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No. 86875
>>86586 >>86587 >>86766 The graphic is off of Tumblr somewhere, but the drabble is original. Have a follow up--
The haze of debris is like a glowing fog as the sun rises, dark to grey to pink to gold. With the suit out of power, his visor up, Tony can hear the rumble of shifting foundations as buildings settles in the distance and the crumbling clicks of cement and glass as it tumbles nearby. And beyond that, the oppressing silence of a world without life, heavy and rushing in his ears like thunder in his blood.
Just enough power in the reactor to survive the disaster, to play the distraction until he was beaten down, nearly buried alive--nearly buried completely, nearly still alive. Just enough power to feel it slowly trickle out, the shrapnel slowly move in, and his life slowly, painfully slip away. There are cores stashed away in a safe panel just along his side, under his arm, but no power means he wont be moving anytime soon under the pile of sidewalk holding him down.
Tony breathes slow and thinks of the people who made it free from his last stand, hopes that their rescue wasn't in vain, that something will slow the threat before more lives are lost. He thinks of Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey, willing them to be far enough away, out of harm's reach. He thinks of teammates, of the SHIELD agents and the soldiers and the law enforcement that fell before him, and those that maybe have yet to fall.
He thinks of Steve.
"I want to see you again. On the other side of this," Steve said. His jaw was strong with determination, like he would hold it all back on his own if he had to. His lips were a thin line of resignation, knowing full well he could fall here today. And his eyes were earnest and blue, maybe wistful with regrets, and he looked at Tony like there was more he needed to say.
"I can't make any promises, Cap."
"I wouldn't ask you to," he said, pulling Tony in and putting his helmet to Tony's, the two of them forehead to forehead. "Not when I can't make them either."
And then the end of the world converged on them, calling them to action and playing with them, tossing them down like broken toys in the aftermath. Steve was laying out there somewhere...
The ringing silence shifts, sounds in the distance shuffling through the haze. Tony wonders if it's a survivor, or a straggling bit of menace left behind to find survivors. Deep inside, he wishes it would be something, anything, to take him out before the lack of reactor power would.
The haze holds heavy and thick, a smoke of ash and pulverized rock, choking and dry. But it moves, drawing back like a thousand sheer veils, one at a time, as a dark figure passes through it. Weaving and stumbling, a slow shuffle around and over ruins, the figure edges ever closer.
Soot and blood. A sleeve missing and a leg clawed to shreds. The helmet gone and hair matted with dirt and gore. But three points of a well familiar star are still visible on his chest, the round of his shield peaking over his shoulders, and he moves on his own two feet.
Steve.
A spring picks up in his shuffle and he makes his way to Tony, a small laugh hitching in his throat, making him flinch and hold his ribs a little tighter. What would be short work of moving debris aside takes forever, but Steve finally has Tony uncovered enough, breathing hard as he kneels down on his better knee. They don't talk; Steve can barely keep his breath with a punctured lung, blood bubbling at his lips when he pushes too hard. The dim arc reactor needs no explanation anyway, and Steve pulls apart the mangled chest and arm panels as best he can with his crushed shield-hand.
Tony is free enough to bust into the underarm compartment, smearing the protective impact gel over all he touches as he pulls out the reactor and switches out the dying core for a new one. His breath comes to him sharp and violent, coconut and metal and brightness in the haze.
Steve chokes on a laugh again, putting his forehead to Tony's for just a moment, and then helps Tony to shift as much cement aside as possible to free his legs. One has to be broken, just telling by the angle it's in, but Tony's numb to pain at the moment, and the legs of the suit are in well enough shape to carry him, responding to the muscle ticks that make them move.
He's got burns, muscles pulled that he didn't even know existed, and the broken leg, but he's still in better shape than Steve, thanks to the Iron Man suit. He pulls one of Steve's arms around his shoulder and gives him support, holds Steve up as they move together down the road. It's a long silent walk, the world's at an end all around them.
But the haze lifts, like the fog sometimes fades in the mornings, and the rubble tapers away to still standing structures and a hastily formed perimeter.
And just beyond that, life.
Soldiers and medics are moving in towards them with stretchers and the chaos of sound, the chaos of talking and equipment. Tony puts Steve down on a stretcher first before collapsing on his side on his own, eyes never leaving Steve now that he's let go. Steve struggles to breathe, even as they try propping him up, try hooking a mask over his face, but he pushes them aside, away if they come between him and Tony.
They're pulling the suit off of Tony and wrapping Steve up and someone tries telling them the threat has been contained, is being stopped as they speak. And Tony reaches out to Steve, catches a finger with his own as that's all that can touch with the space between them.
"We made it..."
Through the oxygen mask, Tony can't see his jaw or his mouth, but Steve's eyes are clearly visible. Blue and earnest, and wistful still. But no regrets. He looks like he could say something, but there's time yet for him to say it.
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