TONY

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Tony hadn't heard his mother's voice in decades but as soon as he had heard it, he knew it was her. He didn't want to close his eyes, afraid when he did she would vanish. It was warm where he stood, brown grass and a tall, furnished cottage standing far away. The sun beat down on him, not harsh yet not soft. He immediately knew where this was. 

The Preece's farm. The porch swing was moving with a soft creak with the breeze and he spotted two figures hunched against one another. He looked back to the sprawling meadow, watching his mother intently. She was just as he remembered her before the tragic crash, in her modest dress and her hair pinned to an updo at her nape.

'Tony, dear,' she smiled, the same form she always did. 'My brilliant, brave boy.'

Unreal. Not brave. Dead.

Tony didn't say anything. He knew it was a dream; he wasn't going to hope for something that was going to go missing in a split second. Expectations were zeroed in him.

'Say something,' she implored, 'please.'

It was foresight. It was a triggering concept in his head. It wasn't real. He tried to convince himself. All that vanished when she reached to graze his arm gently and he felt it. What he said next was forgotten in an instinctive sob.

Lost. Hopeless. Gone.

'You're not real,' he sniffed, 'you're not.'

The sounds of laughter grew more resonant, building in zeal as he tried to walk away from her. Trying to propel himself away from the fiction his mind was creating. Locating the sounds that sounded more genuine. He speed-walked towards the house, making out the two figures - one small and one tall.

Who?

The more he walked, the less close he got. He hadn't gotten anywhere near them. He wanted to pull the hair out of his roots in irritation, picking up speed this time and exerting utmost pressure.

'Hey!' He yelled. 'Over here!'

He halted in his steps when a little girl jumped off the swing and ran down the steps. He could make out her hair, brown ringlets that fell to her ears and tinkling laughter leaving her. A woman, her mother he recognized, ran behind her as if trying to catch her. She didn't hear him close in on them, continuing to play a game of tag with the girl. The girl he realized as his daughter, Margo.

'Margo,' he breathed out. 'Mags!'

Margo snapped her gaze to him. The relief swarmed into Tony when she did, a sound laugh leaving him. At that moment, Elle was gone. Yet Margo neared him, blinking fiercely trying to place who he was. He reached an arm out, lurching to hold her. 

He missed. Her blue eyes dulled a notch. She looked at him, trying to catch his hand. It slipped right through him. Tony flexed his fingers to try again but to fail in doing so.

'Daddy.'

You're not real.

'No,' he murmured. 'You're real, honey.'

She reached again. And Tony let out a helpless sigh, only to try again in vain. He rubbed his eyes, pushing the tears back into his eyes. Even when he was dead he couldn't be granted what he desired.

'She's not real, Stark.'

Who the—

He spun on his heels to see another man, harder to recognize. He wore drab clothes, threadbare and loose, dressed as if involved in an Indian occult. Thin ridges of white crossed from his temple and in, a perfect goatee around his chin. His finger trembled against his sides, a hard expression on his face.

What was even strange was the fact that he wasn't opaque. Tony could see right through him, the blurry figures of the trees and meadow beyond. The man was a projection, a translucent hologram.

'She's real,' Tony denied anyway, 'I know she is.'

'I don't know if you remember me but I'm Doctor Stephen Strange,' he introduced, 'I'm here to help you. Because the world needs it's Iron Man.'

He was confused. 'What the hell's the Iron Man?'

'Interesting pretence,' Stephen mused. 'You said the Iron Man. Where I come from, you're the only one who does that.'

'Where you come from,' he repeated, shaking his head. 'Where do you come from? Where am I and how did you get here? What in god's name is going on—'

'Your name is Tony Stark and you've suffered a traumatic brain injury,' he informed him in all cautiousness. 'This situation you're in - this position you perceive yourself living - they are apparition ideas. They are phantom moments of the knowledge left inside of you. I'm just an astral projection inside your head.'

'What happened to the rest? The data?'

'That doesn't matter,' he waved off, 'all you need to remember is that you are Iron Man. And he is you. Keep it firm in your mind.'

'This isn't real  but the pain, the feelings—'

'Yes, it isn't real,' he affirmed, 'it isn't, Tony, and you're letting yourself believe that you are afraid. You believe it's real because your mind believes it's real.'

He sighed, rubbing his temple. He was in loads of trouble and he couldn't even remember what he had done. 'I fucked with death, didn't I?'

Stephen grinned, bending to a marginal smirk. 'Sort of. We're, well, I am, going to... un-fuck it.'

'You?'

'You need to keep in mind what I said,' he pressured with intent eyes, 'keep it firm and repeat it. And, go with the flow.'

I am Iron Man.

I am Iron Man and he is me.

'Good,' Stephen commented.

'How did you—'

'Not now, Stark. Just steady and concentrate.'

I am Iron Man.

I am Iron Man. I am Iron Man. I am Iron Man.

I am Iron Man... what now?

∞

𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐘'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀C𝐄

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐗𝐓𝐎𝐍, 𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀

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Though Tony's eyes were open, he couldn't think of why his heart was hammering so wildly. He was gasping for air, his mind swerving with horrific emptiness. It was as if every node of his was injected with shots of adrenaline and he strained deeper to hear sounds of breathing that weren't his. One minute he had seen temporal, blinding light and the next, he was panting in a plane he believed to be real.

A hand left the side of his face. He caught the drift of a velvet cape, soon multiple heads bobbing into his vision. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light that shone down on him.

Like a cat drenched in iced-water, he clawed himself up to resting position and the voices of the people around him dimming. He placed a hand over his chest, finding his old arc-reactor fitted back into him. It blazed a bright blue, shaking him conscious ultimately. Someone supported his back as he felt discomfort around his ribs, murmuring to him to take it easy. A blonde man with cerulean eyes entered his line of sight. His mouth worked as soon as his brain placed the familiarity.

'Steve,' he said. 'Steve... Cap?'

Steve hung his head with a final stress release. 'Yeah, Tony. It's me.'

He scanned the rest of the group who had gathered around him, recollection hurtling into him faster than a racing train. He went in order, from the right of Cap. Thor, a weary Strange, Natasha, Hill, a shocked Adam and a relieved Elle. All of them wore the same masks of awe, their eyes calculating his every movement.

He almost wanted to go back to sleep again.

'Okay,' he breathed out, facing Cap. 'How much trouble am I in?'

∞

edited!