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e n d g a m e
TONY
Space
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Perhaps, Tony thought, that's it.
Even though he had lost the fight, willed himself up from the ashes of the fallen and ran a course with Nebula on the Benatar—he knew there was nothing left for him to lose. Hope was light-years away, he couldn't take a nine-count and be done with it. In his present defeat, when he thought it would resurface in him like in that cave in Afghanistan, it never came. He wanted the keen sting of overwhelming defeat to be gone and finally, get back the idealism he looked to. That was the thing about Tony Stark, right? He always had a way out. He knew what was going to happen. And god, it happened just as he had imagined it.
This time, he had lost his guide back to reality. As he stared at the destroyed helmet in front of him, his anchor was no longer contemporary. There was no hope left. Of being rescued. Of continuing life. He doubted his existence, something had been a joke between Elle and him, but this time—he was doubting the worth of his continuation.
His brain was a hard-drive of recollections now, every time he shut them he relived a new one. It tingled like a hand that had been sat on for too long as he felt one play out right between his eyes. Margo must've been five months old, the first of her babbles hitting his ears. The elation was colossal, yelling wildly for Elle to come quicker and listen on. She laughed up at them, Elle's blue eyes were so wide that he was worried it might roll out of her sockets. They'd shared a kiss, having taken part in her first milestones of babyhood.
Once he blinked awake, the chipped helmet stared him down. With a dejected sigh, he lifted the switch on the side and let it conduct an environment scan. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he tapped the helmet softly.
