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annihilation.

inhumanity has haunted him long before the analogous end, questioning his place among the extraordinary for far too long when the only thing keeping him here is his own shallow pride, a mere affectation. since then, tony stark has weighed his years against a centennial, half-measures attributed to every quantum, every systematic spoil under the guise of gilded armor. there is nothing beautiful in death, and yet it is hauntingly beautiful, the affluence of poetry echoed in his own empire built on mathematics. it’s never been entirely foreign to him, and perhaps that is why the image of it haunts him all the more. 

for the last ten years he has deflowered his innocence, withering under his own iron image, as though nothing had worked to contribute to his forthcoming demise. he is not responsible for the destruction of the universe, but there is no one left to tell him otherwise, waxing poetry about the beauty of the horror of the untimely end when it’s all he’s ever wanted. certainly now, when he feels the passing guilt of every star, every system, every outcry that reminds him of what he could have, should have done, only to fade into the peripheral, another burial in his own backyard without his own untimely name on it.

maybe there will come a time when his own universe isn’t crumbling through his fingers, allowing for a steadier guilt upon his shoulders than the one carelessly afforded to him…

and that is the world’s greatest mistake. carelessness. the one word in all the world that tony stark has yet to define, if only he could see it for himself. he is blinded by his own purported apathy, the strings he’s tied himself up in with no cause for concern because it feels just, like he’s deserving of it, and because of that he sees no end in sight. it’s why he longs for one so desperately, so selfishly, because it’s what the world expected of him. no amount of disregard can keep him from the world at large. not their anger, not their guilt, not their accusation. friendship is the only thing that truly blinded him to it for a time…even then, he once thought otherwise, tried to see past the fault in their stars because he was collapsium under blame. for anyone save himself, he couldn’t bring himself to mean it.

i can do this, he had told himself. i can do this. over and over and over again, until thanos tried to remind him that he couldn’t, because he never could, because he was ignorant. selfish. your optimism is selfish, your heroism is selfish, you have done nothing but deal death’s hand to the universe time and time and time again. 

so is it really any wonder thanos would remember you?

( how much of yourself did you see in him, tony? )

don’t tell me that death is beautiful, don’t tell me that the abyss is lurking just around the corner. tell me that it’s here, that it’s ugly and beaten and bloodied and bruised. tell me that it’s me, that i can’t die because it’s all i seem to be capable of, that there’s a reason i’m still here when no one else is. tell me. TELL ME WHY I HAD TO WATCH THEM DIE―

again.

‘ damn allergies. ’ tony sniffs, inhaling violently, failing to make light of the ache in his gut. ‘ s’all it is then, right? allergies? case of a head cold―maybe the milano has some intergalactic claritin for it― ’

he shudders, feeling colder than he ever remembers, stricken with a hot flash, stumbling. peter. peter. peter. peter. peter. dust rising in the wind, his mouth agape with the second realization that this isn’t a dream, this isn’t even a nightmare. there’s dust in his eye now, unsure if it’s dust or if it’s―

it hits him harder. sharper. slower and then all at once, at the point of his sternum, clawing at the nanotech keeping the patchwork shape of his armor. he wants to tear it out of his chest, wants to tear out his chest and get rid of the feeling that’s already poisoned the rest of him.

you were too late. 

GRAVEDIGGER: A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! He poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the king’s jester.

HAMLET: This?

GRAVEDIGGER: E'en that.

thank you for the life you lived, the stories you told, the characters you created, the tears you cried.

thank you, stan lee, for envisioning a world that made the future that much brighter.