Chapter Text
Tony.
Look at me.
We’re going to be okay.
You can rest now.
***
The soft orange glow of a sunset stretched out into the distance. Tony’s first thought was that there was...something wrong with the horizon. The vanishing point wasn’t quite right, the line where the water met the sky too straight, even softened as it was by the yellow haze. Tony didn’t know how long he pondered about it, math calculations forming and unraveling in his mind as he contemplated the distance and the planetary circumference. The sky from Venus would be orange.
But there wouldn’t be water.
Tony frowned. He was standing on water. The ripples shivered to life when his weight shifted to look down, then disappeared just as softly into nothing.
Why was he - ?
Oh.
He remembered.
His mind, which had been filled with the soft haze of...this place, wherever it was, also had a before. The perfect clarity of all his memories, as if they’d always been there. Tony raised his right hand, ungloved and whole, with all its small nicks and laboratory scars. He remembered the pain of lifting the full gauntlet of infinity stones - no, it hadn’t been pain. It had been a different feeling, an unmaking, that defied any words he tried to use to frame and quantify it with.
He remembered Thanos’ army falling into dust around him, Pepper’s voice more than her face, as his vision failed. The quiet of the final exhale.
It had been both more brutal and peaceful than he’d imagined his death would ever be, when he had occasionally imagined it at all. It was done, though. And Pepper, the light and love of his life, was safe. And so was his daughter.
“I suppose this means I’m dead,” he said the words out loud, in part to give voice to the thought, but also because a small part of his brain really wanted to see how sound waves travelled in this strange orange world.
He heard the soft swish of steps behind him. “I suppose you are.”
The voice was familiar. Tony frowned, tried to place it, and failed, wracking his mind as he tried to remember whose -
“Do you want to be dead?”
“What?” Tony startled from his thoughts. “Of course not, it's not like I was trying to - “
Tony turned to face the speaker, turned into a wave of enveloping sky-bright darkness that covered his vision, body and mind in a soft, inevitable black.
“All right.”
***
Tony was falling. Even hanging on the edge of consciousness as he was, he knew this feeling. Worse yet, he was accelerating, the pull of gravity like the hug from a familiar friend.
And then the acceleration stopped.
Terminal velocity, most likely.
That didn’t seem like a good thing. It couldn’t be a good thing.
Tony should probably do something about it. But the world went black again before he could decide what that might be.
A blast of noise and sensation brought him back, gasping for air.
His head was pounding in time to his racing heart in a quick drumbeat of pain and nausea that felt both new and frighteningly familiar.
“What the hell,” Tony gasped, his ears ringing and bright daylight blinding him. Everything was too bright, too blue after the soft expanse of orange, and after the darkness that swallowed him. “What - ? What happened?”
He tried to move, his body trapped in a suit, as his vision blurred, doubled, then started coming back amid sunspots. Steve and Thor, and...the Hulk? It had been a while since Tony had seen this version of the Hulk, did the battle with Thanos knock Bruce back into his old green rage monster self? Tony ordered the nanites to retract, reset, the mental orders instinctive and -
And entirely useless -
His nanites didn’t respond. Confused, he tried to start a self-diagnostic. That failed too.
“We won,” Steve said, looking away and into the city.
Tony knew that, he’d snapped the fingers himself.
City? Tony stared as the high rise buildings came into focus around him, damage and rubble and smoke, and a Thor that had both eyes and a dead metal suit that wouldn’t respond to his commands.
“Is this,” Tony said, and his voice faltered, hoarse and strained, before he found it again. His mind struggled; was this a delusion, the last gasps of his dying brain? He remembered this. He thought he remembered this. “Is this the part where we got shawarma? Are we going to get shawarma now?”
“What?” Steve said
“Now that we won, good job us. We go get some shawarma at that joint two blocks from here.”
“We’re not finished yet,” Thor chided, and Tony stared at him helplessly.
I thought we were.
I thought I was.
***
They did end up at the shawarma place a few hours later, just as they had before, Tony moving on autopilot in the dead metal suit of his armor. At the shawarma place lights flickered but stayed on. In the back, the owners swept the debris and glass across the floor.
Tony felt like a tourist inside his own body, watching the scene play out, an echo of what had been and what could have been. He found his attention moving from one Avenger to the other, some toxic mix of shock, deja vu, nostalgia and regret making it hard to think and impossible to swallow.
Natasha leaned on the table, her eyes distant. Clint was gazing into the distance past her, but his feet were on her seat, legs pressed against her hip. And Tony knew that if he could see through the table, he’d see her holding on to him with white knuckles. Time to time, her eyes would drift to Clint’s face, checking in.
Clint had frightened Natasha. Many things had, that day. She would not deal well with that in the upcoming decade.
Everyone’s so young. Had they all really been so young?
Steve was just twenty seven, and had already lost everything to a war, only to lose it again on his resurrection. Natasha and Clint, who had started with nothing and clawed their way to a semblance of a life in a clandestine military organization, were perhaps just a year older. Thor, for all he was a god, had all the composure and exuberance of a bro. And a brother in chains and a kingdom on the cusp of ruin.
Even this version of Bruce, who had once been Tony’s age, was now a decade younger and trapped in a life he didn’t think he deserved to have.
All of them were veterans of their own wars, pitted against the world that seemed intent to rip them to shreds. All of them so young.
In 2012, Tony had already been in his forties. Now, he had lived to the other side of fifty.
If this was some sort of purgatory that made him relive his mistakes, Tony didn’t blame it for dumping him here. But surely, starting earlier in Tony’s life would have packed more punch. There were very few things in Tony’s life - good and bad - that Tony couldn’t find reason to regret. If this was time travel, Tony couldn’t figure out how he had ended up in this suit, in this body. Because it was Tony’s younger body; that uneven patter of his heart was too sickeningly familiar around the soft hum of the reactor.
Across the table, Steve was practically falling asleep, his elbow on the tabletop and his fist propping up his head. To his left, Thor worked his way steadily through his meal. On Tony’s other side, Bruce ate french fries and nodded along to his thoughts, the motion barely perceptible, his eyes fixed on something only he could see.
Bruce might have been going through the periodic table of elements in his head, or doing the math on how many people he could have killed.
After the Battle of New York of before, Tony had been in a daze too. Now, fresh from a very different battle in a very different time, and with more than a decade to grow used to the universe finding new ways to break him, he saw this moment for what it was. Six strangers sitting alone at the same table.
In the years to come, they would never become anything more.
***
Tony did not offer the Avengers a place to stay. He did not stay for the SHIELD decontamination or even the debriefing. He did not answer Pepper’s phone calls.
Instead, he went back to the Tower and walked the floors. It was, in parts, a relic of the battle and a mausoleum to his past self.
Loki was long gone, taken away by SHIELD under Thor’s watchful eye.
In a different life, in a day or so, they had all gone to send Thor off when the god of thunder left for Asgard, and Tony had driven off into the sunset with Bruce, on their way to a brighter life of scientific bliss and bonding. Now, Tony rather wished he could share that drink with Loki, and forget about the rest.
“Jarvis, is the lab still functional?”
“Yes, sir.” Jarvis’ voice was prompt and unruffled. “The floors below this one were largely unaffected during the attack.”
If this was a hallucination or a strange capricious version of hell, then what Tony did now had no meaning. But Tony had snapped his fingers. He had worn the most powerful objects in the universe. He had destroyed an army, he remembered that. He knew he had been dying. Did the stones send him back in time? Did Strange?
Doctor Strange.
Tony needed to speak with Doctor Strange. But before he did, he was going to fix one at least one thing in this odd and ill-fitting reality.
“Jarvis, let’s get you some upgrades,” Tony said, getting into the elevator. “And let’s get you a couple dozen backup secure server farms while we’re at it.”
***
Tony wasn’t proud of it, but he used Pepper’s guilt over missing his call and his very real near-death experience to buy himself some time. He wasn’t anywhere near ready to handle looking her in the eyes, and wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.
If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t need to. And his plan, in a nutshell, was Doctor Strange and his glowing green time travel stone. If that failed, well, Tony had built a time machine once. What technology didn’t exist yet, Tony would invent.
He was going to get back home.
But first, 177A Bleecker Street.
Tony arrived at Doctor Steven Strange's house in his sports car and three piece suit, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the too bright daylight. He suspected that there had been a blow to the head or two to blame for that. Though he wasn't sure; it was just two days ago in this timeline, but his own memories of the Battle of New York were dulled by almost a decade of distance.
All the more reason to keep dodging that SHIELD debrief, Tony thought as he gave a sharp knock on the door, and then, after a careful look, pulled what looked to be a doorbell chain. Inside, a bell tolled. Tony snorted.
A few moments later, the door creaked open and a tall black man stared down at Tony.
“How can I help you?” The man asked stiffly and Tony grinned at him. Old-timey robe-tunic, outfit, check. Fancy mystical embroidery, check. Mysterious gloomy interior behind the man, check.
“I’m here to speak to Strange,” Tony said cheerfully. “Is the doctor in?”
“Doctor who?”
“What? Wait, is that a - “ Tony stared at the impassive face of the man in front of him. He cleared his throat. “Doctor Strange. I’m here to speak to Doctor Strange.”
“There’s no one here by that name.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I know all about your little band of Sorcerer Supremes. Tell Strange I need to talk to him about some time-y wimey things. He’s the one with the creepy red cloak, green glow gem of destiny, and a secret love of 60’s girl bands?”
The door closed in his face with a click. Tony stared at it for a second, then took a few steps back to look up and down the street. Then he craned his neck and considered the fairly large windows on either side. On the one hand, magic defenses. On the other -
Just as he was wondering if triggering whatever magic alarms the place had was worth going through one of those big-ass windows, or if he was losing his mind to a brutally vivid near-death hallucination (because, really? Sorcerers in New York City?), the door swung open again.
“I am the Guardian of the Sanctum” said the man, gesturing Tony in, and Tony could practically hear the capital letters on his words. “Please come in.”
Tony didn’t need a second invitation, stepping in and looking around as his eyes adjusted. The man led Tony up the steps and down the hall lined with books and cabinets of curiosities.
“Love what you’ve done with the place. Very dark academia,” Tony said, a bounce in his step. “You guys ever do escape room here? Is that even a thing yet?”
“The Ancient One will see you,” the man said, opening a door and stepping aside for Tony to enter. Tony paused, staring at the guardian; the man met his eyes calmly, his expression serene. Well, if this was all a trap, Tony was already neck deep in it. Why not?
Tony gave the guardian of the sanctum his best press smile and swept into the room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it was pretty much exactly what he found on the other side of the door. More bookshelves lined a spacious room, and on a couch that looked like it was owned by a very rich and aristocratic grandmother sat a thin, dainty woman in a burn yellow robe. She was bald, and her eyes were sharp, and she was adjusting the tea set on the table in front of her.
She smiled as she looked up at Tony and motioned to the armchair adjacent to her seat. “Please have a seat.”
“No thanks, not here for tea,” Tony said, watching her intently. “You’re not Strange.”
Her lips turned up in an amused smile. “Again, five years too early.”
His mind raced. Right, okay, 2012. No Strange yet, apparently.
“I know your - “ Tony paused, and tilted his head as he stared at the woman. “Successor? Son? Protege? Are you related? I mean, I think I see the resemblance if I squint a little. How does this work, then. In five years, Strange will rock up and get his Doctor Who on?”
“Something like that,” the woman said with her Mona Lisa smile. “I am the Ancient One, and you are here because you are not quite where and when you thought you’d be.”
Oh god. Tony wanted to slumped in relief at her words. There had been a part of him - the science, logical, sane part - that wondered if everything he remembered had been some sort of near-death experience hallucination. After all, in what universe would Tony Stark, playboy philanthropist and part time vigilante, build a world-ending robot, battle a purple titan on a distant planet, and save the world with a snap of his fingers?
Put that way, Tony would almost rather he had hallucinated it all. Except then he wouldn’t have had Pepper and Morgan in his life. No matter what he had done, he couldn't - wouldn’t - regret them.
And here he was, talking to Sorcerer Supreme Sr. whom he found based on a memory of an address he shouldn’t have had.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Tony stated. “In this timeline. You need to send me back. Or, if we want to be technically accurate, send me forward.”
The Ancient One put down the spoon she was using to stir her tea and stood. She walked over to the tall glass doors that led to the balcony and tugged them open. New York stretched before her, in all its battered glory. In the distance something was (still? again?) burning enough that a trail of smoke snaked into the air.
“You are here,” Ancient One finally said, “Because you belong nowhere else.”
“And how do you figure that?” Tony said, eyebrows climbing. “Because the last I checked, I belonged in the future with my wife and daughter and a little cabin in the woods with a workshop that took way too long to build because my wife of three years really wanted to make sure nothing ruined the view.”
“I can’t send you back to your time.”
“Not sure if you know,” Tony snapped at her back, “But your stone isn’t the only game in town anymore in the future. If you don’t send me back, I’ll build that time machine again and take myself where I should be. ”
“No, you won’t. You’re not in the past,” The Ancient One said, looking over he shoulder at him briefly before turning back to the view of the city. “You are in the past in a different universe, millions of universes away from where you died. And you did die, Anthony Stark. You died, and this is your second chance."
"Second chance for what?"
"To live. To perhaps find peace. Perhaps happiness.”
“Another chance at happiness?” Tony repeated, staring at her. Was she insane? “If I stay here, everyone I know and love might as well be dead.”
“And so are you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The Ancient One finally turned away from the window fully and met Tony’s eyes. He felt himself stiffen; there was something in her expression that he didn’t like. It terrified him.
“You died, Anthony Stark,” she said. “Your life ended in your universe. Your life ended in this universe, too. The other version of you died when he fell from space. You have been given this innumerably impossible chance to live again, replacing his death with your life. How you do that, if you choose to live it at all, is up to you.”
“I want another chance at the life I had.”
“And you cannot have it,” the Ancient one said, each word measured out and implacable. “Even if I wanted to, even if you still had a body to return to, I could not send you there. That universe has moved on.”
“I don’t accept that. I will see my family again,” Tony snapped. “I am Iron Man. I always find a way.”
“You won’t,” said the Ancient One, and the certainty in her voice frightened Tony like very few things had ever frightened him before. “I have looked and there is no scenario in which you find success. But that too is your choice, if you choose to spend this lifetime scratching at a door that will never open for you.”
Tony could feel the chasm opening up around him, the terrifying vision of being stuck here in this past. Of having lost his family for good. Of having to do everything all over again.
He realized he was shaking. “If- if I can’t go back. What do I do?”
“That is and will always be entirely up to you.”
“I can’t do this again," Tony said. "That idea is ridiculous, listen, you know I’m a wild card in this timeline. If you don’t do it for me, do it for your own sake before I- before I do something even worse than in my own timeline. Look into your crystal ball, do the thing Strange did- look at the futures and you’ll see, I’ll turn the city into some sort of temporal black hole, or accidentally provoke my future wife into taking me out with one of her very expensive shoes and screw this entire timeline over with - “
The Ancient One laid her hand on Tony’s chest, palm against the hard casing of his arc reactor, and his words stumbled into silence.
“Please,” Tony whispered. I have to get back to my family.
She met his eyes for a long, somber moment and gave him a gentle push back. “No.”
Tony took a step back and blinked. He was standing on the porch in front of the Sanctum, the door firmly closed, the Ancient One’s quiet no still echoing in his head.
***
Two sleepless nights later, four days into avoiding Pepper, and on the fifth hour of coding an additional security upgrade for Jarvis, the thought came to him. It slipped into his brain, filled every crevice with the bright clarity of an epiphany, and refused to budge.
Tony typed the order to start the code integration with Jarvis’ mainframe and sat back, staring at the blue glow of the screen until it blurred.
What if…
What if Iron Man just...wasn’t?
If there were no Iron Man, there would be no friction on Fury and Captain America’s team. There would be no Ultron. No Civil War. No Siberia. No futile battle on Titan, no spiderkid turning to dust on a dying planet millions of miles from home, no starving in a space ship. Tony and Pepper could be happily married years earlier, and Tony wouldn’t live out a horrid decade of trying and failing to be a hero.
AIM and Killian’s exploding soldiers had been Tony’s problem before. But what if, Tony thought as he pulled up another screen and started typing up notes on the incidents from memory. What if Tony made it SHIELD’s problem this time around? All it would take was an email.
And if all roads in the universe led to Thanos snapping his fingers, a road without Iron Man seemed so much simpler.
With a twist in his chest that had nothing to do with the arc reactor (and wasn’t it an entire trip to have the arc reactor lodged in his chest again after so many years without) Tony could practically hear Peter’s voice: “When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you.”
But what if you had the power, and then the bad things happened despite you, and because of you? What then?
With the sudden taste of ashes on his tongue, Tony remembered the bright-eyed spiderkid who thought he could take on the world with the power of his cheerful resilience and stunning certainty that good would triumph. Tony’s finger snap was the last step on a long journey that brought the kid back (brought them all back, he knew that), but all he could see in his mind’s eye was Peter collapsing into Tony’s arms, one second the weight of a gasping teenage boy, the next second, an arm full of dust.
“Sir, is everything all right?” Jarvis asked, his voice soft amid the hum of computers.
“Yes, Jarvis,” Tony said. “Just thinking.”
All this world truly needed from him, Tony thought, his hands resting, completely still, on the keyboard, was his time machine science. When the snap happened, Tony’s knowledge could put things to rights in a matter of months with some time travel science. He knew it could be done, because he’d done it already. None of the rest of it needed to happen.
Or, who knew, perhaps without Tony on Titan, the Guardians of the Galaxy might stop Thanos themselves. Even if they failed, it wouldn’t matter.
Because time travel.
The sudden, overwhelming possibility of a brighter future blazed in Tony’s mind, shining with its brutal logic and glittering possibilities.
What if there was no Iron Man this time around?