𝗕𝟮 | There are only bad decisions beyond us. With the vulture gone, it was time to work on bonding. However, a threat out of their hands attacks once again, causing their actions to have until the last consequence of their will.
(𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗮𝗻�...
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Like the blink of an eye.
Was what he thought as the days passed.
The gentle murmur of the water blended with the faint flutter of birds weaving through the pines, yet the peaceful surroundings starkly contrasted with the pressure of a new reality.
He stood motionless before the mirror, his face blank. The black suit hugged his frame impeccably, but it felt burdensome, like a shroud. The reflection staring back showed a young man aged beyond his years, his features etched with a grief that he tried not to show. His eyes trailed to his arm, the bandages beneath his sleeve itched, but he didn't move to scratch them or ease the discomfort.
Could he do it? Could he step outside, face them all, and say goodbye? Walk up to each of them, one by one, and listen as they muttered their condolences—"We're sorry for your loss. We knew you were close."
By the time he made it to the portico, the ceremony had already begun. Nikolas lingered there, hands shoved deep in his pockets. From his vantage point, he watched Pepper lower the arc reactor into the water. The small object floated away, glinting in the sunlight as it carried the words etched into his memory: Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.
The sight pierced through him, and a flood of memories rushed in, unrelenting. He remembered the day Tony found him, the clumsy but heartfelt way he'd tried to pull him out of that dark place. Their arguments, sharp yet laced with care, always seemed to end in a quiet understanding—a hug or a late-night conversation that went deeper than either of them intended. It was a rhythm, a bond that Nikolas had once thought unbreakable.
And now it was gone.
Nikolas clenched his jaw, willing himself not to cry. Instead, he whispered his farewell silently into the breeze.
"Goodbye, Dad."
He never said it when he was alive—never found the courage or the right moment. Now, at the funeral, it felt too late.
Without a glance back, he stepped away from the portico. Away from the dock and the gathered mourners. He refused to cry, biting down on the lump in his throat. Tony wouldn't have wanted this—a room full of sorrow and people giving their tears over his absence.
He could almost hear Tony saying, "Come on, don't get all mushy on me. It's the heroes gig."
He was determined to honor Tony's legacy the way he would've wanted—with strength, not sadness.
"It feels strange, doesn't it? Winning like that... losing like that. It took us 5 years to bring all of you back. But at what cost? Him."
There was a pause before the voice came from his back, hesitant but familiar.
