Important note: In this universe with the snap Peter would have been 15 & is 15 now. My OC was 10 and is now 15 years old. Morgan will be 4 years old & Ned will be 16 and MJ is 20
restart my heart
Chapter One: the end game
She was never raised to believe in a God or any other higher being to pray. She was taught to believe in her father and his intelligence. Thor and his hammer. Captain and his shield and so on.
The Avengers will save you. Earth's Mightiest Heroes will prevail. There was never any reason or whim to sit on her knees and send a quick prayer to an unknown force in hopes that they exist and will change what fate has in store. She had always known everything would turn out alright.
She had faith in her dad. She had believed that nothing would prevent him from coming home. There was no need for prayer. She wasn't sure how to even begin with religion anyway. It didn't matter. It wasn't logical.
She never understood why people prayed into the unknown, the implausible, until Happy escorted her remaining family to the edge of the dock. Pass the small but powerful crowd of people in black. Pass the whispers and condolences.
She never understood until that moment. The feeling of her heart and soul was floating away along with the beautiful arrangement of flowers and arc reactor.
Proof Tony Stark has a Heart.
Proof that her dad won't be walking into the kitchen, arms spread wide with a face splitting grin on his face. Proof that he won't wake her up for a midnight cheeseburger run to Burger King.
He won't be there to scold her when she snuck out and stole his suit. Or hilariously attempt to ground Peter when he helps her make a second attempt in escaping the house with the Mark 42.
Proof that her heart, her father, will be a missing piece in her life moving forward.
Morgan Stark stood between Sophia and Pepper Stark. Hands squirming and sweaty within her own but Sophia doesn't mind. She just squeezes back, letting her little sister dig into her hip as they watch the flowers slowly drift away.
She feels a tightness in her chest and a heavy weight on her shoulders that seem to get worse with every passing minute. It's her fault.
He's dead and it's her fault.
Morgan squeezes her fingers. The touch of affection grounds Sophia in a way she didn't know she needed. She refuses to be the one to release a sob or a scream or even shed a tear. Not when everyone else is holding it together so well.
Her mom has barely shed a tear. Sophia admires her mom in so many ways but today especially for showing a strong front. She is so much stronger than Sophia ever will be.
Sophia refuses to make a show, although, if her dad was here he would tell her to share her pain with him, shake it off, and then do something about it. Nothing got done by sitting around. Go fix the problem.
.
.
.
.
But how do you bring back the dead?
The cabin that was once filled with screams and laughter, and occasionally a few cries of despair of lost ones from the snap, is now filled with silence and moving boxes. The Avengers and company have all either left or remained outside to start sending the stones back where they came from. Morgan is no longer trailing behind her and instead opted to sit on the porch swing with Happy.
Sophia continues to sit on the living room floor of the cabin. Surrounded by pictures and packaging tissues. Carefully wrapping each glass frame, doing her very best to ignore the reason as to why she's packing her home of five years, and instead focus on the memories presented in each photo.
Definitely not focusing on how much her hands shake. Going on autopilot. Through the motions and anxiously waiting for what's to come outside of this little cabin away from the world the small wo of her dad created just for them. Her mind is a whirlwind of what ifs and I should haves.
If she knew, understood, what sacrifices would have had to have been made to undo the snap she never would have encouraged her father to wear the suit one last time.
"You are Iron Man! You can do anything! You can save everyone!"
And he did…and took more than just him with him.
Every time she looks at a photo, his face morphs into a beaten and bloody Tony. And every time she must turn the frame around and blink the image away while pushing back the tears that threatened to spill.
Pretending the image of blood seeping out her dad's mouth never happened. That moment wasn't and can't be the last one she has of her dad. She doesn't want that to be her reality.
"Hey, um, Sophia? Right? That's you?"
Startled, a picture frame did a short tumble out of her hands and onto the hardwood floor. Slightly cracking around its edges.
Her father's face stared back at her. Smirking.
"Sorry about that. I...I didn't mean to scare you." Large shaky hands flipped over the frame.
Pushing her dark brown hair back, Sophia looked up to see brown eyes tinged red. "Peter?"
Peter stood, not quite as tall as she remembered him being five years ago, in the dimly lit living room with hands nervously wringing together. She probably now stands up to at least his shoulders. Looking between herself and Peter made her feel like several lifetimes had gone and went between the snaps.
Knowing her babysitter is now only half a year older than her and most likely will attend school with her from now on makes her feel slightly queasy.
It would be like attending school with her father. A painful reminder at her side everyday.
He gave a crooked smile and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey, Soph. It's been a while. Well, for you, not for me. Not like it's been that short of a time for me but you know, with the snap, and all...and yeah."
She couldn't come up with a response. She could only silently nod along with his string of half finished sentences. Brows furrowed and mouth twisted into a frown. Peter Parker was a mini Tony Stark in the making. A fact she couldn't handle knowing at the moment. He managed to copy her dad's smile perfectly.
The feeling in her chest tightened. Almost constricting her breathing.
He took a deep breath and bent down to sit across from her, piles of picture frames and boxes between them. "I'm sorry." Peter's voice cracked along with Sophia's heart. "I'm so sorry. If I had been stronger or faster, maybe he would still be here. I - I should have…" His voice was heavy with shame, the same way guilt weighed down on her shoulders.
His knuckles turned a pale white seconds before the wooden frame and glass showered around them. Despite the glass embedded into his skin, causing blood to slowly start dripping onto the hardwood floor, Peter held on tighter. He started to cry. "I should have been more helpful."
He let out that ugly, loud and obnoxious cry she has been trying so hard to hold back. That ball of emotions sitting in her chest and the back of her throat wanted to burst out even more.
"I am so sorry that I wasn't enough, Sophia." Peter hunched over the broken photo frame. His body wracked with an onslaught of tears. "I wish I could have saved him. I really do."
And like a domino effect, a tremor took over her and whatever was left holding back her anguish broke.
Sophia let out gut wrenching sobs that tore through her chest. Her lungs rummaged for oxygen, and her sobbing had the same force of someone drowning.
She quickly raised her hands to cover her mouth in a poor attempt to muffle the sounds.
"It's okay." Her voice cracked and was hoarse. Barely understandable between each wail of suffering. "It's okay. We'll be okay."
He reached over and gripped her hand tight, to the point where she was almost tempted to tell him to let go in fear of breaking her hand like he did the photo.
"I'm sorry, Sophia. I really am."
The broken photo of Tony holding eight year old Sophia in one arm and clasping Peter with his other gleamed in the sunlight at his feet. Tony's smile is shining bright.
End of Prologue,
the end game
Important note: Peter would have been 15 & is 15 now for the snap. My OC was 10 and is now 15 years old. Morgan will be 4 years old & Ned will be 16 and MJ 20.