Author's Note: So I just watched Infinity War, and I'm in denial. I would have preferred that Tony, one of my favourite characters, had been the only death instead of what had happened. So I've written a denial fic: What would have happened if Tony was the only death in Infinity War? This is completely AU, and I don't think there are any Infinity War spoilers. Could really be placed anywhere in Marvel history but fits best after Infinity War, assuming all the other Avengers+Bucky are alive, and they are all talking to each other and live in the Avenger's complex.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Marvel, do you think (insert spoiler) would have happened?

WARNING: Character death (duh!) and Mentions of self-harm

The team collapsed around the table, shell-shocked. They had won, but not without paying a price.

A price that was the highest they had ever had to pay for a victory, to defeat evil.

Nobody spoke for several minutes. Most of them held their head in their hands, trying to make sense of it all. Peter Parker was openly crying, making no move to hide the pure misery that rolled in droplets down his boyish face. He was too young to have faced the loss of a parental figure four times.

He had already lost his mother, his father, and his uncle.

And now Tony was gone.

It was FRIDAY who broke the silence. The AI's voice echoed around the still room.

"Hey, all yous. I'll order food for you. The Boss would've wanted you to stay here."

Sam started. He hadn't really even thought about it, but they were all really only able to operate out of the Avenger's Complex because of Stark.

"Wadda ya'll want to eat?"

He also hadn't even considered it important to remember that it was Tony who always ordered food after a mission, Tony who made sure they all had something they wanted.

It was Natasha who answered. She had pushed away everything related to Tony, to deal with later. It wasn't like it was her first time watching someone close to her die. "We'll have shawarma, thank you FRIDAY."

At that, a tear ran down Thor's noble face. "I had forgotten that Friend Tony had introduced us to that food of the Gods."

Peter stood up abruptly, absquatulating from the room. "Oh dear," FRIDAY said. She went silent, but a projection of Tony appeared on the table in front of them. The 3D image waved, and grinned, a typical Stark smirk that made Steve smile. He lifted a bottle to his lips, remarking "This must be the third bottle. Where are they going?" His face then turned solemn again. 'Hey guys! If you are seeing this, it means something happened to Peter and I'm not there to help. Can one of you please check if he's alright?"

Natasha snorted. After Tony's death, there was no way Peter would be alright.

"If he's not, can one of you distract him while someone else removes all the sharp things from his room?"

Steve gasped. Surely not?

In the projection, Tony sighed. He ran machine-scarred hands through his unruly hair. "He went through a couple tough times after his uncle died. I know, it probably won't happen again, but better safe than sorry. Umm…" Everyone could see the thoughts running across his face, much more unguarded than they were used to. No one had really even thought he would have paid enough attention to anyone, even Peter, to know when they might be in danger of breaking apart.

Tony's face cleared. "Wanda and Vision, you will probably be able to work out where stuff might be faster than anyone else." A brief grimace marred his face. "Cap, he looks up to you. You talk to him, make him feel better; distract him."

The image vanished as Wanda blanched. She could understand why Tony would know that Peter would hurt himself; he considered – no, had considered – Peter to be all but his son. She also understood why Vision had been given the task. He probably had some sort of ability that would allow him to work out what Peter might use, but what she didn't understand was why he said her name.

Unless…

No, he couldn't have possibly known how close she had come after Pietro's death.

Unless he was spying on her.

Wanda tensed in her seat. FRIDAY's voice came into her earpiece, and for a second she thought all of the team could hear it before she noticed that it was only in her right ear. "The Boss never spied on any of you, Miss. It just takes one to know one."

Wanda relaxed. Inside, she was wondering how much of Tony they had missed. Before FRIDAY had enlightened them, she would never have guessed that Tony actually cared for anyone outside of himself.

The shawarma appeared as Wanda was pondering their dead teammate. Steve stood, blinking his dry eyes to clear his blurry mind. He hadn't even had a chance to think about what Tony had said, or how he had died. Steve grabbed three plates, quickly filling them with the meat. He handed one to Wanda, who nodded her thanks. He took two for himself, and shovelled down one of them quickly, ignoring the burning of his throat. Everything was a blur; it was easy to discount pain.

When he had finished, and probably broken some world record, he grabbed the second plate and gestured for Wanda and Vision to follow him to Peter's room.

The three of them stayed until Peter had eaten his full of the meat and fell asleep, and then they cleared the rom of anything Peter could get his hands on if – when, the darker, broken, parts of their minds whispered – his darkest hour fell and he was alone.

When they returned, Wanda took Vision's hand and led him away. She was exhausted, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she had cried, and Vision wouldn't judge her at all. If anything, he probably wanted to morn his creator.

The rest of the room finished picking at the food on their plates. It was just going dark outside, but FRIDAY had darkened all the windows. The Complex felt quite gloomy, and it wasn't only the lighting. They were all missing the normal cheerful chatter in the kitchen or noisy tinkering from the workshop.

It was strange, Bruce thought, that they never really paid Tony much mind until he was gone.

They sat in silence for another few minutes before Bruce excused himself from the table. The Other Guy had been furious when Tony died, and now they were both bony-weary from fighting each other. Bruce was normally world-weary and refused to fight, while the Hulk was normally furious at any slight. But now, in the aftermath of Tony's death, Bruce was riled up and wanted to fight anything, anyone, just to make someone pay for Tony's demise. On the other hand, the Hulk had gone quiet. It was like the fight had drained out of him. He was a vessel of rage, but Tony's death had broken him, and the rage had drained out. Bruce collapsed into bed, relieved when the soothing balm that was sleep soon swept over him.

Back in the kitchen where the memories of Tony lent against the bench, drinking black, hot, coffee, Clint and Natasha were the next to go.

"I'm going to go massacre the ever-loving stuffing out of a couple dozen dummies," Natasha ground out. No matter how many times it happened, she always hated to lose a teammate. But for once, the deceased was more than a colleague. Tony was more like family, and she hadn't even realized it while he was alive.

Nothing other than family would have opened this gaping hole in her chest.

Clint followed her, taking up one of the other training rooms where he fired volley after volley of arrows.

It was only hours later, when the blood was dripping from her sliced-apart knuckles and her legs were burning, that Tasha even started to think.

She was training.

Training, in a fully equipped room.

A room that Tony had built.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand being in there anymore. She headed to the door, almost letting the burning in her eyes overcome her when a bottle of water and a towel rose out of the floor for her to grab.

Yes, it was definitely a training room built by Tony.

Clint had obviously had the same thoughts as she had, for he was pacing the corridor in between their rooms. He sent her a look that was half tortured and half grieving, and she took his hand and lead him out of the complex, into a car – a Stark car. Neither of them would be able to sleep, surrounded by memories and regrets, so they may as well hit up a few bars, get into a couple fights and try to forget.

Inside the kitchen, Bucky, Sam, and Steve were still sitting on the comfortable chairs. Sam stood. "These wings are getting uncomfortable, and I'm exhausted. I'm going to crash." He hadn't liked Tony much, and he had gotten the feeling that the emotion was mutual.

It was only when Sam was lying in his (comfortable and king-sized) bed that he even thought about what that meant. Stark hadn't liked him, and yet he had still repaired the Falcon Suit, still let Sam live in the Avenger's Complex, still tried to get him pardoned, still given him high-quality equipment…

It seemed that he would always owe Tony Stark.

That didn't mean he had to like him, just… recognise what the man had done for them all.

In the kitchen, Steve had grabbed Bucky's arm; the flesh one, not the metal one.

"Bucky," he said. "All my friends die." His eyes were overflowing with tears, and Bucky reached out his metal arm and wiped them away. Steve almost flinched at the cool temperature of the metal, but soon relaxed into Bucky's touch.

It was only a few moments before more broken words were emerging from his cracked lips. "He designed this, didn't he?"

Bucky hesitated. When he received the arm, T'Challa had warned him to not tell Steve. But now, Steve needed to know. "He sent Wakanda the blueprints. He had worked out the properties of Vibranium, and how they would be best used in an arm. Shuri said that some of the things he included would have taken a while for her to think of."

"Why would he do that? He hated us."

"No, Stevie, he didn't. He just thought we were in the wrong, and he would have done anything to save everyone that he thought we would hurt. He didn't sign the blueprints or anything, but T'Challa said that FRIDAY had sent a message, saying that he was drunk when he designed it, and he never intended for it to be used, but it may as well have had a purpose."

"Stark designed that while drunk?"

"Yeah."

Steve grabbed the metal arm, admiring for the first time how all of the metal functioned perfectly together. It only took a few seconds before he snorted. "Yeah, Stark was drunk."

"Why'd ya say that, Stevie?"

"He hated this symbol here," Steve said, pointing to the small stars pressed into each band of metal.

Bucky laughed too, a gruff chuckle that cut off abruptly when Steve started crying again.

"He died, Bucky. How come none of us did?"

"Hey, Stevie. It's okay. He sacrificed himself for us."

That made it worse. Steve wasn't even trying to stifle his sobs. Instead, he reached out and pulled Bucky closer to him, burying his face in his best friend's metal shoulder. Bucky jumped, but the same thing had happened when Steve's mother had died. He ran his normal hand up and down Steve's back, waiting for him to talk.

"I told him he would never make the sacrifice play, once. I guess we never really knew him. And now, we'll never have a chance."

"Oh, Stevie. It'll be okay."

Steve nodded, and pulled himself upright. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, then stood and headed to his room. Stark might have died, but there were still loose ends that needed to be mopped up, and he needed sleep to be able to deal with that.

The world still needed the Avengers, especially now that Tony Stark was gone.

The next morning, the team woke to a blaring alarm.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this, although it is purely a denial fic. I will be writing more, and I'm not sure about the characterisation of Steve, although I do think he would have at least cried if Tony died, but not in front of the team. Please give me feedback?! I won't force/beg/blackmail you to – I write for my own pleasure 'cause – augh… emotions.

Until next time (like, in a few hours if I can't sleep),

MyNighmaresAreMyDaydreams