Chapter Text
SPACE: the Benatar — After the Snap
It had been twenty-two long, unending days aboard the Benatar for Tony Stark and Nebula. Twenty-two days since Titan. Twenty-two days since the fight they thought could save half the universe—only to watch it crumble to dust. Yes, they lost. But no one—not even Tony Stark—had guessed how far Thanos was willing to go, how much he was willing to sacrifice.
“I am inevitable.”
SNAP!
That snap lingered in Tony’s mind. A sound never to be forgotten. A sound that brought back more trauma than the human mind can even begin to understand. That snap didn’t just echo in Tony’s ears—it carved itself into him. An unrelenting metronome of failure, ticking over and over, replaying in jagged bursts of memory. It was weight. Now, Oxygen runs out tomorrow for Tony Stark—skinnier, weaker, and malnourished—whilst floating amidst the darkness and void of space. His body was a pale shadow of itself—clothes hanging looser, cheeks hollowed, eyes sunken. He sat slumped in one of the pilot seats, fingers loosely curled over the armrest, head tilted slightly like he was too tired even to hold it upright. Playboy. Genius. Billionaire. Avenger. And now—awaiting his final breath, final sleep, and impending doom.
Tony Stark was dying. Quietly. Slowly. Alone.
Well, mostly.
Nebula sat across from him, silent as ever, watching him the way you might watch the last ember of a fire. The hum of the ship was the only sound between them.
Then— FLASH!
A bright, white light. It illuminated Tony’s face, becoming more and more vibrant. He squinted at the light. It was blinding, golden-bright, and searing through the viewports like a comet. Tony blinked at first, assuming it was another hallucination—he’d had plenty lately. A figure appeared. A woman. Long blonde hair with a glowing halo around her physique in a stance that seemed confident and powerful. Her suit glowed in the dark space as she remained floating while facing Tony from outside the Benatar.
“What the—” Tony stammered as he barely had enough energy to form words.
Carol Danvers. Captain Marvel.
The door groaned open with a hiss, and a woman hovered there.
“Hello, Tony Stark—” she said proudly. “We’re going home.”
Tony blinked slowly. Beside him, Nebula shifted in her seat, confusion written in the set of her jaw. Was this real? Was this purgatory? Had he finally gone under, and this was the afterlife’s grand opening act? Then the deck shuddered. The Benatar lurched, and Tony felt the pull—not falling, but moving. Lifting. A sudden shake. The stars began to shift. Captain Marvel’s hands gripped the hull from outside, guiding the crippled ship through the black void of space.
This was it—They were going home.
THE AVENGERS TOWER — 7:30 PM
The evening settled over them like a heavy shroud—cold, dark, and hollow. Bruce Banner, Rhodey, Natasha, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, and Cap sat with the unshakable truth that nothing felt right anymore. The world felt quieter, not peacefully, but in that eerie, something’s missing way that made you want to keep the lights on. Most of the people they loved were gone, leaving only the gnawing ache of emptiness—and the guilt that came with surviving.
Dust.
Maybe they were still floating somewhere in the atmosphere, carried on every breeze, resting on rooftops like invisible snow. They didn’t like to think about that. So instead, they filled the silence with anything they could—games, bad food, conversations that trailed off mid-sentence. The main common room was littered with evidence of survival comfort food: empty bowls of Kraft mac and cheese with cheese crust clinging to the sides, instant ramen cups stacked in the corner like poker chips, and a couple of abandoned mugs of coffee gone cold hours ago. At the center table, Peter Parker sat cross-legged in his chair, leaning toward the card pile. Across from him, Natasha sat with her usual poker face. Rhodey had his elbows on the table, chin resting in one hand, and Bruce was just… Bruce—calm for now. Cap was to Peter’s right, sitting straighter than anyone needed to for a card game.
“Wildcard. Yellow,” Nat announced, sliding the card into the center with a precise flick. She smirked. “Bruce, your turn.”
Bruce glanced down at his single card. Victory was right there—so close he could taste it. He reached for the discard pile, then froze.
No yellow.
He sighed, reached for the draw pile, and pulled—
WILDCARD. DRAW FOUR.
His jaw twitched.
Nat frowned. “Uh… Bruce? You gonna lay down a card?”
Ever since Titan, Hulk hadn’t exactly been cooperative. But he wasn’t unpredictable. Usually, still, the wrong push—a bad day, a bad card —could bring him out. Rhodey shot Nat a look. Nat returned it. Peter’s gaze bounced between them like he’d missed the punchline to an inside joke.
Cap rose from his seat slightly, murmuring to Peter without breaking eye contact with Bruce, “Okay, no sudden moves.”
Maybe Uno hadn’t been the best choice. It was the kind of game that could ruin friendships even when the world wasn’t ending. Bruce’s knuckles tightened around the card. His breathing changed.
“Oh no…” Nat muttered, sliding her chair back.
The transformation was fast. One second, Bruce Banner was sitting there in his cardigan. The next, the fabric shredded and seams popped, replaced by green skin and muscles the size of Peter’s entire torso.
HULK WAS BACK.
Hulk glared at the table and roared, “DRAW FOUR? NO FAIR!”
With one massive fist, he slammed the center of the table. Wood splintered. Cards shot into the air like startled birds, raining down across the room.
A single yellow card remained on the broken table. Hulk plucked it up, slapped it down with enough force to make the floor vibrate, and bellowed, “UNO!”
From behind the shattered remains of the table, Peter peeked over, wide-eyed. Cap and Rhodey were crouched beside him. Nat stood just far enough away to make a quick escape if necessary. Then, as abruptly as he’d appeared, Hulk receded, leaving Bruce in the middle of the wreckage. His cardigan hung in tatters around his shoulders.
Bruce offered a sheepish smile. “Uh… sorry?”
Rhodey grinned. “Looks like Green Bean’s back.”
That’s when the floor shook. The walls groaned under the force. Glass rattled and then shattered in one ear-splitting crash. The sound was wrong for an earthquake—too deliberate. Everyone turned toward the massive glass window just in time to see the night sky lit by a burning trail of light. The Tower’s doors blew inward on their hinges.
“That’s not one of ours,” Nat said, voice low, her eyes narrowing.
A ramp hissed open. Two figures descended—one in battered armor, the other in alien plating.
“Tony!” Rhodey and Cap said at the same time, rushing forward.
Tony’s weight sagged into Nebula’s side. He looked… wrong. His frame was reduced to angles and shadows; every step looked like it cost him more than he had to give. His face was pale, skin stretched over sharp cheekbones, and there was a hollowness in his eyes that had nothing to do with space travel.
Pepper was the first to reach him. “Oh my god,” she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth before she closed the distance and wrapped him in a hug.
“Pep?” Tony said in barely a whisper, as he didn’t fully believe that he would feel her warmth again. To Pepper, Tony felt fragile—so light it made her afraid to squeeze too tightly.
From across the landing pad outside the tower, Peter froze mid-step. His breath caught, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Mr. Stark?!”
The shout cut through the air like a whipcrack. Tony’s head jerked toward it. A blur of red and blue slammed into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Peter’s arms wrapped around his mentor’s middle like he might disappear if he let go.
Tony exhaled a shaky breath and brought one hand up to the back of Peter’s head, fingers curling into the kid’s hair. “Kid…” His voice cracked, eyes glassy.
Peter smiled against his chest, holding back tears. “Yeah.”
“I thought you were—” Tony started.
“Yeah… me too,” Peter said softly.
Tony froze for half a heartbeat, as if absorbing the truth of it. Then he pulled Peter closer. For the first time in weeks, warmth began to creep back into his bones. The Tower felt colder than usual. Not just in temperature, but in the way the air hung heavy—like the walls themselves were grieving. The long meeting table dominated the center of the room, its surface polished but somehow lifeless under the harsh, overhead lighting. Screens along the walls cycled through surveillance feeds, satellite imagery, and—worst of all—identification profiles of the fallen. Each face flashed by with a name and codename beneath it, gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by another.
Sam Wilson.
Bucky Barnes.
Stephen Strange.
Peter Quill.
Nick Fury.
Every few seconds, the faces changed, but the ache stayed the same. Tony sat at the far end of the table in a wheelchair, an IV drip snaking down into the crook of his arm. His skin looked pale under the fluorescent glow, and his shoulders were hunched like every bone in his body had started to give up. His eyes were fixed on the table’s wood grain, avoiding the screen entirely—because once you looked, you couldn’t unsee it.
“Twenty-three days,” Rhodey said quietly.
“Twenty-three days,” Tony repeated, running a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Since Thanos came to destroy the Earth as we know it, by wiping out half the population.” He said it flat, but the words still hit like glass in his mouth. Saying them out loud made the images sharper, the memories heavier.
“Tony,” Steve started, his voice steady but urgent, “do you know where he would go?”
Tony’s eyes finally flicked up—and they were ice. “Why would I know?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’ve been hunting him for three weeks. If you’ve made no progress, guess whose problem that is. Spoiler alert—it’s not mine.”
Steve didn’t blink. “So Thanos gave you nothing? No location? No coordinates?”
That was the wrong move.
Tony stood—more like lurched up from the chair—and even in his weakened state, the anger in his body was unmistakable.
“Look, you star-spangled son of a—”
“Tony,” Rhodey cut in, stepping closer, “Calm down.”
“Thanos is unbeatable,” Tony snapped, his breathing uneven. “In case that little detail slipped your mind.”
“Tony, listen—” Steve tried again.
“No, you listen!” Tony’s voice cracked on the word. “Let me refresh your memory, since your super-soldier brain missed it the first time. I needed you. And I told you—all of you—”
He swept his arm across the table, sending notepads, coffee mugs, and data pads crashing to the floor. The sound was sharp, echoing off the walls like gunfire.
Peter flinched.
“I told you we’d lose!” Tony went on, voice rising. “And once again—Captain Steve Rogers—you weren’t there!” He jabbed a finger into Steve’s chest, each word like a punch that never landed. “But why should I be surprised? You weren’t there then; why should you be here now? That’s what you do, right?”
Peter took a step forward. “Mr. Stark, just—just take it easy, okay?” He reached to guide Tony back into the wheelchair. “Sit—sit down.”
Tony turned on him, raw and exhausted but still sharp enough to wound. “Zip it, kid! The adults are talking!”
Peter froze.
Rhodey’s hand found the kid’s shoulder, squeezing once in reassurance. “It’s fine, Pete.”
Tony straightened again, though his body wavered. “Here’s my final word,” he said, stepping up to Steve until they were almost nose-to-nose. His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “I have nothing for you. No clues. No coordinates. This isn’t some damn scavenger hunt. I am tapped out. Zero. Zip. Nada. None.” He made a tight circle with his fingers. “And in truth, you don’t deserve it.”
The room was silent except for Tony’s ragged breathing.
“So—no truth,” Tony added, his voice lowering to something almost deadly. “Liar—and liars never prosper.”
“I think that’s ‘cheaters,’” Steve said evenly.
Tony’s eyes flared. “LIKE I CARE!”
With a sudden jerk, he ripped the arc reactor from his chest, the magnetic click echoing like a gunshot in the room. He shoved it into Steve’s hand. “Here—you’ll need this. And you should be grateful, because that’s all you’ll ever get from me.”
He made a two-fingered peace sign, eyes still locked on Steve. “Iron Man… OUT.”
And then his body simply gave out.
“Tony!” Steve lunged forward as Tony crumpled, Rhodey already moving to help lower him to the floor.
“I’m fine,” Tony muttered weakly, his head rolling. “I…” His words dissolved into nothing as his eyes slipped shut.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., get med, now!” Bruce barked.
Minutes later, Tony lay in the medbay, hooked to monitors, pale and still. Pepper sat beside him, her hand over his, her thumb tracing slow, worried circles against his knuckles. Peter sat on his other side, carefully removing Tony’s glasses and setting them on the counter.
“How is he?” Steve asked from the doorway when Rhodey emerged.
“Resting,” Rhodey replied, his voice quieter than usual.
Steve exhaled through his nose, the words Tony had thrown at him replaying in his mind on a loop. “He’s not wrong,” he said finally.
No one disagreed. And in the stillness that followed, the truth settled in: they had failed, and the weight of that failure was only growing. Somewhere out there, the tiniest sliver of hope had to exist.
The tiniest.
Perhaps like… an ant.