sixthiterationlogs | [ CLOSED ] Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes

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[ CLOSED ] Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: The Forge, House 34, Watchtower
WHEN: December 2nd
OPEN TO: Liv, Hawke, Rhodey
WARNINGS: Angst? Angst. A lot of angst. Descriptions of people dissolving.

The Forge - LIV

Usually when there's a box it's left by the house with his name on it Tony opens it outside, checks the contents, and moves them accordingly. Today he's got a metric fuck ton of sand to level and pack for casting nails and parts for the river ferry and not a lot of daylight, so. The box goes on his hip and he carts it over to the forge, leaving it on one of his work tables as he got the frames for packed sand and his master nail ready for a long day of casting. He'll look at it later. Sure sometimes it's materials but- he's teaching himself not to be dependent on handouts from their overlords. Nine times out of ten? It's nothing important or life shattering.

He waits until the fire's up, the ingots he's formed from melting down the ore found on an earlier expedition are ready for the crucible and before he's thought much about it- the box is forgotten in the comforting fog of productive work. Simple, tedious, but good. At least until he hears the door and cranes his head around seeing, well. Liv and in the corner of his eye? The box.

"Hey, do me a favor. Check that and see if it's more ingots? Or whiskey. Whiskey wouldn't be bad. I would but my hands are kind of full-" Wrapped as he handles pouring out nail after nail into the tray of packed sand.

Watchtower - HAWKE

Continuing to work to put off coping emotionally with something- classic Stark move, right? Right. So digging holes for posts to get the burning ache out of his chest drowned out by a burning ache in the rest of his body from physical exertion is totally a thing. It's something that needs to be done, something he can absolutely hand off, and something he'd really rather not have company for. But he digs. Puts his shoulders and back into it, digging up hard earth to fit the post for the next watchtower, mind running through every possible iteration of what she could've been doing, why like this, was she waiting for him? Was she trying to keep the company together? Was she trying to keep the Avengers safe?

Did it hurt? It seemed to hurt Peter and before he knows it he's got the shovel stuck in the hole, his shoulder braced against the wooden haft as he fights down a fresh round of mutinous sobs. He's fine. It's fine. It's just a ring. It's just a box of ashes that smelled like her perfume it's-

He's fine.

It's fine.

House 34 - RHODEY

He is not, in fact, fine. The temptation to bang on Sam's door and demand (beg) for every jar of potato vodka she has left is nigh fucking overwhelming but- Pepper hate it when he drank too much. Hated it when he drank to cope. Hated that his nightmares overtook his good sense, that his paranoia made it difficult to enjoy quiet moments at home. He can't breathe for remembering the acrid dust on the back of his tongue on Titan, can't lock away the memory of her favorite perfume (something he went out and bought on his own, in a retail store, like a normal person, he didn't think she even liked the smell but he put in the effort and she always tried to reward when him when he put in the right amount of effort into normal people things) tainted with that smell.

Drinking's right out.

Calling Bull is fucking tempting- but also not an option. Staying in the forge until the fire's burned down and he's run out of work he can do on his own safely (she'd hate him working himself to a bare nub, the way he ran himself ragged in an attempt to outrun his mind) so. That's out. Talking about it-

He could.

He should.

Words press like a stone in his gut, burn like smoke in his throat, tangles up with every promise he'd broken including that last, fatal error. He should've known better than to promise no surprises.

Trembling tense and tired he makes his way back to the house. Settles on the porch, face in his hands. He needs to talk. Can't find the words- but the feeling's familiar. So Tony does now what he'd done years ago and shoots a quick text to Rhodey to talk to him on the porch.

On porch. Need you. It's bad.

Not 'I'm hurt' because he is and he isn't, the body is fine, the soul is gutted. Not 'want' to look at the stars and bullshit because he can't sleep again. Need. Succinct. No teasing. Deadly serious. When Rhodey arrives he'll have the ring, clean, rolling it around between his fingers, watching the stones catch the light.

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Hawke always kept busy. She liked to joke about being lazy, but she was the farthest thing from it. She was up at dawn and usually taking stock of the group food to make plans in her mind about what was needed to keep everyone fed and alive, and then she was off to check the fountain and the bunker. She walked the perimeter or went scouting, and the Watchtower project was a very enthusiastic volunteer job for her. It kept her body moving, gave her something to do, but also Tony asked for it, and he would find quickly there was not a thing in any world Marian Hawke wouldn't do for her chosen family.

She planned on getting a bit ahead on this watchtower just to see him smile, and she huffs at a distance when she sees him already there starting the holes. Well fine then. She's about to make a smartass remark or pout at him for ruining her ambitious plot, when she read his body language before speaking. Hawke's smile vanishes, and she pauses for a moment, watching him crack. Now she hates crying in front of others, and she has a feeling that this disaster twin of hers is much the same, because a person who sees disaster and jokes instead of breaks (or while) is a singular type of dysfunctional person. Yet at the same time, she does know this: despite that discomfort and dislike of showing emotion, she never regretted when one of her people stepped up for her regardless.

There is no one else there, at least, and so she drops her own I'm-Fine-Everything's-Fine mask when she approaches, purposely making a little noise when she walks because otherwise she's too stealthy for her own good. A thousand and one jokes come to mind, and it would be easy for them to use humor to deflect and dig around the situation. She's reminded of Carver and Bethany all of a sudden, and how little jokes helped when they were buried underneath something heavy.

Instead she reaches out to touch his shoulder, dark eyes focusing on his face. "What happened?"

"Nothing." It's immediate and reflexive like the straightening of his shoulders, the furious wiping of his eyes. Nothing happened, everything is fine. It's just like the day before when he woke without her and wasn't sure if she-

"Got some closure on. Something." An admission that didn't hurt half as bad as it probably could. Didn't scrape it's way past his lips like vomiting thorns so much as twist out of him like a dying song. Virginia Potts, gone.

Dust.

She'd never deserved anything that happened to her because of him. Because of his reputation, because of the armor, the Avengers, the war hanging over their heads they were woefully unprepared for.

Tremors run along his spine as he presses the back of his hand to his eyes, still leaning into the shovel. It's easier than facing her. At no point does he attempt to shrug off her hand- as much as the Shovel is the one thing keeping him upright? Her hand's the one thing keeping him grounded. From falling apart entirely. Grief snaps and snarls with a resigned weight of fury in his gut and he can't-

"A thing happened, right before I got here. Universe ending kind of thing. Half of all living life just-" Vague hand motion, a twist of one wrist, a loose gesture with his fingers. "Ash. And I wasn't sure if-"

Hawke doesn't react right away, witty or quick responses ready at her tongue, but she purposely bites them back. She waits and stays where she is, so he can decide what he wants to do. If he wants to laugh it away entirely, she'd pause only a little, but follow his lead. She hopes not because to get to this point, for people like them, it takes a lot. They are almost the same height so her hand moves easily from only touching his shoulder to sliding around it entirely, giving him a side hug as long as he allows it.

Half of all living life gone, bloody hell. That's a lot to process, but she focuses on him only. "You weren't sure who was half the living or dying," she guesses quietly. "But you know now." He said closure, which meant an answer was given to a question, and she wonders how high the number of deaths that included. People who were not here, obviously, as he could be close to them instead of off on his own. Hawke feels like this is deeply personal, and there are a few guesses as to what that means. She can't know though.

"Who was it?" A someone? Multiple someones? An entire city?

"..." Fiancee sounds so fucking trite he can't get the words out. Girlfriend? Significant Other? She was and is but is so much more, was so much more than a girlfriend. A partner. Significant in that he doesn't know how he's supposed to get through what's coming back home without her. How can he hope to-

He doesn't know his own social security number. The business runs because she's able to run it, she's always been able to run it-

"Pepper. My- She's- she was-" He scrubs at his face again, leaning into the contact Hawke provides. There's no quippy line, here. No joke. No humor in the rough, aching thing that is his voice, in the trembling of his hands as he tugs his hair. No reason for him to keep on a mask when it loses him nothing to be honest with someone that's lived through far worse.

Lived and died, honestly.

"We were going to get married. That was the plan. No more surprises, no more bullshit, no more Gods or Monsters." Just them. The company, tech to innovate, and them.

Again, Hawke listens and waits for him to find the words. Pepper. A spice, but no, now a person, a person who Tony loved with all of his heart. She may struggle with her own feelings, but Hawke is an empathic person, and her heart aches for him. She has been through many awful and terrible things. She's lost more in her handful of decades than anyone should in a lifetime. But pain is pain, and having more or less pain doesn't matter when it simply hurts this much no matter what.

Hawke moves and simply puts both of her arms around him, one around his waist, the other around his neck, pulling him in to her sturdy frame. He can lean on her and the shovel if he wants, but he'll have them both. She remembers when Anders - Anders - did this for her, after her mother's death. It didn't make it feel better or make any of the sorrow go away, but it was something that she appreciated all the same.

"I'm sorry, Tony." She isn't going to tell him maybe it isn't true, maybe she could come here, or any at leasts. At least he had that time with her. At least she knew he loved him. All the at leasts sounded good to people saying them, but the initial gap of grief was that none of it matters when they couldn't have those at leasts now. And the maybes were things she couldn't promise without magic. It wasn't fine and it wasn't going to be all right yet. He lost his life partner.

"Listen, I know we're very emotionally constipated, but you can say anything you want to to me. No judgment here." Hawke is literally the last person to judge most situations.

Hawke curls close and he lets go of the shovel, turning enough to wrap his arms around her in turn. To cling, hands trembling against her back, eyes squeezed shut as he ignores the horrible, nothing weight of the ring in his pocket. Gone. Gone, crumpled away like dust and it's not fair that it'd happen to her. He doesn't cry, not yet, not on her (seriously, rude) but he takes the invitation as given. Opens his mouth and lets the words tumble out before they strangle him. "I love her. I've loved her for over a decade and she stood by me when she had every right to fuck off with an impressive severance package but she stayed. She was the one person that would stay."

That understood him up to a point. That saw under the masks and the bullshit, that made him want to be a better version of himself. To do good. To do right. "It's the stupidest thing to say 'it's not fair' but it isn't. She's gone through enough because of me and this is just-"

Too much. It's one thing too many and he pulls back hen he feels his eyes flood with warmth, wiping at them again. "I promised, right before it all went to hell. No more surprises. No more- running off and leaving her behind to wonder if I'll die or not."

Hawke knows this kind of love. She also knows the horrible way a love like that can get twisted, but that is neither here nor there. It didn't happen to Tony and Pepper, and she's thankful for that. "She loved you, darling, of course she stayed." She simply held Tony tight and ran her hand up and down his back soothingly. They joked before about being siblings, but this did remind her of when she'd wrap the twins up and wish she could pull their hurt out of their bodies and take it into herself. She would do the same for him if she could.

"It's not fair, with all the shite people in the world who don't deserve to breathe, yeah, that's not fair." Hawke hates that about life. Because you can do all the things right and make good decisions and still end up dust when some murderous bastard keeps going on. This Pepper sounds like she's worth a hundred of them easy. If she could will her here she would. Everyone deserves a second chance.

Hawke looks at him, running her fingers through his hair where he'd been pulling either, her touch far more gentle. "Listen, I might not know the woman, but I do know that anyone who is in a relationship with you knows you aren't the type to idly stand by. You have your fingers all over this village. Your projects and your friendships and all the ways you bring this place to life, you're practically the beating heart of this community." She was the Champion of Kirkwall. All her friends, family, and lovers knew that meant if the town was in danger, she would grab her bow and be ready to fight. She knew that he and his friends were the same, which meant Pepper had to be aware. It never stopped the worry. "I imagine you were fighting to stop the danger, to protect her. She would do the same for you, wouldn't she?"

Edited 2018-12-12 05:00 (UTC)

"I was supposed to protect her. I promised I would-" Protect the one thing he couldn't live without. The one thing in this world- back home- that he couldn't navigate without. How is he supposed to try to make it back when she's-

What's the point?

What's the fucking point?

He clutches her like a child, eyes squeezed tight against the hot well of tears, the knot welling in his throat. Sobs he's suppressing through sheer force of will because he can't break. He won't break. Stark men are made of Iron but iron rusts through so easily-

Her voice is the one thing holding him in the moment. No platitudes. No excuses. No condolences that mean nothing in the face of what he's finally, horribly certain he's lost. "Made her a suit- armor. I have armor that I use to protect the world, to protect her and- she hates it. Never wanted to need it but I designed one just in case."

Rescue that'll never come. Copper and gold that'll never fly.

Hawke wishes she had any platitudes to give, but there aren't any. If anyone understands the utter unfairness of the universe, it's her. She knows what it is, to try everything in your power, and still fail. She holds him whether he breaks or not, still stroking his hair comfortingly. "I wish I had something to say that would make it all better, but the truth is that no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we mean it, we can't always keep the promises we make, because we're only one person. We can't control the worlds we live in. We can only do our best and live with the aftermath."

She sighs and closes her eyes, her other hand rubbing his back. "The only thing that keeps me sane anymore is attempting to be the person that the ones I lost believed me to be. The best version of myself, in their honor. I don't always manage, but again. Only a person here." A flawed one at that. She isn't sure if this is going to be helpful, because he's deep into grief, and trying to move forward from there is impossible. She speaks from experience, not because she is comparing them really, just the way grief has functioned for her.

"But don't stop yourself from grieving, Tony. If you don't let it out, it'll own you."

They're old men, old enough that it's only recently been text messages that Rhodey's received, but he stares at the words on his wrist the same way he used to stare at notes shoved under his door, the way he used to relisten to messages left on his machine. There are too many possibilities for him to guess what this is; there are too many people missing he hadn't been able to account for in the bare few days before this place. He hadn't found Pepper, but he told himself that didn't mean anything in particular.

Denial is a skill set he's cultivated for a number of years now.

Something twists in his chest, but Rhodey doesn't run to the door. He takes measured steps, opens it, lets the screen slam behind him. Tony doesn't look at him. It's definitely bad. His hand goes to his back, and that's when he sees the ring, the stones glittering in the light. All the breath goes out of him with a whoosh. "Oh, God. Tony."

"They delivered it this morning." He can't remember the last time he felt this full up and hollow all at once. Not even his Parents death, not even the conflicting roil of emotions at the empty casket buried for Obie, the turmoil of watching Aunt Peg's funeral from the outside rather than sitting in the church. "Same as any other gift box. Lid came up and I smelled that perfume- you know the one?"

Trying to impress her by remembering her Birthday (Jarvis remembered). Trying to show he cared by doing the groundwork himself because it was Her Birthday and they were finally Together and that meant something, he couldn't just let her buy herself a gift or have an assistant handle it. Tony fucking Stark braved a mall, wandered into a department store and spent an hour describing Pepper to a poor makeup counter girl before taking the most expensive bottle she'd shoved at him. Sandalwood and Jasmine, A little bit of lily- he didn't know what fit.

And she's worn it forever since.

"And it's- it was full of ashes. And this." The ring he bought years ago, after he'd gotten back from Afghanistan. When he knew she was it. The ring Happy carried for him for years.

There's all sorts of things he could say. He could offer hope - because it was unrealistic hope that had kept Rhodey going through the most recent battle, and frankly, as far fucking back as when Tony got his ass kidnapped in Afghanistan. But he doesn't think that's going to help here. It's not what's needed.

He breathes out. "I'm sorry, Tones." It's so little, it feels like it's not enough. But he doesn't know what would be, and if Rhodey knows anything, it's that there are no good bandaids for this. "What do you need?"

Leaning into Rhodey has become easy as breathing before breathing became difficult. He lists until he feels that solid bulk and tries for what feels like the hundredth time to swallow back the grief going tight in his chest. "She was alone. Because I flew off."

Happy should've been there but- in the absence of the world ending over New York? The show would go on. Pepper minding the company, Happy keeping the building safe. Keeping her safe.

His arms close around Tony. "If you'd been there, it would have been the same. Or worse. You might have had to watch. I watched Sam, and Barnes, and Wanda and the damn King of Wakanda, and we couldn't do a thing." This is probably not comforting. But he's trying.

"You went up to space because you'd been holding onto protecting the world," he says. "We haven't been able to pass that torch on yet."

"I had Peter clinging to me. He could feel it happening." He was terrified. He'd gotten over that, mostly, glad to have the kid here, to help him with his projects, to mind him like he did back home with a little more attention because he had the time for it-

Having Pepper like that? Would've killed him.

"I thought I could walk away. I kept thinking maybe- I said this was coming. For years. No one listened." And he always knew what it cost him- but this? It's more than he can take in the moment.

He hadn't had that. No one had been close enough and - look, he's not thinking this to feel sorry for himself - but no one had been close enough to him to turn to him in that moment. If Tony had been there, and one of the ones lost...but he was not. They're here instead.

"No one wants to believe something like Thanos could happen." No one wants to believe all sorts of things could happen, but just look at history. "We're going to get back and fix this, somehow. No matter what it takes."

"So you're not burning down buildings, that's good to know," I say, faltering in mid-step before turning to the 'that' in question, although it does take a tick to figure out what Tony means. There's a lot of stuff in here.

"Alrighty," I continue, tugging off my gloves to shove them into my coat pocket. "Behind door number one..."

I blink, brow creasing. "Um. I... don't actually know what this is? A practical joke, maybe?"

Beneath the box's lid is just... ash. That's all— No, no, strike that. A faint glimmer catches my eye, and I reach in, eyes rounding as I carefully extract one hell of a rock from the dust.

"Jesus."

A scent wafts up from the box- green and fresh and floral, something that cuts through the iron and smoke in the crucible. It locks Tony up, has him laughing quietly, the sting in his eyes from missing her more than anything else. "That-"

That's Pepper's perfume. He finishes his pour and sets the crucible aside, unwrapping his hands to wander over. "What, is it lingerie? I know I've been bitching about being homesick but that's a bit much-"

But...it's not lace or silk, it's the ring.

Her ring.

"...Liv?"

Tony is a talker. The king of rapid-fire conversation, he is often wry, occasionally self-deprecating, but never not confident, not as long as I've known him, even when he's quite literally bleeding out. And that is why, right now, immediately, I know something's profoundly wrong even though my brain hasn't caught up to why.

One syllable, my name. Vulnerable enough it's almost childlike. My gaze bounces from the ring to Tony's face and then back again, my features pinching with confusion and then going slack as the pieces slot into place.

"Shit," I exhale. The ring wobbles where I'm holding it up; my hand — My steady as a rock surgeon's hand — has started shaking.

"Tony," I softly begin again, lifting my free hand his way. The forge's fire crackles as some logs settle, golden sparks spinning into the air and then fading. "You should sit down. Let's sit down."

"...what's in the box, Liv?" He knows. He knows that smell underneath Pepper's perfume, it'd been painted on his sinuses when he woke in the tube. Dry and burnt, feathery like paper, powder fine and raw and wrong- clouding the clarity of the diamonds on Pepper's ring.

Ashes.

She's-

It's-

Reaching out isn't a thing he does, doesn't like being handed things, doesn't like the inherent risks but Liv's hand comes up and he can't help but cling, his own grip tight and trembling, eyes locked on the ring in her other hand. "I- right. Sitting that-"

Sitting's a good idea.

Oh, Jesus. Okay.

This is bad. I clearly have no idea how bad, but in case the heart-wrenching way Tony had earlier said my name wasn't enough of a red flag, I've got him clasping onto me and I can feel him shaking, a fine tremor that travels all the way up my arm.

And he just... listens to me. No argument. Not even a little one.

Right, sitting down. Which is clearly the absolute correct thing to do here but makes me a little sick to my stomach, because we all know why doctors tell people to sit down.

But I'm not delivering the news of someone's death. Am I?

There's a bench a few steps away, and I direct both of us over, my own knees a little wobbly now. I feel a little steadier once I sit, but it's a really close-run thing. I clear my throat, try to call up my dispassionate doctor facade. I'm not very successful.

"Is this her ring?" I ask, watching him. I can't tell if he wants to take it or is afraid of it, the way he's staring.

Ashed. No one that's here was in New York when it happened. All the Avengers- they were in Wakanda. He doesn't know exactly when the mess with Venom and co happened but, they were on the other coast entirely. How would they know? All she had was Happy.

Oh, fuck. Happy.

Tony sits, breath caught in his chest as he extends a trembling hand, palm up, waiting for the ring. He knows what'll be on the surface, the powder fine, utter wrongness of the ashes, but he needs-

It's the ring. He's only held it and worried over it, argued with himself over hows or whys or what ifs for the better part of eight years. Since she put her hand in his chest and held his figurative heart, promising it was going to be okay. Since she took Iron Man in as much stride as possible. Since she stepped up above and beyond even his greatest expectations as CEO. He'd know it anywhere by feel.

"Her engagement ring." A beat, and he has to ask to be sure. He knows the answer but-

Looking in that box is fucking beyond him right now. Shoulders hunched, every upright fiber of his being snapped, the hollow of his chest scooped out entirely he huddles in on himself, eyes dark and distant, brows pinched, bottom lip caught in his teeth. "...Liv. What else was in that box?"

I'm careful when I lay the ring in his trembling, upturned palm; as much as instinct is telling me he'd never drop anything so precious, he looks like he's about ready to just pitch over.

"It's, um," I begin, and clear my throat again. "It's ashes."

Which is just about the worst thing I could imagine aside from a head in a box, but does it really mean anything? Here, in this place, where we might, maybe, all just be clones even if I hate thinking about that damned bunker and everything that comes with it?

What if it's just trolling? All you have to do is look around to know the people in charge can have a sick sense of humor. Hell, just look at me.

"Tony, it's— They might not be hers. They screw with people, we all know that."

"I'm going to guess-" It's easier to shift gears, go on logical and expositional cruise control than it is to continue riding the drop tower coaster of grief. "That Grumpy Cat didn't explain what happened to him right before he woke up here. That Peter didn't- explain. What happened."

The consequences of their failure. Step one of the Endgame, if Strange was to be believed but- it's hard to remember his determination, the solid confidence in his voice infinitely weary and kind even as he spoke It was the only way.

He'd hoped after talking about the everything with Barnes, they'd be past it. He could box up his horror show of a past and move forward with building shit in peace. With trembling, reverent fingers he buffs the ring clean, taking care to clear every facet of every stone. "Thanos, Infinity Stones, yadda yadda, that all happened. He got all six. Snapped his fingers, half of life in the universe poof. Gone."

Tony raises his eyes and despite himself, his voice wavers, his eyes well up. "Ashes. People just...crumpled into ash. Right in front of me. Parker, Barnes, the Guardians and-"

And.

He can't keep his voice from breaking. "And Pep."

We've been over this, Tony and I, about the things Bucky and I don't talk about. It's not an intentional emotional withholding so much as moving on, starting another chapter.

But this is the second time in a matter of weeks that Tony Stark is telling me something truly horrific about my boyfriend's past, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm starting to genuinely question the wisdom of this arrangement.

Magic stones, half the people in the universe dead. I knew about this, vaguely. Tony's ward had stood on a chair at a party and ranted about it, but, you know... It sounds crazy, so you don't really pay attention. You start dating a guy, become peripherally aware that it's an actual thing, but part of you still kind of thinks it's crazy because it's abstract. Nebulous.

Not so much.

My own face wants to crumple just at the sight of the tears in Tony's eyes, and I drop my gaze to the ring. "But we're here," I manage, and don't I wish I understood what that actually meant. "He's here. She could be here tomorrow, you don't know."

"It doesn't change that back home I failed." And he keeps getting smacked in the face with proof of it. Couldn't protect Peter, couldn't protect Pepper, couldn't keep the Time Stone out of Thanos' hand, can't work out how his survival is fucking imperitive for some fucking reason, so much so that it's part of the only path to victory that he's got no fucking guideline for but those thoughts keep him up at night often enough that they don't sting quite so much anymore.

This?

This is a new cut along an old fear. When Obie road off after her, when Vanko tried to bomb her, when Killian shot her up with his incomplete bullshit chemical treatment, when she slipped through his fingers-

When she was smart enough to walk away but not enough, god, not near enough to stay away.

Silver linings: it didn't look painful. It seemed instantaneous enough for everyone but Peter.

Yeah, no, focusing on those? Not helping. He clutches the ring in his fist, grinding his knuckles against his forehead as he tries to breathe through the ache in his chest that for once has nothing to do with his fucked up torso. "Maybe. Maybe-"

But did it matter?

Well, that completely breaks my heart, and not just for the obvious reasons, and it takes me a moment to swallow down the echo of my own issues before I can speak. Forcefully.

"No," I say with a slight shake of my head. "Look, I— I get it. More than you probably know. This thing, this guilt thing because you can't save everyone every, single time, this is me. It's a me thing," I explain, motioning between Tony and myself. "The brains-eating, it gives me visions. Don't know if I mentioned that. And it's like... Okay, I can use this power to help people, right? Avenge people. But people I love still get hurt, or—" I halt, not wanting to say it aloud, not now.

"I'm a hypocrite, sitting here telling you to not blame yourself for what's beyond your control, but only because I don't know how to take my own advice. And I'm telling you, no, Tony. No. It's not on you. You're not God. You're not even some kind of super-powered alien person. You're a man. The best kind of man, the smartest. But still a man. And not everything is on you."

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[ CLOSED ] Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes

Watchtower

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House 34

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Forge

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