4784 words including author notes.

Possible TW: Description of burns, disorientation, major character injury, near-death experiences

Happy reading!
———

Tony Stark woke slowly. His vision swam when he finally succeeded in opening his eyes, so he let them slide shut. He'd try again later.

When he came to a second time, he became aware of the furious throbbing in his right shoulder that matched his heartbeat. He almost sank back into the gentle embrace of sleep and promise of less pain when a sharp inhale next to him interrupted his thoughts.

He forced his eyes open and the world wobbled around him again. He didn't give up this time, instead blinking furiously until the face next to him came into focus.

Pepper.

A moment of drunken awe was spent with the couple staring at each other. Pepper smiled a teary smile, so full of affection and it made Tony's chest warm. "Tears for your long l'st husb'nd?" Tony slurred and Pepper choked on a surprised laugh.

"Tears of joy," She murmured, reaching out to cup the left side of his face. Her thumb swiped under his eye, wiping away tears he was too high on pain meds to feel.

God, she was beautiful.

Tony leaned into his wife's touch, giving a content sigh as he slipped back towards unconsciousness. "M'going back t'sleep."

"That's okay," Pepper's palm didn't leave his cheek. "I love you."

"L've you too," Tony mumbled before he passed out again.

———

The next time he woke up, he found himself face-to-face with Bruce Banner. He was still green as a houseplant and it took a moment or two for Tony to convince himself he wasn't still dreaming.

"Good afternoon, sleeping beauty," Bruce had a grin on his face, one that almost completely wiped away the perpetual sadness that seemed to normally linger there.

Tony grunted, mouth too dry to do much else. He made a soft wheezing sound to convey his problem, and Bruce looked down at him from where he was fiddling with Tony's iv drip. "You can't drink anything yet, sorry. I might be able to get you some ice, though."

Tony let his head fall back against its pillow, relief thrumming next to his heart. A fondness for his friend overtook him when Bruce came back, plastic cup in hand. It looked comically small in his grip, and Tony must've laughed because Bruce was cocking his head.

Tony moved to wave an arm at him as if to say 'It's nothing,' but a burning sensation seared through his torso and back. Through the black spots suddenly swimming in Tony's vision, he saw Bruce set down his cup and rush to his side.

"Shit— Yeah, that's not a good idea," Enormous hands were touching him, adjusting him on his bed like he was one of Morgan's dolls in a plastic playhouse. Tony bit his tongue and grimaced through the lingering twinges. His right shoulder had a residual ache that mirrored a toothache unchecked.

Tony relaxed once the burning eased off. Bruce tenderly picked up the cup again and offered it to the bedridden billionaire. He nudged the cup into Tony's left hand, who then proceeded to very shakily bring it to his lips.

Thin flakes of ice and cold, newly melted water wetted his parched mouth. Had Tony have been in normal physical condition, he would have made one of those over-the-top moans that always made respectable people like Cap and Bruce bluster. Instead, he chewed the ice and watched Bruce continue his tampering with the iv drip stand.

When he finally spoke, they both cringed at the rasp to his voice. "How long have I been out, doc?"

"Eleven days," Bruce said. "Woke up for the first time and made Pepper cry yesterday."

"I...What?" Tony blinked, incredulous.

"Not surprised you don't remember." Bruce smiled again, though bittersweet this time. "You were high off your rocker."

Tony laid back again, free hand pinching at the lip of the plastic cup. He was becoming more aware, letting more memories come back to him. He remembered the battle, stealing the stones just before it all repeated for the second time. He remembered bringing his fingers up in a snap of his own, but then there was nothing. A bloom of panic appeared in his chest, staining his organs like ink.

He caught Bruce's eye and jolted upright again despite the angry pulling of his skin. "Did we win?"

"We won."

"Is everyone— Is everyone safe?" He choked out next, cup crinkling under his fist.

"Yeah. The only casualties on our side were among the Wakandan armies. Even though they're some of the best fighters we've seen, they aren't enhanced. King T'Challa made it, though. We were all kind of beat up, but-"

"Is Pet- Spider-Man okay?" Tony cut in, flubbing over the kid's name. He mentally cursed the drugs flowing through his veins for the fuzzy connection between his brain and tongue.

"He was bruised up, from what I saw, but he walked out of the hospital fine," Bruce sat down in one of the plastic chairs by Tony's bed. It creaked under his weight. "He's a tough one."

"What's wrong with me?" The question burbled through slightly numb lips. "What...What happened, 'zactly?"

Bruce cringed at the wording. "We're not entirely sure yet. The biggest threat was radiation poisoning, but you're still alive, so we think you're fine if you look at it from that aspect. We think the energy shredded your muscle tissue and weakened the tendons in your arm. It's going to leave one hell of a scar, that's for sure." The green giant gestured to his own arm, which was bound and strapped to his chest in a sling that matched Tony's. "It did the same to me, but mine is healing much faster than you are. I'm not sure if it'll be the same after everything. Just...Just know that."

Tony tersely nodded.

"We can do some motor tests later." Bruce looked at his enormous hand, which rested in a loose fist in his lap. "We need to make sure nothing too necessary was melted in that genius brain of yours."

Tony cracked a grin at that. It pulled at his skin in a way it hadn't before, and it smarted. He let the expression fade and laid back against his pillows.

He knew he was still on a boatload of painkillers, and that was probably why the ceiling was swimming in a rather pleasant way above his head. He watched it because it was easier than using energy he didn't have to listen to Bruce continue talking.

He blinked slowly, feeling the momentary strength he had held onto leak out of him. Just before he fell asleep, he felt the plastic cup being gently taken from his hand.

———

Pepper Stark was a force to be reckoned with. She didn't take bullshit for an answer, which meant it was even more of a wonder that she decided to stick with Tony for as long as she did.

She was strong. Time and time again, Tony realized this and cherished it as a part of her. As they sat hip to hip in his hospital bed, hand in hand and space shared so nicely it might seem that they were one being, Tony understood all over again why he loved her.

Here he was, beaten and bloodied up for the umpteenth time, dragged back from the jaws of death once again, and Pepper only yelled at him a little bit when he finally woke up from his extended power nap.

Word is is that she threatened multiple staff members until they allowed her access to his bedside before anyone else. It was kind of hot, if Tony was being honest with himself (too bad that Banner specifically told him that doing the hanky panky while newly out of a coma was going to get him killed, if not by his faulty body than by a fed up member of the staff).

Pepper laid her head on his shoulder and they breathed together. Tony could take the universe on again if it meant he could come home to his wife. He liked the image of Pepper in the suit he made her, but he wasn't sure if he liked the idea of her out on the battlefield. He knew that was hypocritical of him the think that way, because she had to see him fighting monsters from otherworldly places on the daily (it's been a while since his schedule looked like that, but the battle with Thanos was enough to spark the same feeling as once upon a time).

Tony wasn't one for vocalizing his thoughts on important matters. He talked plenty, sure, but when it really mattered he got his point across in other ways. He gave people gifts and built them things. Tony was really good at that, so he exploited it and the fortune that was passed down to him and built up again with his inventions.

Pepper knew this, and she knew it well. She squeezed his hand when he murmured a soft "I love you," to her, a rare phrase passed between the two. They didn't need words to fortify their relationship, but this made the scarcity of those particular sounds all the more valuable.

She returned the phrase and kissed his temple. Tony might've swooned if he were standing.

Tony's values have been rejiggered a lot during his life. It wouldn't hurt to shift them a bit more, if only to accommodate the people who were once lost.

———

If Tony could have his daughter tucked by his side along with his wife and best friend, he would survive and live a (mostly) happy life.

Instead of the dream scenario, he just got the wife and best friend. That was nothing to sneeze at, mind you, but he would have more than gladly take the baby Stark with him as well.

Pepper pulled some strings, and now the tiny circle of people Tony was allowed to see widened to allow Rhodey. Rhodey first strolled into his room with a face schooled into a stern, almost motherly expression that made Tony burst out laughing. Rhodey had caved and they shared an awkwardly angled and one-armed hug.

Rhodey gave him a stern talking-to, which Tony dutifully listened to with a stupid grin on his face. Tony knew Rhodey wasn't too mad at him because a few hours later, he smuggled Tony a glass of lemonade from the lunchroom downstairs.

One or both of them were around Tony constantly. He guessed that they had a schedule with the way that they traded out their visiting times.

Rhodey was at Tony's elbow as he went through the motions of physical therapy. It wasn't too bad, nothing like what Rhodey had to go through after Vision shot him out of the sky, but it was tiring. Tony had been in a coma for nearly two weeks, so there was some things to relearn how to do.

Half a week into this and Tony asked Pepper to take a video or two of Morgan for him so he could hear her voice. He missed her little sticky hands and the wide, innocent look she gave him every time he caught her doing something she probably shouldn't.

Soon enough, video after video of the child was sent to his phone. It made his chest a little lighter every time Tony listened to his daughter talk about the monster in the lake behind their house or how Happy let her help bake pastries ("Don't tell Mommy, but I got to have three cookies!").

Tony's heart ached to hold his daughter. It was physically painful, how much he wanted to see her face in front of him, her real face, not a video clip.

———

The first time Tony saw himself in the mirror, he nearly passed out.

He refused to say he fainted, because he didn't, but he was definitely sporting a new blank space in his memory.

He shouldn't have been surprised, with the way his arm was strapped to his chest and how he'd figured out that his right eye barely worked anymore. His hearing was fine, but though the skin had finally healed over, the shell of his ear was crumped like he'd been into boxing his whole life.

Tony was prepared for bad, but it turns out he wasn't prepared for Two-Face-level-bad.

The right side of his face was mottled and lumpy with scarring, slightly discolored and overall unpleasant to look at. His right eyelid had a permanent droop to it that made it look borderline sleepy.

Nerve damage, someone had told him. The eye itself didn't look any different, the color of the whites and iris thankfully unchanged.

His hair grew back in patches, which avoided the line of stitches that were due to be taken out in a week's time.

A fleeting thought made him wonder if Morgan was going to be scared of him when she was finally allowed to see him again. Adults usually do better at that kind of thing, not getting scared away from a person because of their scars or birthmarks. If not, they can more often than not hide their reactions. Children, however... That was both the best and worst thing about children. They told the truth no matter what it was.

He dreamt of that exact scenario one night. Morgan had taken one look at him and burst into tears, hiding her little face in her mother's pant leg out of pure and unadulterated fear.

Tony hadn't remembered stumbling back from the mirror, nor did he recall Rhodey leading him to a bench to sit at. He did remember staring at his single unmarried hand, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane while his best friend kept a firm grip on his good shoulder. Not one of his proudest moments, but excusable with the lack of medical staff he's punched and other irksome things he could have done by now. He had a good track record; he was allowed a screw-up here and there.

The burns on Tony's face weren't the worst on his body, so he decided that he was going to get used to looking at them even if it gave him a heart attack (a plausible outcome, with how messed up that particular muscle was). If he was going to look at that whenever it would inevitably have to come out of the cast, he would have to get used to seeing something nowhere near as bad as it. Baby steps.

He demanded a handheld mirror instead of the floorlength across the room. He had control of where the handheld could point, when to put it down and when to bring it closer. He felt like he had more control.

Tony braved through his nerves and shitty heartbeat and he looked at himself.

A small victory amongst the failures Tony had been wading through for the past five years.

———

Strange was in the area, so he dropped by to see how Tony was doing.

"The news is boring without you plaguing it," The former neurosurgeon dryly said as he inspected the stitches on the back of Tony's head. Tony knew he had once been a surgeon, but that didn't make him feel any more comfortable in Strange's grip. Despite it all, they were still practically strangers. "No news stories about you blowing something up or kicking toddlers down the sidewalks."

"I could still kick a toddler if I really wanted to, Dumbledore." Tony mumbled, wincing as his scalp pulled uncomfortably.

"And yet, you haven't. You're mellowing with age, Stark." Strange let go of Tony's head and walked to the foot of his hospital bed. "Whoever did your stitches should be fired. I would have done a much better job." Tony warily glanced at the doctor's trembling hands, which were occupied with pulling off their latex gloves.

"That's not a very reassuring thing to say, all things considered," Tony remarked. Strange gave him a look and threw his gloves in a trash bin by the door.

Tony wasn't sure why Strange's hands had the permanent shake that they did. He'd noticed it once on the spacecraft to Titan and once more during the final battle. Tony played it off as nerves both times, but now that he wasn't on his way to an awesome space battle or participating in one, Tony could rule out that hypothesis. Strange never offered an explanation and Tony honestly never cared enough to pry.

Tony subtly flexed his aching shoulder. It was painful that day, everything down to the bone throbbing in waves. Tony suspected someone contacted Strange because of the slight fever that had come over him that morning. It hadn't broken yet, so Tony was left a sweaty and vaguely sick mess.

Strange's perceptive gaze didn't miss the movement to try and soothe the pain in his appendage. "Your pride is an unfathomable thing, Stark, but make sure you don't ignore what you really need." Tony glared at the former doctor, but gave a short nod. "I should probably get going. Don't fall off the bed and break your thick skull."

"Thanks, Gandalf!" Tony called after Strange as he left, which earned him the finger. Tony sniggered to himself, left alone for the time being.

As much as the doctor and inventor sniped at each other, Tony found he couldn't bring himself to hate the man, or at least, as much as just after the Snap. The asshole was just as dry and unpleasant as he was when Tony first met him, and yet, Tony couldn't hate him.

Pepper was right; parenting had softened him.

———

Tony was on the verge of cracking and calling a nurse for some of the good stuff (it was the day after Strange left to go to some hoky-poky-magic-wizard-business, and Tony's arm was hurting enough to worry even him, which was never a good sign) when a familiar head poked around the doorway.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter Parker's brow creased as he took in the sight of his mentor, concern battling something Tony couldn't put a name to.

Tony was climbing out of his hospital bed and halfway across the room before he knew it, but Peter never moved an inch. Tony met Peter and pulled him close, favoring one side as to avoid his sling and cast. Peter, after a moment of shocked stillness, shifted until he could tuck his chin against Tony's good shoulder.

Tony forgot the pain in his arm in favor of holding the kid. Christ. Even with Peter trembling and squeezing his ribs a little too tightly to be comfortable, Tony managed to let loose one more of the weights he kept tied to his ankles.

Tony looked over the slope of Peter's shoulder to see May Parker standing in the doorway, a pained expression hiding behind her glasses. It softened when she noticed Tony's gaze on her.

Tony remembered realizing that he had to break the news to May, that her nephew had been among the 50% dusted. He remembered calling her and listening to her voicemail when she didn't pick up. Lastly, he remembered a dark, evil part of his brain being thankful that she was gone as well. That he didn't have to tell her, because he didn't know how he was going to do it.

She nodded at him and disappeared from the doorway just as Peter wilted against him. His whole body was wracked with a sudden sob, so pitiful that it raised a lump the size of a golf ball in Tony's throat.

Tony froze, suddenly thrown out of any flimsy comfort zone he had known before the kid started crying. Finally, awkwardly, Tony brought his good hand up to cover the back of Peter's head, to hold him in place.

"Hey, kid," Tony said against Peter's hair. The boy's breath hitched and he squeezed Tony a little harder. It felt good to hold him like this, a genuine hug left untouched by death and the uncertainty of battle. "You're okay."

Peter nodded against Tony and flattened his hands against his back. They held each other while Peter cried. Tony breathed into Peter's hair and felt the weight of the boy against his body. He was solid. That recurring nightmare during the five years could be silenced with only that moment. A ghost to finally lay to rest. Or to resurrect, whichever made more sense in the moment.

Peter eventually quieted, heart-wrenching cries softening to hiccuping and the occasional phlegmy sniff. They were both here, and they were both solid. It was okay.

Peter gave one last squeeze before gently detaching himself. The teenager turned his head, looking at the floor. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he gave a wet cough. "Sorry."

Tony just used his good arm to gently pull him towards the hospital bed. He urged the teenager to sit, so they did. After a moment of awkward silence, Tony cleared his throat and spoke up. "So, uh, how are you doing?"

Peter looked up with bloodshot eyes and quirked the smallest of smiles. "It's been okay," He started, glancing back down at his lap. He sat silently, visibly chewing on his words. Tony could see him sorting out his thoughts. "My two friends were dusted too. It feels wrong to be glad that they were, because they died, but, y'know."

"You're glad that they didn't grow up without you," Peter looked up again and gave a tentative nod. "It's okay to feel that, bud." Again, he nodded. Jesus, Tony had barely even thought about what it was like to come back to a new world. Five years dead. Technology and pop culture changed (movie production was way down after the Snap because so many actors and producers had been dusted, but it had changed nonetheless). Hell, even Tony had changed. He was married, now. He had a daughter.

"I..." Peter's face crumpled. "Do you know what happened after—after you snapped?"

"I know the basics—"

"Your heart stopped," Peter blurted, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth and staring at Tony with wide, watery eyes.

Tony frowned and tilted his head. "As crude as it may seem, kid, it's not my first time around that block." That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Peter shook his head, eyes flooding and lips pressed into a thin white line.

"I—I heard your heart— I heard it stop," Peter said, choked, before bursting into tears once more. "I heard you d-die—"

Tony was shocked into silence. Some part of him, the witty, snarky part of him that never left with the worst parts of him during the test of life, reminded him that so very few things have made him finally shut his mouth that he should congratulate Peter.

Instead, Tony gently pulled the teenager against his good side. He was lost. He didn't know how to comfort the kid and he hated it. The poor thing has been in one end of hell and out the other, and though he fought the whole time, he stepped away from the battle with too many demons for his age to have to deal with. God, Peter was so young.

Peter made a high-pitched sound that held such powerful grief that Tony's eyes stung. "You know what, kid?" Peter held his breath in an attempt to silence himself while Tony started talking. "What's life if you don't scare the living daylights out of a few people while you're living it? If that stupid gauntlet didn't nearly do me in, Pepper definitely would have. And look, I'm still here, aren't I?" Tony patted Peter's quaking back. The billionaire was breathless and teary eyed, but he kept the line of his voice steady.

"I must be immortal."

Peter shook his head. "I thought you were dead. I've been having dreams," Peter faltered on the last word, choking. "—Dreams of it. Of me dying, and you dying, and when you got stabbed."

"I get dreams of listening to your heart stopping, o-or the people I love getting dusted in front of me. I'm so tired, Mr. Stark."

The billionaire brought the kid close and rested his chin on the crown of his head. The boy's hair tickled his skin and he let himself ache for him. "I know, kiddo. I know."

———

Tony woke up to such agonizing pain that for a moment, he thought he'd been stabbed again.

It was all he could do to shift in his bedsheets, making a helpless noise laced with the liquid heat coursing through his arm. The aching had intensified overnight, exponentially growing in his sleep until it drove away his unconsciousness.

Tony worked up the nerve to call out. Tony Stark wasn't known for asking for help, and Tony hoped to high hell that someone, anyone would take pity on him at least this one time in his life.

The lights were on. It burned Tony's eyes but that was among the least of his problems. No nurse came to aid him. His hoarse calling fell on no ears and he was alone.

No one came to help.

As sweat gathered at the base of Tony's spine and his hairline, making scabs itch, he came to an unfortunate conclusion.

There was obviously something wrong with his arm. The pain shouldn't have been that bad, not this far into recovery. Tony probably couldn't afford to wait it out. He needed to get someone's attention, which meant he needed to press the button near the head of his bed that called a nurse.

He heaved himself into a sitting position with his good arm. Even that made nausea swirl uncomfortably in Tony's stomach as his arm was jostled. Tony turned his head too fast and the world spun, tipped, and suddenly he was on the floor. A monitor blared angrily in the back of Tony's head. He couldn't muster enough strength to sit up, so it was all he could do to hope that someone would hear the machine screaming and come.

An eternity passed where the points of contact where his ribs and knees hit the floor stopped stinging and left the searing to his arm. The sweat on Tony's brow beaded and rolled down his temples, and he was wracked with chills. He wondered if he was going to honest-to-goodness die on the floor.

"Oh, shit—" Tony didn't notice the nurse appearing in the doorway, but he heard her voice as she swore. The nurse called for help, and then there were three separate pairs of hands lugging him upright.

Voices overlapped and made Tony's ears pulse uncomfortably. Hands disappeared and reappeared, touching his face, his good wrist, his back. One particularly harried nudge to the ruined flesh of his shoulder made bile rise in Tony's throat.

He keeled over to the side and dry heaved, pain overwhelming every sense. White hot, boiling blood seemed to make the tissues of his arm broil under the cast it was bound in. Tony could physically feel it heat up. The rest of his body was icy and ridden with chills and frozen sweat, so much so that Tony was half convinced that his arm was sucking all the blood from everywhere else to fuel it.

The hands were gripping his sides, Tony realized through his nausea-inducing haze. There were more pairs now, he noticed as more arrived and grabbed him under the armpits. He was being lifted to his feet by those same hands.

As Tony was being maneuvered back into what he could only assume was his hospital bed, he finally realized that he couldn't see. There were flashes of light and dark, and the nurses voices were as loud as ever in his pounding eardrums. Tony was completely and utterly defenseless. If any of the staff had a vendetta against him, they could take him out without breaking a sweat.

He felt the prick of a tube being inserted into the soft, vulnerable inner joint of his elbow. Something irrational cried out inside of him, that this was it. He was going to die, not by the hands of some super-powered villain from space, but by a nurse who he probably blew off at a party back in the 90's or early 2000's and forgot about. It almost happened once, it could definitely happen again.

That bubble of panic stuck until he finally passed out.