October 17, 2023
"We're gonna be okay."
Pepper's voice was fading, drifting away from him like smoke.
Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, a vignette closing in until her face began to blur into the shadows. He felt weak. So incredibly weak.
The pain was there, searing and absolute, but beneath it... numbness was spreading. His heart rate slowed, a heavy drum in a hollow chest, and every breath was a battle he was losing.
But they were safe. He had made sure of that.
He won.
His breath hitched, shallow and final.
Pepper was smiling now. That was the last thing he saw. With the last of his strength, he let his head loll to the side, surrendering to the pull of gravity.
"You can rest now."
He could barely hear her.
Then, the vision cut out. As the darkness swallowed him whole, Pepper's face vanished from his mind, and there was nothing left.
….
Tony rolled over and yawned.
It was a slow, heavy drag of consciousness, the kind that pulls you reluctantly from the depths of sleep. He blinked his eyes open, expecting... well, he didn't know what he expected. But he found himself in a familiar setting.
He was in a bedroom. His bedroom. Specifically, the bed in the Compound, the same Compound that had recently been reduced to rubble by Thanos.
The name sent a jolt through him.
Thanos.
He had been fighting him just moments ago, hadn't he?
Or had he dreamt it?
No. It all felt too real. Too visceral.
Tony sat up abruptly, shoving the duvet aside. His eyes snapped immediately to his right arm. Memories assaulted him, flashes of searing white heat, the smell of ozone and burning flesh. But his arm was fine. It was whole. Unblemished.
He could still feel the phantom sensation of it burning, the memory of his bones crumbling to dust as he channeled the power of the Infinity Stones. No dream could conjure phantom pain like that. No dream could make him feel the echo of his own death.
Pepper's face flashed in his mind's eye.
"We're gonna be okay. You can rest now."
The words felt so solid. So final.
He remembered her face fading away... He had died. He was certain of it.
So, where the hell was he?
Heaven?
Tony Stark, in Heaven? Yeah, right. Like that paperwork would ever go through.
Tony slid out of bed, his legs feeling strangely steady. He walked into the en-suite bathroom and froze in front of the sink. He stared at the mirror, then stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat.
He forced himself to look again. He reached up, fingers trembling as they grazed the right side of his face. He turned his head this way and that, hunting for the signs of aging, the scars, the exhaustion that had etched itself into his skin over the last five years.
But he looked exactly as he had in 2016. There were only faint touches of gray at his temples, not the weary white streaks he had grown used to.
He remembered Pepper kneeling in front of him, fighting to keep that smile on her face as she spoke the last words he would ever hear. That hadn't been a dream. It couldn't be.
"Where am I?" he whispered, touching his face again as if testing the reality of his own skin, terrified the illusion would shatter under his fingertips.
Tony backed out of the bathroom and crossed the room, ripping the curtains open.
Outside, the Avengers Compound was bustling. Staff from Stark Industries and the Avengers support team were moving about, cars were pulling in; the place was alive. The sun was shining down on the lawn, bright and mocking.
Tony stumbled back, his heel catching on the carpet. He felt the familiar, cold grip of panic tightening his chest. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, a frantic, staccato rhythm.
If I can feel my heart beating, I must be alive, right? Are you sure?
Keep it together, Stark. Obviously, something happened when you snapped your fingers.
He knew it had happened. The memories were too dense, too heavy. He remembered Morgan. He remembered the weight of her small body in his arms, the way she smelled, the long hug she had given him before he left the lake house.
If this was a dream, it was impossibly cruel. He would have to sleep for years to fabricate a life that detailed.
"Oh god. Morgan."
The thought knocked the wind out of him. Is she…?
He needed to figure out where, or when, he was. Did Morgan even exist here?
How was he going to find out?
Tony pressed a hand to his chest, grounding himself against the thumping of his heart.
It was real.
"Are you alright, Boss? I am detecting an accelerated heartbeat and elevated cortisol levels. Signs indicate you are experiencing a panic attack."
Tony jumped, colliding with the wall behind him and sliding down until he hit the floor.
His AI. She was here.
He knew he should be dead. He was dead. He had felt the life leave him. But he was here, and the cold wall against his back felt real. The sunlight felt real.
"I shouldn't be here..." he muttered, his eyes darting around the room, swallowing the lump of bile rising in his throat. He needed a date. Judging by his face, by the hair... he was in the past.
"F-FRIDAY?" he managed to choke out.
"Yes, Boss?" A.I replied instantly.
"What is the date?"
"It is April 30th, 2016."