept it with him at all times, as a reminder of – as a reminder that he made it. That he survived. He quickly banished the thought that followed from his head. "Let me see what I can do."
The suit was finished. It had been for a couple of years, and now it just stood in the corner of his workshop whilst he upgraded Rescue. Not that Pepper wanted to wear it, but he had to keep busy. Otherwise, Morgan would come in and ask for more ice cream, which, he contemplated whilst biting on the stick of the popsicle he had just finished, was really unhealthy for her. "Tony?" "Yes, dear?" "You have visitors."
It was years since the last time he had seen Steve Rogers. And now the man dared to show up again? The only thing Tony could see whilst looking into those piercing blue eyes was the boy webbing the shield, whilst fangirling about the legendary super-soldier. And now they dared to give him hope? Dared to speak of a solution? Time travel. What absolute bullcrap. This wasn't some futuristic fantasy science-fiction movie. It was real life, and real people had died. Real people had vanished. Real people were suffering. And besides, the boy couldn't return. The suit Tony had made for him was already incredibly outdated. Technology develops fast, even if half of the world's brains are dust in the wind.
Dear Happy,
I hope I will return home to find this letter and tear it up, but if you are reading this you know I could not. I hope that we succeeded, though. I hope everyone is back. I hope the kid is back. Please take care of him. He is a genius, but he tends to get himself into trouble. Please make sure he stays a friendly neighbourhood spider-man. Or, better yet, make sure he retires. He is only a kid. He should go to school, hang with his friends, fall in love. Not swing around New York in a onesie. But just in case, if hell breaks loose, give him this. I know neither of us can stop him from getting himself in trouble, but we can at least try to keep him safe.
- Tony