TWENTY EIGHT - TWISTED FATE

                                    

                                          
Tony had decided it was best to keep all the information about what was going on back in Mila's hometown to himself, choosing to tell her nothing about what he'd learned since his last visit.
He'd been working tirelessly since, the idea of needing to keep Mila and Tristan safe almost gave him a new lease of life, unable to rest or take a break for too long. 
Mila had noticed, of course, though didn't question Tony's intense working phase, instead deciding to encourage him to sit with her and her son outside for a while in the evenings, making sure he had enough to eat and drink, enough time in the fresh air for his wild and wonderful mind to reset before it all started working overtime again the morning after. 
That particular day had been no different. Mila and Tristan had been reading and colouring together all day while Tony had been downstairs in his lab working away in solitude. It hadn't been particularly unusual since that was what most days were like, only of late, Tony went downstairs earlier and came back upstairs later, sometimes not until Tristan had gone to bed. 
Tony felt bad on the handful of occasions that he'd missed being able to read Tristan a bedtime story or kiss him Goodnight, but Mila did her best to reassure him that it was absolutely fine, and that his work was far more important. 
While Tony agreed that the bigger picture of what he was working towards would be more important eventually, the idea of time ticking by painfully quickly and having one less evening of Tristan wanting to have his bedtime story read to him caused the superhero's heart to crack just a tiny amount each time. 
That evening, Tony made a conscious effort to wrap up his work early and head upstairs in time to eat dinner with Mila and Tristan for the first time that week, missing the conversations they'd have over the dinner table and the way Tristan would almost always beg to wear the yellow rubber gloves to help wash the dishes afterwards. 
With a satisfied sigh and a semi-peaceful mind after a productive day's work, Tony closed the door after climbing the stairs, locking it behind him. He'd expected to hear a pattering of small footsteps racing across the wooden floors towards him like he usually did if Tristan was still awake, only that time, the house was silent.
Tony wandered through to the kitchen, furrowing his brows when he saw vegetables left half sliced on the chopping board and a pot of pasta waiting to be boiled over the cold stove. 
He tried his hardest not to panic only Tony found it impossible, instantly feeling his heart rise up into his mouth as he looked around the rest of the house and saw no sign of Mila or Tristan. 
It was only when he pushed open the front door and stepped out onto the porch that he caught sight of them, only the sickly feeling that had wrapped his heart in chains didn't loosen when he caught ear of their conversation. 
Mila was sat on the grass by the wooden dock over the lake with Tristan on her knees, her arms wrapped around his small torso. Her voice was weak and unstable and although Tony couldn't see her face, he knew by her tone that her skin was undoubtedly covered in tears. 
"Grandpa is up there?" 
Tristan pointed up to the sky. That evening just so happened to cast the most beautiful red sky Tony had ever remembered seeing. The sunset wasn't pink or orange, it burned a deep red with white clouds melting through it, sparkling stars starting to cut through the colour as the night closed in on them. 
Mila nodded, "That's right."
"Can we visit him?"
"No, baby. But you can talk to him whenever you like, he just won't be able to talk back."