A Slice Of Life, Death And Everything In-Between

And The Ashes, They Fall

This is a short (not completed) ficlet inspired by a convo with @parkrstark and the idea is all hers.

Her idea: What if some guy made a rude remark about the half that got turned to dust by Thanos and Tony overheard?

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Tony stalls in his tracks, his face turning pale and his eyes glazing over in a mix of fury and hardening despair.

The man jumps back, holding up his packet of papers as though that could save him from the wrath of the enraged father. Tony nearly laughs out loud at the thought.

"No." Tony says, voice a whisper, the room so quiet that people can't help but hear. "No, see that's where you don't get it. You don't understand."

He staggers back slightly, hands shaking as he leans against the table.

"I-I watched him die—I watched his breath still and his skin turn to ash under my very hands. . . " His fist clench, nails digging into his skin and the taste of the red soil lingering in his throat. "I watched him die and couldn't do anything about it."

Suddenly Tony's head snaps up, eyes blazing a fire of fury once more.

"But go head and joke. Laugh it up. But if I catch you near this property again—if I ever even hear your lifeless name and see the disgrace of your fucking face ever again, the last thing you will ever see is the blue light of a repulser and the pleased smirk on my face."

The man gasps, legs shaking as he backs up, turning and running into the wall in his haste to leave. His face knocks back, his nose gushing blood. It drips down his chin and dots the cold floor in spheres of red.

"I-I don't—" He says, glancing back around the room as though his fellow coworkers would help, his eyes pleading for someone to step in.

But no one does.

"Get out." Tony says, standing tall, pushing his back straight even when he feels like collapsing, falling onto the ground and letting the sun travel across the sky as the world fades to black once more.

It's more than Peter can do. It's more than Tony himself deserves.

The man—the disgrace—looks around once more before turning, his hand covering up his broken nose, and practically runs out of the room. Tony's eyes follow him, waiting until he is well out of sight before sitting back down in his chair and glancing up at the remaining people.

"I think," He sighs, "it's time for you all to leave. Please say hello to the kiddos for me and kiss the wife goodnight."

Once everyone is out of the room, the echo of their voices fading into nothing and their footsteps no more than a memory, does Tony finally slump down. He leans against the table, covering his face with his hands and pushes at his stinging eyes until black spots dance across his vision.

Until all he can see is the blackness of his own heart coming up through his skull.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he sits up, his cheeks wet and red from the pain of his memories—of Peter's last moments. Checking his watch, the man slips on his coat, looking out at the now dark skyline and watches as the lights of the far off building twinkle like slowly falling stars.

He has to hurry now. Has to get down the elevator and across the street, weaving through the crowds of numb and insufficient people and trying in vain to stop himself from continually wiping his hands on his pants.

Trying to get the memories away, get the pain and memories away before they can pop up again and drown him.

Because he only has a few hours to get to Peter's grave and he can't keep his kid waiting.