"If I die," he'd told Rhodey, "make sure to bring me back to the lab. Don't let them do anything stupid, okay?"
Rhodey had given him a "what kind of stupid stunt do you have planned, Stark?" look, but had agreed in the end. And maybe that's what gives him the strength to look Thanos in the eye and snap his fingers, because he has a backup plan - it might not work, it's not like he can test it, but at least it's there.
(Maybe, in the end, he wants to prove to Steve that he can be the one to make the sacrifice play. That even if he hadn't worked it out, he'd still do this to save the world. And, really, he would; there's no denying that.)
Afterwards, he's tired - an exhaustion that seems to cut through his very soul. The kid's there, crying, and he tries to tell him it'll be all right, that he did a good job, but Tony can't manage to say anything, not even a croak. Everything hurts, and he's tired, and-
To him, it's little more than a blip. (Isn't that just the way things are going lately?) Realistically, Tony knows that it's been at least three days, that the cradle's rebuilt his body from scratch and uploaded a backup of his brain seconds before...seconds before, well, everything. Reducing it to scientific terms makes it easier to grasp; brains are just very complicated computers, and Tony's a fucking genius at code, and-
Okay, it's not so easy to grasp, and a moment of sheer existential terror rolls over him. Nearby, monitors blip alarmingly as his heart rate increases, and Tony's fingernails dig into the soft skin of his palms. (What's real anymore? Is he still real? Is he human? Fuck, why did he think this was a good idea?)
"Boss?" FRIDAY's voice sounds worried. "Boss, your vital signs are spiking. Is there an error in the programming? Should I initiate the Old Yeller protocol?"
God, there are moments when Tony regrets his sense of humor. (Not many, but they exist.) "No," he grits out. "No, Fri, it's fine. I'm fine." What's the keyword again? Shit. "Rosebud," he tries, but that's definitely not it. "Lassie, Flipper, Rin-Tin-Tin, Scooby-Doo-" Everything's slipping through his fingers as he panics. "Gandalf." Not an animal at all, as it turns out, and his heart rate slows a little. At least he's not in any danger of being destroyed.
He still hasn't made it out of the regeneration cradle, though. Tony stays there, staring up at the ceiling. "Is Steve around?" he asks finally. "Get him for me, FRIDAY. Unlock the damn door and let him in."
This is a great idea that cannot possibly go wrong in any way, shape, or form. Tony doesn't care; right now, he just wants to see Steve.
-- Wherever Steve is in the compound, FRIDAY suddenly speaks up, without warning. "Captain Rogers, your presence is required. Please proceed to Tony's workshop." When he gets there, he'll see that one of the panels of the wall has slid back, revealing a secret door and a palm reader, which responds to his palm and unlocks the door.
erasing half the plot points of endgame, no more marriage/kid, the compound's still there, etc
Rhodey had given him a "what kind of stupid stunt do you have planned, Stark?" look, but had agreed in the end. And maybe that's what gives him the strength to look Thanos in the eye and snap his fingers, because he has a backup plan - it might not work, it's not like he can test it, but at least it's there.
(Maybe, in the end, he wants to prove to Steve that he can be the one to make the sacrifice play. That even if he hadn't worked it out, he'd still do this to save the world. And, really, he would; there's no denying that.)
Afterwards, he's tired - an exhaustion that seems to cut through his very soul. The kid's there, crying, and he tries to tell him it'll be all right, that he did a good job, but Tony can't manage to say anything, not even a croak. Everything hurts, and he's tired, and-
To him, it's little more than a blip. (Isn't that just the way things are going lately?) Realistically, Tony knows that it's been at least three days, that the cradle's rebuilt his body from scratch and uploaded a backup of his brain seconds before...seconds before, well, everything. Reducing it to scientific terms makes it easier to grasp; brains are just very complicated computers, and Tony's a fucking genius at code, and-
Okay, it's not so easy to grasp, and a moment of sheer existential terror rolls over him. Nearby, monitors blip alarmingly as his heart rate increases, and Tony's fingernails dig into the soft skin of his palms. (What's real anymore? Is he still real? Is he human? Fuck, why did he think this was a good idea?)
"Boss?" FRIDAY's voice sounds worried. "Boss, your vital signs are spiking. Is there an error in the programming? Should I initiate the Old Yeller protocol?"
God, there are moments when Tony regrets his sense of humor. (Not many, but they exist.) "No," he grits out. "No, Fri, it's fine. I'm fine." What's the keyword again? Shit. "Rosebud," he tries, but that's definitely not it. "Lassie, Flipper, Rin-Tin-Tin, Scooby-Doo-" Everything's slipping through his fingers as he panics. "Gandalf." Not an animal at all, as it turns out, and his heart rate slows a little. At least he's not in any danger of being destroyed.
He still hasn't made it out of the regeneration cradle, though. Tony stays there, staring up at the ceiling. "Is Steve around?" he asks finally. "Get him for me, FRIDAY. Unlock the damn door and let him in."
This is a great idea that cannot possibly go wrong in any way, shape, or form. Tony doesn't care; right now, he just wants to see Steve.
--
Wherever Steve is in the compound, FRIDAY suddenly speaks up, without warning. "Captain Rogers, your presence is required. Please proceed to Tony's workshop." When he gets there, he'll see that one of the panels of the wall has slid back, revealing a secret door and a palm reader, which responds to his palm and unlocks the door.