[ Tony barely hears Sam's words over the blood pounding through his ears. His fingers twitch against his knee. His eyes stay fixed on the same spot of woodgrain. What is this, anyway – maple?
He's going to die.
He sucks in a breath. He's going to die. He thinks of silver lines under his skin, of a star-strewn tear through New York's sky, of a disc of metal held high over his skull, of a jagged shard through his side. Of projectiles, explosions, concussions, broken bones, of his eyelids feeling heavy as he looked out at infinite specks in the dark. "You're going to get yourself killed," Pepper said, every time. He's always believed her.
"What if we could quit?" he'd asked Bruce, and then someone else. "What if we could go home?"
He balls his hand into a fist and presses it to his mouth. They get everyone back. Sam didn't correct him, so that means they do. Tony kills the bastard. They win. His brain plays catch-up with his ears, takes disconnected stock of measurements in time. Weeks. Month. A year. Five– ]
Five? [ He raises his gaze to meet Sam's, slow. There's a crease in his brow, half confusion, half horror. ] How...
[ The crucial operator. The remainder. Everything hinges on him, which means... ]
Are you saying... you all stay gone for five years?
no subject
He's going to die.
He sucks in a breath. He's going to die. He thinks of silver lines under his skin, of a star-strewn tear through New York's sky, of a disc of metal held high over his skull, of a jagged shard through his side. Of projectiles, explosions, concussions, broken bones, of his eyelids feeling heavy as he looked out at infinite specks in the dark. "You're going to get yourself killed," Pepper said, every time. He's always believed her.
"What if we could quit?" he'd asked Bruce, and then someone else. "What if we could go home?"
He balls his hand into a fist and presses it to his mouth. They get everyone back. Sam didn't correct him, so that means they do. Tony kills the bastard. They win. His brain plays catch-up with his ears, takes disconnected stock of measurements in time. Weeks. Month. A year. Five– ]
Five? [ He raises his gaze to meet Sam's, slow. There's a crease in his brow, half confusion, half horror. ] How...
[ The crucial operator. The remainder. Everything hinges on him, which means... ]
Are you saying... you all stay gone for five years?