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Where would you prefer to die, Jedi?
Metal screeches. Sparks fly, somewhere near Tony’s face, too close for comfort. He’s got a biting, ‘oh that can’t be good’ kind of pain down near one hip, but the wreckage has him too well pinned to try wriggling a hand closer to investigate.
Not to mention, between said pain, the ringing in his ears, and the constant flinching at every little spark and sound, calling upon the Force to get himself free is uh. Not happening, at the moment. Maybe not even after Tony reaches a point of being able to think straight; he has no idea how precarious the heap of debris is, how badly it could topple and potentially make things worse.
At home, in bed, if it’s all the same to you
Amusing. Allow me to rephrase-
The sole consolation at the moment is that he’s the only one pinned like this. The only one left aboard the ship, hopefully. A console lit up with confirmation of the escape pods launching just before contact with the planet’s atmosphere, before everything started screaming with alerts and the ships began tearing themselves apart.
Tony is clinging to the memory of that split second with all the hope left in his chest.
They got out.
They had to have gotten out.
(If they didn’t get out, didn’t fully clear the ship before it was too late, then he’s a failure of a Jedi as well as a mentor-)
Would you rather die here, a swift execution following your surrender, dignity reasonably intact? Or will you choose to fight, and soon enough lose, to perish after a lengthy and painful torture session in one of my holding cells?
...yeah, no, I have a better idea
If he closes his eyes, Tony can already hear Rhodey nagging at him about crash landings not really being landings, but it’s not like mister ace pilot was actually on hand to offer a better idea instead. And hey, the plan DID work! One unarmed civilian vessel versus a veritable warship is not such a one-sided fight after all, not when a crazy Jedi flies said vessel directly into said warship! Now granted, would that move really have won the day if there wasn’t a convenient planet’s gravity well directly close at hand to aim for? Probably not. But Tony could hear an awful lot of angry, horrified yelling over that commline before the warship finished shattering around his transport, and that’s what really matters at the end of the day.
That, and the civilian crew and other passengers escaping alive.
One other passenger in particular.
“Master Stark?”
He really shouldn’t have taken on a padawan. He knew better! Kept to his own lane as a Jedi Master, fought his own fights, found his own fulfillment, absolutely no reason to go and mess with the contentment Tony had settled into in his middle-age.
And yet.
Padawan Parker just kept coming back, interested in his droids, his modified lightsaber designs, his famous stories and lesser known accomplishments and tea...
And Tony- he just- not attachment, truly, but he began to feel- Well. Un-fulfilled, whenever he didn’t have a pipsqueak guest in his quarters. So- he offered. And the padawan, Peter, accepted.
Except now, the kid’s going to lose two Masters in the span of a single year.
Tony should have known better. Done better.
“Master Stark!”
He’s got the mental equivalent of two trembling hands cupped together around that bright little bond, trailing away from his core to another’s, trying even with his battered head to figure out a way to make this less painful, less traumatic. Peter shared the sense-memory once, of what it felt like when his last Master, his uncle, died without warning less than ten steps away. Tony doesn’t want the kid to suffer like that again. Maybe this won’t be quite the same shock, the fifteen year old can certainly feel Tony’s fading presence, but Tony doesn’t know if it’ll be better or worse than when Ben Parker was killed, this draining away versus a clean end.
He doesn’t know- he just wants- all he’s attempted since the first day is just to do right by this kid. And now-
“TONY!”
Oh.
Oh, hey.
That voice isn’t in his head.
A pair of light boots come racing across the floor, followed by a heavier set, moving slower and more carefully. Standard issue Jedi robes flare from a sudden stop, and then Peter’s face is right above his own, peering down anxiously at Tony. “Master?”
Talking is a little outside his means at the moment, but he can try for a grin. Seems to do the trick, if the way Peter lets out a shaky breath and smiles back is any indication.
Not that Tony’s attempt at reassurance lasts long, considering the next face to appear, significantly less welcome. He falls into an automatic scowl, but Rogers doesn’t have the decency to look the slightest bit chagrinned. “Okay, kid, I’m going to start lifting, can you pull him out from under there?”
“Mmhm.”
“Alright. Brace yourself, Tony.”
You brace your own self, he debates trying to say out loud, but then wreckage is shifting and his injured hip is yelling and Tony may himself be screaming, ow, and thankfully everything goes black before any embarrassing attempt at words can take place.
(When Tony wakes up, hours or days later in what is absolutely a ship’s medbay of distinctly Mandalorian design, his padawan is sitting slumped over the side of his bed blanketed by an equally distinctive jacket with the embroidered symbol of the Howling Commandos. Which. Is not great, but could have been significantly worse, so Tony feels magnanimous enough to go back to sleep without kicking up any kind of fuss.)