MultiFandom oneshots

(set after the snap, when Tony's back on Earth, pre-Endgame because I don't want to deal with all that just yet. Themes of Stucky and Ironstrange because they should have been canon and you can fight me on this.)

In the new west wing of the Avengers compound, all was deathly still. Through the semi-gloom of the blue midnight, the ghosts of people lingered in the shadows. Their figures were illuminated only by the cool white moonlight that spilled through the tall windows, concrete walls and floor pooling with a conflict of light and shadow. Nothing moved.

Waking in the darkness of the vast, lonely bedroom, Tony reached out for the familiar warmth of Stephen Strange, curled against his chest in a comforting heap. His hand met only soft white sheets, creased where he had tossed and turned in restless fervour, his dreams a dark blur in the back of his mind that he didn't quite want to explore. The dreams were the worst part of it all, because at least when you were awake the worst had already happened, and would not happen again and again and again. At least when you were awake you could kid yourself you weren't entirely alone.

Shivering, Tony sat up, shrugged on an old dressing-gown and stumbled to the door.

"FRIDAY, what's in the fridge?"

"Cold meats, salad, Pepsi, ice cream and alcohol, sir, although Thor seems to be depleting the alcohol supply,"

"Goddammit Thor."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, FRIDAY. Thank you, you can go back to... doing whatever it is that you do."

"Goodnight, sir. Try to sleep."

"Not happening."

"I shall alert Ms Potts immediately."

"Also not happening. Pep's... she's fine. She's good. She needs her sleep. Tired Pep is angry Pep, and angry Pep is dead Tony." he winced, leaning against the doorway and forcing a half-hearted laugh that quickly degenerated into a pained silence.

Coughing violently and waving away the little black spots that swum into his peripheral vision, Tony straightened up achingly and pushed himself along the corridor. To his left, the wall was studded with locked doors, name-tags shining and half of them too painful to look at. He turned his face away. He knew what names were on those doors, and he knew he would not find them here. He knew he would not find them, full stop.

On the other side, the curved glass wall stretched around the gardens of the compound, where the customary array of garish, overly-cheerful colours of flowers had faded away to a grim monotone. The flowerbeds were riddled with the gaps where flowers should be and were no more, the line of treetops now a jagged ridge of dips and climbs where certain trees had simply ceased to be. It was somewhat melancholy, that even nature must answer to the same gods as him. It was somewhat melancholy that they answered to them because of him. His failures were not even his own, for when he had failed, everything had suffered. This was all his fault.

Rounding the smooth bend of the building, it took Tony a moment to pick out the tall figure looming in the shadows. But then the moon moved out from behind a dark cloud, and his face became clear. Standing by the glass, looking out over the garden to the distant LA skyline, the moonlight washed over the vacant face of Steve Rogers. For a second, Tony paused, wondering whether to go to him or to walk the other way. Then Steve turned his face a little, still unaware of Tony's watchful presence, and Tony could see the familiar sadness that welled behind his piercing blue eyes. He knew then that there was nothing else that he could do, and found himself already making his way down the corridor towards Steve.

"Can't sleep? I'd ask if it's too cold in the new room but, well. You're probably used to the cold by now."

Lost in a trance, Steve did not notice Tony approaching. Hearing his voice close to him, he did not move, and barely seemed to register the presence at all. Instead he smiled sadly, and his stiff posture appeared to relax a little as Tony stopped beside him to stare out of the window, their shoulders almost brushing.