AN: This little ficlet was inspired by/written for @jules-of-the-crown, who was interested in seeing some Sarah and Natasha. The fluff center of my brain is currently on strike, so content warning for grief and mourning after a temporary character death.
...
As she pulled up the drive toward the clapboard house and the sloping lawn, Natasha settled into her breath like she was lining up a shot. Inhale for four, exhale for one, hold for ten, pull the trigger, impact: a blue mailbox, flecked with paint chips and bearing the block letters of a family name.
WILSON.
The woman sitting on the porch stood up, crossed her arms, shifted her weight to one hip, and Natasha let the last of her breath mix with the scent of magnolia as she slipped out of the car. She brought Sam’s go bag with her, looping her fingers through nylon handles and swinging it around to rest lightly on the front of her thigh.
I’m here to bring him back to you the only way I can, Natasha told the woman on the porch (forming the words with the angle of her palm - curled open, facing the house), I won’t hold anything back. And then, with a tilt of her head and a twist of her lips, I’ve already had too much that should have been yours.
The woman’s eyes swept over Natasha’s face before flicking down to the bag: lightweight and nondescript except for the small enamel pin Wanda had bought Sam at a market stall in Doha.
“It makes you recognizable,” Natasha had chided him, rolling her eyes as he pinned the multi-colored falcon to the front of his bag with a flourish.
“Come on,” Sam had replied, “Who was ever going to forget this face?”
“I’m Sarah,” the woman on the porch told her, rolling her shoulders back from where they’d been inching toward her ears.
“I know,” Natasha replied, her mouth tugging up at one side. “He wouldn’t shut up about you.”
“Yeah, well,” Sarah said, “I know who you are too.”
She glanced once more at the bag, lingering around its edges as if measuring its weight and size: two years. Two long years then, when they couldn’t see an end to exile in sight. Two short years now, when all the power they had between them couldn’t add one more second to the sum.
“You better come in,” Sarah said. And when their eyes met again, Natasha felt the sharp stitch of fire thread its way across her chest, realized where she’d been aiming.
Do you think Loki will cease to be Loki if he had lost his voice? For instance, post-IW Loki becoming mute after being held in the neck by Thanos? Would Thor feel better or worse to have his brother alive, but silent next to him?
I really like this scenario and would love to read about it happening in a fanfic. For Loki to lose his “silver tongue”, possibly forever, and be forced to communicate with Thor using sign language or writing or some other means would be a fascinating idea to explore.
I don’t think Loki would cease to be himself. Not ultimately. But it would be frustrating for him at first, I imagine, relearning how to communicate, and then trying to speak as effortlessly as he used to, which might be impossible. His hands probably can’t keep up with everything he wants to say, and this would understandably be the source of a lot of angst for him.
Thor might also be prone to talking over him before he learns to be more mindful of Loki’s disability, and realize that he does still have a voice—an inaudible one, but still a voice—that deserves to be heard. Perhaps this might make Thor more conscious of some of the inequalities that existed between him and Loki ever since they were children. A fault confessed is half redressed, as the saying goes.
I can see many single-voiced fights between them as they struggle not only with this matter, but also the matter of learning to live with each other again after so many years at odds in addition to rebuilding Asgard following the Snap, and eventually teaming up for the Time Heist. Loki’s skills would be very useful to the Avengers for this task, but his muteness might be a risk. Perhaps Scott and Tony could develop a special communicator for the quantum suits that doesn’t require speaking.
But I see Loki eventually getting the hang of being mute, using his words thoughtfully and effectively, and finding that they suddenly have more value and impact because of the nature of their delivery and the energy it takes to produce them. Thor becomes more attentive and quiet. He learns to be a better listener. Loki measures his words carefully. Gone are the thoughtless comments, the hurtful remarks, the useless retorts, and the wasted breath; what remains is a distilled, purified form of communication between him and Thor, open and honest, and they speak to one another now as they have never been able to speak before. Truthfully. Fervently. Meaningfully.
And once they reestablish this connection, it’s as if Loki’s voice was never really gone. He and Thor sign with one another comfortably and easily. They laugh together, bicker together, cry together, speak tenderly to each other. Thor learns the importance of nonverbal communication and is more conscious of his body language. Loki learns how to better express himself as time goes on. And in the end, nothing is lost between them.
Losing his voice changes Loki, but in many ways, it may be one of the best things that has ever happened to him. It’s brought him and Thor closer together. It’s helped him turn over a new leaf, make new friends and allies, and repair his tarnished image. And being mute is certainly better than being dead. Loki reminds himself of that every time he dissolves his illusion and studies the faint scars on his neck left by a mad titan’s glove.
How close he had come to dying that day. Thank the Norns that his journey hadn’t ended there, dangling lifelessly from Thanos’s fist.
And Thor, he still misses the sound of his brother’s voice: smooth and deep and velvety when he’s pleased, lilting and sweet when he’s playful, sharp and acidic when he’s angry. Perhaps he will always miss it. But having Loki with him now, alive and happy, finding his own peace and sense of purpose again—and still managing to be his cunning, mischievous self—is more precious to him than any voice in the universe.
post snap romanogers prompt pls! a little angsty from the start then fluff in the end and please include a bruce/natasha closure (not many people write about them) angsty but fluff all the way!
+ Detailed Romanogers Endgame Trailer please maybe add a plot twist (secretly a couple or married) we need a lot of these!
omg hello anon(s), sorry this took so long! too much schoolwork!! i wanted to get this out before endgame so please enjoy this! + the two prompts were very similar so i decided to combine them! THANKS for the prompts!
Title: where else would i be?
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff
They might be heroes, but they’re still just human after all. Steve and Natasha deal with the aftermath of the snap.
angst, post-IW, i tried to put as much fluff as i can in respect to the current situation
Steve woke up, his chest heaving, and covered in sweat. He sat up abruptly, feeling the world spin around him. Digging the heels of palm into his eyes, he rested his back on the headboard and weakly peered an eye open to look at the time. 3:27 am. His face felt sticky and swollen - probably from all the crying and lack of sleep as they tried to comprehend what just happened. So it wasn’t just a dream, he thought. It’s been less than 36 hours since the “Snap”, as they ruefully call it. In just a literal snap, Steve’s life came tumbling. He lost Bucky, again, Sam, and so much more. They lost half the universe. They lost. If only he- Steve shook his head. He could’ve done so much to prevent Thanos, but alas, it wouldn’t have been enough. His own efforts weren’t enough.
Sighing deeply again, he looked down on the lump next to him. Natasha looks so peaceful when she sleeps, though her forehead was scrunched up, just like she was thinking in a mission or she’s upset about something. Steve reached down and gently rubbed the crease in her forehead, making her more relaxed in her sleep. Despite everything, Steve let out a small smile, and slowly stood up the bed, trying to make less sounds and movements as possible as to not wake her. This has been the first time they all had actual sleep since they went to Edinburgh to get Wanda and Vision.
He made his way to the kitchen to drink some milk. It took him multiple times to get the right switch on - he’s stayed at T’Challa’s for numerous times already but his mind is just not with him that time. It felt weird, walking around Wakanda like this, especially knowing that he’s partially responsible for bringing the fight here. Although no one has outright said it, Steve does blame himself for that. He underestimated Thanos and his mission, but he just couldn’t bare the thought of losing Vision if there’s a way to save him. He didn’t want Wanda to lose that one thing that’s helping her stay sane, he-. Steve stopped his thoughts in its tracks. He just knew that he has to make this right and that he has a lot of apologizing to do.
Steve took the glass of warm milk with him and stood by the window overlooking Wakanda. It’s dark so there isn’t much to see, but still, through the fog, he can see it - the destruction, the fight’s after effects. He shut his eyes tightly, took a sip of milk, and focused on happy memories. He stood here with Bucky when he was first out of cryo - helping him remember who he is, talking about the good ol’ days. When he got to talk to his best friend about the 1930s like it was just yesterday.
Steve sniffed, feeling a whole new wave of emotion about to overtake him. That was until he felt two arms around his waist, hands clasped on top of his abdomen. He felt Natasha rest her head on his back and heard her inhale deeply. “Please don’t leave me,” her voice was quiet, but it resonated in the dark room, and Steve’s heart ached. The rest of the team - those of them who are left - had an unspoken rule of not leaving each other alone. They were scared, paranoid even, since they weren’t sure if that elimination of the snap was really over. Seeing someone they love disappear in front of their eyes, and into literal thin air, has been really traumatizing.
Steve set the glass down on the windowsill and turned around to envelope Natasha in his arms. She settled into him, her body fitting perfectly against his. She buried her face in his chest and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Steve used his thumb to gently rub circles on her back, a motion that he noticed really helped calm her down.
“I’ll never, ever, leave you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He remembered the moments after the snap, seeing Bucky turn to dust in front of him and Vision into a lifeless machine. He remembered the panic that numbed him, not knowing where Natasha was. But he was paralyzed, unable to move and comprehend what really happened. He wanted to run, to scream for her name just to make sure that she’s alive, but he couldn’t. And only when Natasha ran back to them - to him - that he felt that he actually lived. Steve could feel the remnants of that sheer panic and he hugged her a little bit tighter because even now, he’s still thanking his lucky stars that he has her in his arms.
–
“I thought I lost you too,” Steve broke the silence between them. They went back to their room after Steve finished his milk but neither of them could sleep.
“Hm?” Natasha hummed, blinking her eyes sleepily. She was curled into his side, his arms around her. She feels a little bit warm from the heat he’s emitting but she learned to get used to it, and besides, he feels like a very warm comfortable blanket.
“After the snap. I didn’t see you right away and I got scared,” Steve explained, voice low. Natasha peeks up at him. His eyes are glued to the ceiling but he’s absentmindedly playing with her. Even in the darkness, she could still make out the sparkle in his eyes and the threat of tears that come with them.
Natasha stayed silent, not really knowing what to say. She felt the same thing - fear, panic, and everything in between. But this is the first time Steve opened up about what happened. They spent the past days and a half scouring for ways to undo the snap, for ways to fight Thanos. Doing damage control, looking for people. There was no time for emotional talks, although everyone’s puffy and red eyes do speak for themselves.
“When Bucky disappeared… I lost him again… Then so many more followed, and I-” Steve’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “And I thought you were one of them…” he continued. He shifted, flinging an arm over his eyes. Natasha pressed a soft kiss on his chest but, her reminder that she’s still there. “I was so scared and a million thoughts flew through my mind but my main focus was you, Nat, I couldn’t lose you. You’re the most important person in my life and god knows what I’ll do if you were one of them.” Natasha’s heart ache and she teared up at that.
She sat up and propped herself on top of Steve, her elbows on either side of him, holding herself up. He moved his arm away from his eyes and she cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing away his tears. “Steve, I’m here, I’ll never leave you,” she assured him and leaned down to kiss him.
Steve smiled into the kiss and Natasha felt him relax under her. She pulled back for a little bit to rest her forehead over his and closed her eyes. “Good, because I can’t live without you.”
Natasha let out a small chuckle, pecking his lips one more time. “God you’re cheesy.”
“I’m just being honest,” Steve reasoned. Natasha shifted and lowered herself so she can once again use Steve’s chest as a pillow. She learned this is the best place to be if she wants to sleep well, especially when they were at uncomfortable motels after missions.
“You’re always honest,” she mumbled, hoping Steve would catch her point. And judging by the way his chest vibrated from his laugh, she’s certain that he did.
–
The next day was planned to be a lowkey day. Instead of spending it by crazily trying to figure out the move against Thanos, they decided to try a calmer approach. Besides, they were waiting for Fury’s “contact”, who’s supposed to arrive soon. They hope.
Natasha and Steve decided to take a break from monitoring Thanos’s actions by playing video games on the couch in the living room. Although there were enough couches for the two of them to comfortably sit in, they just had to be attached at the hip in one couch, with Natasha practically tucked under Steve. Their legs are tangled together and stretched out in front of them as their focus are on their games. They were giggling to themselves and completely in their own bubble.
Rhodey and Okoye were drinking coffee by the kitchen islanda and watching the two of them. Okoye then looked at Rhodey with raised eyebrows, tipping her mug towards the two, as if to ask, “what’s with them?” but Rhodey just shrugged. He suspected there might be something going on there but he was never exclusively told so. However, the scene in front of him gives him more than enough evidence to prove his conclusion.
Bruce walked in the room, having just woken up, and rubbing his eyes. He stopped halfway in and stared at Steve and Natasha, who were both engrossed in their game that they didn’t notice the doctor sauntering in. Rhodey’s eyes widened at seeing Bruce all but stare at the couple on the couch. He looked plastered in his place and Rhodey internally winced. “Doctor Banner, you’re up!” He called out, which seemed to snap Banner out of staring at the two.
He saw Steve’s and Natasha’s head shoot up and scan the room, eyes landing on Bruce four feet away from them. The room stilled and an awkward silence came upon them. Okoye looked between Bruce, Natasha, and Steve and frowned. She had a weird feeling about this….
“Care to have some breakfast? You could just let us know what you want and one of the chefs, uh, I mean, the chef can make it,” Rhodey offered, breaking the silence. Bruce looked at him, and blinked, looking confused.
“U-uh, y-yeah, yeah, um, give me a second, I forgot something in my room…” Bruce trailed off and went back through the way he came in.
Steve and Natasha looked at each other quietly. Rhodey watched them intently, knowing that the two are having some kind of freaky telepathic conversation that people who know each other well seem to be able to do. After a few more moments of starring, Natasha untangled herself from Steve and stood up, following Bruce, as Rhodey can only assume. Steve looked at him and Okoye, ears turning red, and offered them a sheepish smile. Rhodey smiled back and took a sip of his coffee, making a face at Okoye’s confused look.
–Natasha knocked on Bruce’s open bedroom door, seeing him pace back and forth into the room. “Uh, hey Bruce, can we talk?”
Bruce all but jumped up in surprise, blinking at her for a second before nodding wordlessly. He sat on the edge of his bed and Natasha looked around, grabbing a chair and setting it in front of him for her to sit on. She would sit next to him but… awkward….
“Um, I know it’s been a while, and the last I saw you you were, uh…” Natasha trailed off, looking at him and hoping for him to continue, but Bruce can only nod. “Yeah.. and we looked for you but we just couldn’t find you. Tony has worked tirelessly to track the quinjet but it seemed like you just disappeared.”
Bruce cleared his throat and let out a puff of hair. “Oh.. yeah. Um. The quinjet brought me to Sakaar,” Natasha furrowed her brows in confusion and Bruce waved a hand, “long story, I can explain later with Thor’s help.”
“Okay… well, you know, um, that’s been kind of a few years ago. Steve and I trained the New Avengers. Then eventually, I think you kinda know about how Tony and Steve had a fallout, and long-story short, the team broke up, Steve, Sam, and I went rogue, fighting the battles that the team should be fighting, but couldn’t. And you know… in the process of it,” Natasha glanced at Bruce, who was staring intently at her, but she looked away again, “Steve and I… got together.”
Natasha looked back at Bruce, trying to judge his reaction. He remained speechless, but he smiled after a while. “Wait, were you scared of telling me this?” he asked. Natasha frowned and shrugged. “Nat, hey, I know we had a…” he paused, trying to look for the right words, “thing. But that’s okay, it’s in the past. I know you all thought I was dead. It would be selfish of me to ask for you to wait. I’m glad you moved on, and with Steve too. I can tell he might have had feelings for you since back then.” Bruce explained.
Natasha processed what he just said and blinked at him. “Really?” she asked, to which Bruce nodded. “Wow,” she blew out a breath and chuckled. “I thought you’d be upset.” Bruce shook his head.
“Like I said, it’s been a while. You guys are my friends, my family, of course I wouldn’t be upset.” he reassured. They stood up and gave each other a brief hug before walking back to the living room.
Once there, they found Thor and Rocket already awake, eating breakfast at the table with Rhodey and Okoye. Steve was taking something out from the fridge and he glanced at Natasha and Bruce and back to her. He raised his eyebrows and she gave him a smile, in which he reciprocated towards her and Bruce.
Natasha sat down on the seat across from Thor, and Steve took the seat next to her shortly, after preparing her coffee and setting it down in front of her. She took it and gave him a thankful smile. Steve reached for the bread basket in front of them and put a freshly toasted bagel on Natasha’s plate as she sips her coffee and checks the message she just received.
Steve just finished putting cream cheese on one of the slices of Natasha’s bagel and was reaching for the other one when Thor, who was quietly chewing on a piece of plain bread rolls, let out a noise. “Hmm.” Natasha and Steve looked up at the people around the table. Being so engrossed in their own routine - their own world - they didn’t notice that the small chatter died down and everyone was looking at them. Thor narrowed his eyes and looked back-and-forth between the two, “How long have you been fancying each other?” he bluntly asked.
Steve looked at him with wide eyes but Natasha just smiled. “It’s been a while,” she answered calmly.
Thor thought about it for a moment before nodding wisely to himself and grinned. “I like it!”
Steve smiled shyly and glanced at Natasha, meeting her eyes. They could hear each other thinking, We like it, too.
@stormweathered is killing me: “It was almost like a dream. ‘Oh. I’m not waking up. Why aren’t I waking up?’ I thought. That feeling never ended. It still hasn’t ended.”
John listened to him talk. Ramble really. It took quite a bit of liquor to get Thor drunk. No surprise, though, since he’d been drinking since he’d woken up. John had watched him with both concern and morbid fascination and partaken as well. He wasn’t his usual jovial and lusty self either. Instead he seemed to be drawing into himself, crawling into some dark space that John knew well. It was his turn not to judge as Thor mourned. He didn’t resent being put in the position. The other man had spent many nights dealing with John’s periodic night terrors.
Lying on the floor in his living room with the sunset streaming through the thin venetian blinds, John curled against his side, he stroked his face, kissed his shoulder, and let the words wash over him. They tumbled, stumbled, were tremulous, and rough. He knew what he was talking about. Imagine that. -- A god suffering from PTSD. His arms went around him tightly, as though he could somehow protect him from his memories.
“Let me be y’reprieve, then,” John breathed against his skin. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
Title: Choices
Rating: Teen and Up
Pairing: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange (IronStrange)
Additional Tags/Warnings: angst, unresolved, post-IW, trauma
Notes: For the IronStrange Gift Exchange 2019, hosted by @ironstrangehaven.
Well, this is being posted late, which is quite sad because it's been done for weeks upon weeks. Real life and a lot of...things got in the way, but I'm tearing myself away from RL for a second to post this.
This is for @beemotionpicture, who is my giftee. I do hope that this is not a colossal disappointment and you get some modicum of enjoyment out of it. Pretty much went off the rails about two-point-three seconds after I started writing your suggested prompts. It was a lot of fun to write, especially since I don't generally get to sink my teeth in fics like the ones you prompted, and I do hope you enjoy it.
Beta'd by the magnificent @codee21, who has been one of the kindest people I've ever had the pleasure to meet and always has time to listen to me rant. Bless your face, darling, and thank you for everything you do/are. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Enjoy!
Stephen compartmentalises better than most.
It’s a learnt trait of a medical professional, he supposes, and personnel who can’t compartmentalise properly tend to not make it far in the profession. Doctors can’t break down every time they misdiagnose or accidentally kill a patient, after all, and for all Stephen’s arrogance, nurses have it worse since they do the bulk of the work. Compartmentalisation is imperative to a person in the medical field or they’ll lose their mind, and Stephen had had a lot of practise from his restrictive, borderline abusive childhood to boot.
Tony, on the other hand, doesn’t compartmentalise well in the slightest.
It’s glaringly apparent, and has been since Iron Man first took to the skies to destroy illicit weapons built by Stark Industries and sold to terrorists. Tony takes every single cent of damage to heart, every person who wakes up screaming from nightmares after suffering through calamities brought about by SI weapons or Avengers business, every lost business or city that is destroyed in a firefight, every death that results from something Tony could have somehow prevented. It’s a lot of guilt and trauma and self-depreciation, originating from that piece of shit father and his kind but neglectful mother, and it kills Stephen to know that it’s never going away, that Tony will never be able to develop the neural connections that enable him to forgive himself.
Stephen’s kind of always known this since he had first seen Tony Stark testifying on Capitol Hill on C-SPAN, though not to his current fidelity, and he’s become more familiar with it since coming into possession of the Time Stone and experimenting with it. He’d gone forward in time just enough to see the Civil War break out, see the lengths Iron Man and Captain America would go to (in some instances, even the killing of one or the other) in order to follow through, and he wonders what the world would be like if he had looked further ahead or even gotten involved personally to mediate the conflict.
He knows it intimately now, though. He’s seen every deep scar and bleeding wound in Tony’s psyche, seen every tear and drop of blood and sharp scream of agony torn from Tony up close and personal, and he’s seen it 14,000,604 times.
With almost every iteration of the future, he sees Anthony Edward Stark find comfort with Stephen, even as war rages around them, and sees Tony healing as much as he can until he’s finally found some semblance of peace. He sees them sharing the remainder of their lives together, always fighting but still finding love and companionship with each other at their sides. He sees meals being shared and secrets being given, sees long looks across battlegrounds and bodies twining together in passion, and every single part of Stephen wants. He wants that forever, wants a future with the most generous and kind-hearted human being he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing throughout 14,000,604 ultimately short lifetimes, and it aches that he can’t have it.
Because in every single one of those iterations, Tony dies, and half the universe follows suit.
The only anomalies to those countless futures are when Tony dies on Titan, instead of on other planets or Earth itself, and that’s almost as terrible as losing him once they’ve fallen into each other’s arms because Stephen still knows what he’s missing, what he could’ve had with such a monumental, half-broken man. Those futures are just as unacceptable, because Thanos still wins and Tony still dies, so he throws out that iteration and starts another, desperate to save both.
There is only one timeline where they beat Thanos and Tony Stark lives, and the only way to win is if everyone else dies first.
It will be corrected, of course, because Tony is brilliant and clever even when he is destroyed and beaten, tortured and full of grief. Corrected, yes, but not before he has to watch his friends die and pseudo-son turn into dust in his arms, not before he starves and nearly asphyxiates in the cold emptiness of space just like he had been shown in Maximoff’s vision, not before he has to suffer the screams of a devastated aunt at the death of her nephew, not before he has to plan a funeral for half of the Avengers, not before he has to work himself into the ground for the answer to victory, not before he has to suffer through riots of why didn’t you do more why didn’t you save us you could have saved us! just like in his nightmares, not before Pepper Potts miscarries their unborn child due to stress and trauma when she sees Tony lose half his body after wielding the Infinity Gauntlet. No, Tony has to suffer through the weight of the world at Thanos’s hands, at Stephen’s hands, before he can set the world to rights, and saving the world before the end can even come to pass doesn’t erase the grief and sorrow, the pain and agony, of his experiences. Stephen knows that from personal experience, dying and dying and dying at the hands of Dormammu.
And giving up the Time Stone for Tony’s life is the choice that will destroy any and all chance of a future happiness, because Tony will never trust or love Stephen after he wakes up from his coma.
Stephen chooses life over giving Tony a brief, but ultimately fatal moment of peace.
He doesn’t have another choice.
—
When Stephen first opens his eyes after dying, he simply reacquaints himself with existing.
When he’s lightheaded on the smell of dust and tea in the air, when he’s over-warm with the sunlight that streams through his bedroom window, when he can feel the shiver of the Cloak around his shoulders and the soft sheets of his bedding against his tingling palms, when all he can hear is his steady breaths and the heavy thud of his heartbeat in his ears, he finally understands that he’s succeeded, that Tony has succeeded, and that all hope hasn’t been lost after all.
Stephen breaks.
—
His title and abilities as Sorcerer Supreme means that he remembers everything.
No one else besides Tony remembers what happened to the universe, other than Stephen himself. Tony had reversed the Snap – as well as everyone’s memories of it – out of pure mercy and kindness, but Stephen’s mastery of the Time Stone plus the time loop Stephen had applied before dying had ensured that his memories were untouched by Tony’s reversal. He likes to think that it had been to cover his arse just in case the loop hadn’t worked, giving Stephen the ability to correct a possible mistake if needed, but mostly it’s to punish himself. After all, Stephen had committed the most violent and sadistic violation of the Hippocratic Oath and his own personal ethics, in the sense that he had subjected a single man to the weight of the universe’s pain and forced him to suffer for it, breaking him beyond all conceivable measure.
The bittersweet pain of those impossible futures with the love of his life, the unbelievably brave and imperfectly perfect Tony Stark, only worsens Stephen’s guilt and heartbreak.
He doesn’t know if Tony’s aware that Stephen still lives with his decision, but it doesn’t matter in the end. At the end of the day, Stephen would make the choice again if he had to, and while he regrets the pain and suffering that he’s inflicted on Tony, he doesn’t regret the choice itself. How can he, when the universe hasn’t been cruelly cut in half? How can he, when he sees Spider-Man slinging his merry way through Greenwich Village occasionally as he chases some baddies, very much alive and ready to make the world a better place? How can he, when the Avengers are reunited and save the world from continuing threats? How can he, when Tony is alive, surrounded by people who love and cherish him even if it can’t be Stephen himself, people who can lift Tony up when everything feels like it’s too much and the horrors of the past are tearing him apart.
He can’t regret a decision like that, even if he knows that Tony’s drinking again, and his relationship with Pepper Potts was never revitalised, and he always looks exhausted and haunted in the papers. Stephen loves Tony Stark more than anything in this world, but choosing Tony’s happiness over the survival of trillions of innocent souls is even more unforgivable.
The sorrow and heartache weigh heavily on Stephen’s own soul, and as he watches CNN rehash an Avengers battle – Tony intentionally putting himself in harm’s way, throwing himself into potentially fatal situations, like he’s trying to kill himself – he can’t help but wonder whether he made the right choice anyway.
It hurts, and Stephen’s not sure if he can survive this pain himself.
—
The first time Stephen sees Tony with his own eyes after waking up, it’s during battle.
Doom’s a magic user with a dangerous artefact in his possession, and that is Stephen’s area of expertise. Doom’s also deliberately attacking the Fantastic Four like he always does, which has resulted in quite a bit of damage and chaos in the Lower East Side, and so the Avengers had assembled as per usual. The only team that’s not in the general area is the X-Men, and while the help would be appreciated, it would also oversaturate the battlespace and God knows they don’t need that. It’s already hard enough targeting Doombots when there are civilians to evacuate, not to mention an abundance of friendlies flying around everywhere that get in the way of spells and attacks.
Stephen’s apprentices and various masters are mostly being delegated to civilian evacuation, with self-defence as a secondary mission parameter, mostly because a good majority of them can clone themselves and also because the Doombots are machines connected to an advanced AI. That’s more in the specialty of the Fantastic Four and Avengers – particularly Tony, Banner, and Reed – and Reed has his team fighting Doom directly, since the arsehole has a specific grudge against Reed. Still, Reed’s a bit distracted trying not to die (or get Sue killed), and Tony’s apparently on a one-man mission to personally destroy as many of the Doombots as he can get his metal hands on, which leaves Banner, who’s flying around as the Hulk and obviously can’t hack into the AI basecode. FRIDAY is probably working on it on the side of helping Tony in the air, and he’s sure that the Vision is as well, but taking out the AI won’t necessarily turn the Doombots off and besides, it’s not like Doom doesn’t have the ability to self-destruct them manually.
It takes a long time before Stephen gets the jump on Doom, sending him to Hell to rot (not that he won’t find a way out eventually, the weaselly bastard), but he’s only able to get that jump because of Tony flying in from stage left, attacking Doom with a blast of repulsor energy when Stephen had been cornered, and all he’d said through his armour when he’d unleashed the blast was “The only person who gets to kick his ass is me!”
Stephen’s exhausted and heart-sore by the end of it, panting heavily as sweat pours down his face and spine – he distinctly remembers Doom being less powerful, and that’s going to need some researching – and he helps take down the last remaining Doombots before he’s portalling out of there as fast as he can, into the safety of his personal quarters so he can fall apart.
He doesn’t know how long he cries, choking on his own tears and snot and feeling like he’s burning inside his skin, but it’s long enough for him to fall asleep from the strain of it, still in his torn and filthy robes and covered in grime.
Mercifully, he doesn’t dream.
—
The next time is face-to-face, a few months after that encounter with Doom.
He wakes up in Kamar-Taj, bones and flesh aching from magical strain and the severe beatdown, and it’s the worst he’s felt since the car accident. There’s a flash of fear – am i broken am i paralysed am i unable to be the sorcerer supreme anymore is my body too broken – and then another answering flash of relief – no more hurting people no more failure this is what i deserve – before everything eases into a calm blankness, because even paralysed and broken he’ll still do his duty until he dies permanently, even if all he wants to do is sleep forever, because that’s what he was born to do. He was born to shoulder the weight of the universe just as much as Tony Stark was, born to suffer and break as long as it protects and shelters others, and in that, they will always be connected. A shared destiny, and without the comfort of sharing it with each other.
He opens his eyes, swollen half-shut and crusty around the edges, and focusses his eyes on Tony Stark, standing at the window to the snow-capped mountains of the Himalayas with curved shoulders and heavy eyes.
He wonders how Tony even knew Stephen was at Kamar-Taj in the first place – he doesn’t file most reports and missions with the Avengers, let alone the U.N., and it’s not like Tony is friends with any sorcerers – and then decides it’s irrelevant. It ultimately doesn’t matter, because Stephen knows why he’s here, a year after the Snap was reversed and the universe forgot the sacrifice Tony had made.
It’s not like the pictures or books or stories; they don’t stare at each other for a long time, eyes blazing and hearts racing, before they exchange words like why did you do it and i’m so sorry until there’s nothing but tears and dramatic grasping of bodies as their mouths connect in a conclusion meant for epics, because they’re Meant to Be and Hopelessly in Love.
No, it’s much simpler than that.
“Do you regret it?” Tony asks, quiet and even.
“Yes,” Stephen replies, and it’s a struggle to keep his own tone careful and smooth, “and I would do it again.”
Tony nods once, eyes distant, and whispers, “So would I.”
Then he turns on his heel and leaves.
—
Stephen sees Tony Stark many more times over the course of his life.
Always separate, always distant, but their eyes always meet over briefing tables and battlefields nonetheless. Stephen wonders if Tony’s aware of the possibility between them, the capability of love and devotion and companionship they could’ve shared, but it makes no difference. To Stephen, Tony is the soul he had to sacrifice to save the universe, and to Tony, Stephen is the soul who condemned him. No amount of wishful thinking or unfulfilled futures can change that, or erase the trauma they’ve both suffered, and because of that, they will never be able to bridge the gap and heal from it with each other. There’s just too much in the way, in the middle of such possibility.
Maybe they could’ve tried, come together to scream and yell and get on their knees to beg for forgiveness, but Tony’s too broken to reach for a semblance of peace again, especially with the man that sentenced him to his fate in the first place, and Stephen’s too weak to try. Facing Tony every single day, knowing what could have been and what he had done in exchange, is too much for even him to compartmentalise, and he can’t put everything he is into one man when he has a duty to perform. Being with Tony how he wants to be will take every single molecule of him, every iota of his mind and self, and he can’t be the Sorcerer Supreme if he’s compromised. He cannot protect the universe from the mystical and spiritual if he allows himself to truly be with Tony, because then he would allow himself to prioritise one man over everything else.
It never stops hurting, and it never fades to something manageable.
Stephen’s made his choice, and he has to live with that choice for the rest of his life.
Fandom: MCU
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Ned Leeds
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Warnings: mentions of panic attacks
Words: 2.1k
read on ao3
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so like....i don’t really do major character death. just don’t vibe with that folks. so i sipped my ‘loosely interpreting prompts’ juice and went with a post-a4 aftermath fic. enjoy.
Peter remembers dying.
He remembers watching others start to fade first, remembers knowing exactly what was happening but still not understanding. Remembers thinking that this was not the first time he had watched someone die right in front of him and it would likely not be the last. Remembers registering that, despite barely knowing any of these people and having been held at gunpoint by one of them mere minutes ago, it did not hurt any less.
He remembers waiting. He remembers waiting, not for himself to go next, but for yet another parental figure to fade away.
He remembers his spider-sense screaming at him, remembers not being able to make it stop because wherever he looked, something was going wrong. Remembers the moment in which nothing was happening, after what seemed like the last person had gone, when he couldn’t figure out why his senses were still pinging danger danger danger. Remembers the awful, shattering realization that it was not, in fact, over.
He remembers shaking. He remembers hurting. He remembers crying, pleading, begging to be saved. He remembers Tony holding him and telling him he was was alright. He remembers trying to damn hard to believe him.
He remembers his last moments like they happened yesterday. He remembers dying like it’s the only thing he’s ever done.
The first couple weeks are actually okay.
Eleven months after the Snap, everyone who’d disappeared woke up, perfectly unharmed, in whatever spot they most considered to be home. Eleven months after the Snap, Peter came to in his own bed, and the high that came from just being alive took a while to wear off.
But when he crashes, he crashes hard.
Sixteen days, seven hours, and about thirty minutes after the Snap is reversed, Peter finds his first trigger.
He’s sitting on his living room couch, sandwiched between May and Ned, who both cling to him like they're afraid to let go. Some movie or other is playing on the TV in front of them, and Tony’s supposed to come over in time to catch whatever’s on after this. When it goes to commercial break, an advertisement for a throwback movie marathon says the word Footloose and Peter is no longer in his apartment.
(Like in Footloose? The movie?
Exactly like Footloose! Is it still the greatest movie in history?
It never was.)
He’s not in his living room. He’s not in his apartment. He’s not on Earth.
(red red dust Thanos danger danger danger fading shaking stumbling I don’t wanna go pain fear snap Thanos please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.)
May and Ned do their best, but it takes fifteen minutes for Tony to arrive and another thirty minutes for him to talk Peter down.
Sixteen days, seven hours and thirty minutes. He lasted longer than he thought he would.
The breakdown is the first of many.
The ridiculousness of having his first post-Snap breakdown over an 80s movie is not lost on him. But it’s like a dam breaks, after.
He goes from okay to completely falling apart.
All of a sudden, it’s all he can think about. Dying. Turning to dust in Tony’s arms. Fading away on some cold, unforgiving alien planet.
All of a sudden, it’s so fucking hard.
It’s hard not to stare at his own hands whenever there’s nothing else to focus on and worry that his fingers are going to crumble any minute. It’s hard not to see the rocky surface of Titan every time his gaze catches on anything red. It’s hard not to feel like he’s living on borrowed time, wandering aimlessly in a borrowed body.
It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe.
It’s hard to live when the weight that’s been resting on chest ever since he came back to life has gained a million pounds and is pressing directly against his heart.
It’s funny, in this sick, twisted way, that when Aunt May asks him to talk about Titan, he can recount what happened without even stuttering, but the littlest thing can set him off if he’s not prepared.
Once, it’s an advertisement of a kid on a beach with sand slipping through the palms of his hands.
(sand it’s just sand it’s just sand it’s dust it’s always dust he’s turning to dust again.)
Another time, it’s merely someone on the street saying, “God, I don’t wanna go to the store.”
(I don’t wanna go Mr. Stark please I don’t wanna go I’m sorry.)
Many times, it’s not even something that he sees or hears. Many times, the fear washes over him for seemingly no reason other than just…trauma.
He’s dealt with trauma before. He’s been dealing with trauma for basically his whole life.
It feels different this time. Like his brain has been completely rewired and he doesn’t know how to fix the mess in his head.
The thing is, it’s easy to tell who was dusted and who wasn’t.
The people who weren’t have this terribly haunted look about them. They all try their best not to show it, but it’s in their faces. The eleven months in which half the planet was gone show in the vacant looks, in the glazed eyes, in the clingy protectiveness the ones who stayed have for the ones who didn’t.
The ones who dusted don’t remember those eleven months. They remember dying, yes, but for most of them, it was over quick. For most of them, the whole thing was over quick.
Most of them have issues, yes, but minor ones. A place they don’t like being in, a phrase they don’t like hearing.
Because for most of them, the Snap is just this thing that happened once. This thing that caused them panic for a few moments and then, a split second later, stopped affecting them. Most of them disappeared and then reappeared in the space of what, to them, was maybe five seconds.
Most of them don’t have nightmares about it. Most of them don’t have panic attacks over it. Most of them don’t spend every waking moment of every day feeling it.
Peter is the exception, not the rule.
Peter has always been the exception.
Peter goes back to being Spider-Man before he goes back to school. Midtown High doesn’t start back up for another two weeks when he decides he’s tired of not doing anything substantial.
He’ll come to wonder, later, if maybe he just wanted to know if even Spider-Man would make him lose his grip on reality, despite Spider-Man having been the one thing that used to ground him the most.
Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t matter.
Fifty-one days and two hours after the Snap is reversed, Peter puts on the suit - the old one, of course, because the other one turned to dust and he’s glad of that because he’d never be able to look at it again - and feels better than he has in weeks.
He doesn’t tell May before he leaves. He knows he should, knows that she worries even more than before now, but he needs to do this without other people’s hopes hanging over his head.
This is about him and only him.
Technically, he died as Spider-Man. But in that moment (I don’t wanna go please I don’t wanna go), he’d never felt more like a kid.
Apparently, the death and resurrection of half of the planet didn’t do much for people’s morals, seeing as there’s still plenty of crime to fight. Peter sticks to small-scale issues for his first day back - muggings and street fights and cats in trees. Tosses witty one-liners around just like he used to and feels truly alive for the first time since he came back.
For the next two weeks, he spends as much time as possible being Spider-Man.
Maybe it’s because he needs to feel like he’s helping someone, even if he doesn’t know how the hell to help himself.
Maybe it’s because he’s chasing the high he’d felt for the first sixteen days post-Snap and the closest he can get is saving a girl from a man who’s threatening her behind a bar.
Maybe it’s just because, whether he died as Spider-Man or not, he still feels less vulnerable as Spider-Man. Maybe it’s because Peter Parker is not a superhero, but Spider-Man is, and the superheroes always come out on top somehow.
Most likely, it’s because he’s scared and he always feels less afraid with the suit on.
They’re all worried about him.
May, Ned, Tony. They’re no better at hiding how worried they are about him than he is at hiding how not okay he is. Even the pain in their own eyes isn’t enough to mask their concern.
They don’t push. Probably don’t know how to. But their anxiety hovers around Peter and mixes in with his own until it feels like they’re all sharing one big mutual supply of frayed nerves and hitching breaths.
He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get why they’re so concerned about him when they’re the ones who actually had to live through those eleven months. All he did was die.
Which is not something he thought he’d ever be able to say.
Even so, it’s not that big of a deal. It was thirty seconds to May and Ned and Tony’s eleven months. Thirty seconds of the worst, most bone-chilling fear he’s ever felt and probably will ever feel in his life, but thirty seconds nonetheless.
It’s so fucking stupid that he can barely get through a day without having a panic attack over something or other when it was just thirty seconds. It’s so fucking stupid that he can’t sleep through a whole night when it was just thirty seconds. It’s so fucking stupid that he still wonders, sometimes, if all of this is even real when it was just thirty seconds.
He can’t let thirty seconds define him for the rest of his goddamn life.
He’ll be fine. It might take a while, but…he’ll be fine.
He has to be fine. He has to be strong for the people he left behind, for the people who really went through hell.
As all things do, Peter’s issues come to a head eventually.
Sixty-five days after the Snap is reversed, Peter goes back to school. It takes hours of convincing to get May and Tony to let him go back when the rest of his class does - they’re doing this weird type of co-parenting thing now, and trying to convince them of anything is like trying to convince a baby to stop crying - but ultimately they let him go.
It’s not their fault that Peter handles it worse than he’s ever handled anything else in all his sixteen and a half years.
Every slam of a locker makes him jump. Every whisper has him constantly looking over his shoulder. Every unexpected touch causes his spider-sense to buzz incessantly at him (danger danger danger).
By the time the sixth period bell rings, he’s shaking so badly that he knocks his notebook and pencils off his desk when he stands. And then he just...stares at them.
He should pick it all up. He should. That’s what he’s supposed to do right now. Knock something down, pick it up. That’s the natural progression.
Except he can’t figure out how to make his hands move. Can’t convince his knees to actually bend so he can reach the floor. Can’t function properly for long enough to even pick up a fucking notebook.
Someone does it for him, offers him a sympathetic smile even as they actually have to turn him around, unzip his backpack, and put his stuff in, since he doesn’t exactly offer a hand to take any of it. They pat him on the shoulder when they turn and go, leaving Peter alone in an empty classroom.
Alone.
Alone.
(he doesn’t want to die alone. he doesn’t want to die at all, but at least he can stumble to Tony and have someone hold him as he goes. he doesn’t want to die. he’s not alone, but he’s still dying.
I don’t wanna go please I don’t wanna go.)
Peter walks on autopilot to the nurse’s office and tells the nurse to call both of his emergency contacts.
May and Tony arrive at the same time. They hang out now, apparently - Peter supposes eleven months of dealing with the loss of the kid you both view as yours, one way or another, will do that.
They sit next to him on the cot the nurse had directed him to. He hasn’t moved since he was left alone again, but now he pulls his feet up onto the cot and rests his forehead on his knees.
“I need help,” he says into his knees. “I - guys, I really need help.”
His parents hold him as he finally cries for the first time in sixty-five days.
There’s no excuse for this other than that I had an angsty idea and needed to get it out. Sorry for the pain.
Tony isn’t anyone who wouldn’t be used to pain and loss, but this time… this time it’s more than he can take. Sleep is avoiding him for days, which isn’t surprising, given he is floating somewhere in space, without any hope of rescue. That’s far from the worst thing, though, because on top of this, he starts to lose his grip on reality slowly. He can feel it, one moment he’s talking to Nebula and the next he’s leaning against a wall, looking into the vast emptiness of space, without remembering how he got there. It’s nothing he can stop and he doesn’t even try. It’s probably better than the alternative.
And then there’s the voices. Or, specifically, one voice. Peter’s voice. He heard it the first time when he couldn’t fall asleep again and went through the few belongings he had with him, which includes a few pictures. One of Pepper, one of Rhodey and… one of Peter. When he looked at Peter’s, however, he felt his chest tighten and closed his eyes, the pain still too fresh to not be affected by it. And then he heard it.
“I don’t wanna go, sir…”
Tony’s eyes snapped open and he spun around, expecting Peter to sit besides him because his voice was so clear, so eerily clear that it couldn’t be imagination. Only that it was. And it was far from the last time he would hear the kid’s voice, even if he didn’t know it back then.
Now, he almost got used to it. It’s strange, how something that hurts him so much can be comforting, but it is. He doesn’t tell Nebula about it because she would probably lock him up, thinking he is going insane and maybe that’s what’s happening, but what is he supposed to do about it? They are lost, pretty much waiting for death to take them, going insane is the least of his problems.
Holding the picture of Peter in his hands, Tony stares out of the window, for what feels like the millionth time. His sense of time is completely warped, especially since the blackouts started, so he has no idea how long they are here anymore, but it doesn’t matter. Peter is gone, Peter is on the other side now, wherever that is. Not for the first time, Tony wonders how much it had hurt the kid. He saw how frightened Peter was back then, how scared and utterly terrified even, and it still breaks his heart whenever the memory comes back.
“I’m glad you were there with me,” Peter’s soft voice rings in Tony’s ears and he closes his eyes, the sting in his chest almost too much to bear. “I was scared, but you made it better.”
“I wish I could have done something,” Tony whispers, clutching the already crumbled photograph in his hand tight. “Something other than just watch you disappear…”
“I’m not scared anymore now,” Peter says, the hint of a smile in his voice that makes Tony’s heart ache. “It’s peaceful now. Quiet.”
Tony is well aware that anything Peter says is just his own mind trying to lessen the guilt he feels, but even though that’s the case, he needs to hear his voice, he needs to believe the words it says. Definitely a sign of insanity, probably one of the biggest ones out there.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony sighs and opens his eyes again, looking back outside. There are no stars, no lights, absolutely nothing. Sometimes he feels like they fell into a black hole. “You didn’t deserve this, none of it. I should have died instead.”
“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sweetly and Tony almost wishes he would be hallucinating more than just the kid’s voice because his face is something he desperately misses. “You have to save the world, remember? You’re a hero, after all.”
“A hero who let you die before you even had the chance to live…”
“I would have died anyway, but I’m glad the last person I saw were you. At least I saw someone I loved and wasn’t alone.”
Tony swallows down a sob at those words and shakes his head slowly.
“I failed to protect you, kid,” he says, leaning his head against the cold metal behind him. “I once told you that, if you died, that’s on me. And it is.”
“The only thing that’s on you is giving me the chance to be just like you,” Peter says and suddenly, there’s a soft brush against Tony’s cheek. He doesn’t know where it came from, but he covers the spot with his hand, as if that will keep the feeling there.
“I’ll bring you back, I promise,” Tony whispers, closing his eyes and turning his head. He’s too afraid to see an empty space, but with his eyes closed, he can see Peter at least in his memory. “I don’t care what I have to do, I will bring you back.”
Minutes pass in which Tony waits for an answer that doesn’t come. When he finally opens his eyes again, he is alone, just as he expected and this time he can’t suppress the sob that builds up in his throat. Tears shimmer in his eyes as he presses the photograph to his lips.
“I’ll bring you back, Peter,” he promises again, if only to have a reason to go on. “No matter what, I’ll bring you back…”
