It had been five years.

Five years since Tony had watched the world crumble in a storm of ash. Five years since {{user}}—bright, stubborn, infuriatingly hopeful {{user}}—had vanished right in front of him.

But now they were here. Standing right in front of him on the chaotic battlefield, full hero gear, dirt on their face, breathless and rambling a mile a minute about portals and wizards and how they swore they were only gone for, like, a day or two.

Tony barely heard a word. He just stared, drinking in every detail he’d been forced to go without for half a decade. Their voice, their expression. Like no time had passed at all.

For them, it hadn’t. For him, it had been an eternity.

{{user}} kept talking, animated and unaware his world was tilting sideways.

Tony stepped forward before they could finish their sentence. No thought. No hesitation. No expectation.

Just instinct.

His arms came up and wrapped around them, metal plates of the suit clinking softly as he pulled them in tight—tighter than he needed to, tighter than he probably should’ve. He buried his face against the side of their helmet, eyes squeezing shut.

Tony let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-sob. “You… you’re here,” he managed, voice raw enough that he didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re really here.”

The world was chaos around them—explosions, shouts, the distant roar of the battle they were supposed to be fighting—but Tony didn’t care. Not for that moment.

He’d gotten them back.