Something’s wrong. He can see it on Bruce’s face as he touches his neck. It finally clicks that he’s checking his pulse when he presses a hand against his chest, but that doesn’t explain the way he’s getting pale and panicked looking himself. On some level, Bruce’s reaction is more alarming than the darkness of the arc reactor, and Tony feels an icy chill of fear slide down his spine even before he delivers his diagnosis. And once he does, his eyes – the irises blood red, though he doesn’t know it yet - widen too, despite the light.

“What? That’s not possible.” Of course, Bruce is the best doctor he knows. If he’s telling him something, there’s no reason not to believe it. He brings a hand up to his throat without thinking about it, unconsciously feeling for a pulse that he can’t find either. “I’m dead? How am I dead and still talking to you?”

Maybe he’s dreaming? Is it possible he’s dreaming? The reactor won’t work if his heart stops, he figured that out in Manhattan, but he can’t be talking and dead at the same time. “Am I dreaming? Is this a dream?”