Chapter Text

Section 1: 

The Fall Of An Era 

and

 The Rise Of Infinity

“For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth.” — Zoe Skylar

Chapter 1

Winter Soldier Holding Cells, HYDRA Bunker, Siberia, Russia

Time Unknown 

How unsurprising.

How irrefutably, undeniably unsurprising.

The thought echoed in his skull, louder even than the rattling in his chest. Every breath was a battle—a painful, wheezing battle—as shattered ribs struggled to inflate what were almost certainly punctured lungs. Survival wasn’t helped by the broken Arc Reactor, half-shoved inside his chest after his false sternum gave way when that stupid shield lodged itself into the centre chest plate of his armour.

The Captain was beyond lucky he hadn’t faced any feedback when the very powerhouse of the suit short-circuited and shut down.

At the edge of his vision, Tony caught the slow, steady pool of blood seeping from beneath him, leaking from his collapsing chest and through the battered metal plates. In his pain-fogged delirium, he half wondered if blood loss would finish him off before asphyxiation did.

Or—he mused, attempting to move, or at least twitch his frostbitten limbs—maybe hypothermia would claim him first. The suit, his supposed coffin, did little to promote movement or offer insulation. Metal was never great at holding warmth, thermodynamics and all that, especially when half-buried under snow.

In the middle of a blizzard.

In the absolute middle of nowhere, Russia.

But he digressed.

Once more, he tried to move his arm toward the manual release, but a fiery wave of agony flared from his chest, halting any hope of escape. Not that he was sure the suit would have even opened in the first place, with the Arc Reactor half inside of him again.

God fucking damnit. He really should be more surprised to find himself in this situation again—the half-dying part, courtesy of someone he trusted. He was setting a trend at this point. This was what—the fourth, no, fifth time in less than ten years?

“Do you want to try Trust Issues? Try the deluxe kit—now with five near-death encounters!”

A laugh crawled up his throat, straining to break past frozen lips, even as his chest heaved with the effort of breathing. Broken bones prodded at lungs, practically reduced to mincemeat at this point, while his heart, which has been half useless ever since 2008, sputtered on and stubbornly refused to quit despite all logic.

This outcome had been written on the walls for years. How could he be surprised anymore? From the day he’d been introduced to this so-called team, to this so-called hero and his self-righteous ideals, by that manipulative, backstabbing spy organization, he should have known. He should have known exactly what kind of mess would follow.

He’d even gotten a prophecy, of sorts, from Bruce during their first get-together in New York.

“What are we, a team?” Wide eyes stared at them from behind wired glasses. “No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're a time-bomb.”

Did he listen?

Evidently not. Otherwise, he’d be at home right now, nursing a nice glass of whiskey.

NOT slowly dying in a goddamn HYDRA base, of all places.

No, he’d just wanted so desperately to be part of something greater. He had wanted, more than anything, a group to belong to. To have a bloody connection, some sort of proof he was doing better. And like an idiot, he’d steered his ship straight into the iceberg everyone kept warning him about.

Another choked-off laugh escaped him as he stubbornly ignored the tears stinging his eyes. God, he was so stupid for believing in the man his father had once called the paragon of American ideals. So stupid to think their little group of mentally unstable powerhouses wouldn’t eventually implode.

Basic physics, really. Energy can’t be created or destroyed, only transformed. All that pent-up rage from their first mission? It was always going to come back and bite them in the ass.

He knew he was just as much a part of the problem as anyone else. Contrary to popular belief, he was capable of self-reflection. And now, stuck on death’s doorstep, he could see every mistake with perfect clarity.

Hell, he could practically make a whole presentation out of them. Still, if anyone was listening, he’d like to point out that he didn’t deserve to be lied to, used as a puppet, and then murdered by someone he was supposed to trust. Someone he had trusted, with his life, on more than one occasion. Someone he had actually risked himself for.

Frankly, this was one of the worst betrayals he’d ever faced. Almost on par with Stane, but that was a whole other can of worms.

Damn it all, he was just some idiot with too much money, trying to undo his past sins after reality slapped him in the face and left him half-broken. He just wanted to make a difference, to give the people he cared about—the ones who actually gave a damn about him—a better shot at life.

Now, he would never get that chance. He had jumped straight into his own grave, leaving them to fend for themselves against the slow-growing chaos swallowing the world and whatever he saw on the other side of the portal.

And like he said, he could self-reflect. He could admit that his current state—a pile of broken body parts—was his own damn fault. But honestly, who wouldn’t have reacted the way he did when faced with the murderer of their own family? Howard was far from father of the year, but there was his mother. His mama.

Her cries still echoed at the back of his mind.

The worst part was Rogers—fucking Rogers—hadn’t said a word. Not a single damn word. Tony could almost forgive the Soldier; he’d been brainwashed, after all. But Rogers? Out of the question. Yet, as he’d been musing, it shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was. It was, in the end, unsurprising.

The two of them had never truly seen eye to eye. Different expectations and clashing ideals resulting in a volatile mixture. Time and space had been both their enemy, and their friend.

It had given them room to cool off, but had also given them every possible excuse to avoid fixing things. It stopped them from mending broken bridges, and had only deepened the mistrust that led to this.

Not that the other ever made much effort to bridge that gap.

No, Rogers just kept undermining him, leaving him to clean up his messes. Picking up the witch—even after everything she’d done, after she chose HYDRA—and putting her on the team despite the havoc she had caused on the small amount of mental faculties they had left. All those missions that were really just searches for the Soldier, while leaving destruction in their wake. It all compounded until it all came to a head in Nigeria and that bomb that killed too many to ignore.

And then, finally, going against the entire UN.

Tony wanted to rage at the sheer idiocy of it all. He wanted to laugh, to scream himself hoarse at finding himself in this position yet again. But this time, there was no miracle waiting in the wings. No last-minute reprieve, no chance to sidestep death’s reach.

Not with his senses flickering, shutting down one by one, and the wooziness from blood loss finally catching up to him.

It was far too late. Even if he wished, desperately, that it wasn’t. Wished he could claw his way out by the skin of his teeth once more and start making good on all of his promises. Like settling down, just as Pepper had always asked him to do. Like fixing the mess the Accords had become, as he’d sworn he would—especially for the kid, Parker. That kid deserved a future.

Just those few days with him, and Tony could already tell: Peter would have been the best of them all.

It was too late for regrets, but damn, he wished he could change what had happened. Not just the disaster with the Accords, but everything from the last few years. So many lives could have been improved, so much pain could have been spared—for everyone.

Maybe he could have saved a few more lives along the way. But it didn’t matter now.

His vision dimmed, finally fading to black as his lungs gave out a final, rattling wheeze. Darkness closed in, Death at last approaching the so-called Merchant, brushing cold, bony fingers over his frail body and carrying him off to wherever souls like his were meant to rest.

He hoped, at least, that’s how it worked—his last thought dissolving as he slipped beneath the thunderous howl of the snowstorm.

Ah… so you’ve arrived.

How curious. I recognize you.

There’s something singular about your mind—so intricate, so rare.

Such a cruel tapestry Fate has woven for you, and what a loss for the world, for this universe, to be stripped of its last, flickering hope.

And yet… even as breath abandoned you, you learned. You glimpsed truths your waking mind refused to see, truths your shadow had always known. You accepted them, at last.

A pity, isn’t it? That revelation came too late.

Or… did it?

Perhaps not.

Let us see, then, what your mind can truly conjure. Shall we?

I, for one, am most eager to witness it.

Afghanistan Desert

Time Unknown

Going from barely catching a single breath to hacking up a lung as dry heat seared his chest was one hell of a way to wake up. The darkness that had filled his vision was stripped away with ruthless efficiency as sunlight stabbed at his eyes, even through scrunched-up lids. His mouth and tongue were parched, the muscle half glued to the roof of his mouth, while he flailed on the superheated, coarse ground shifting beneath his weight.

The feel of sand was all too familiar.

Especially as the fine grains worked their way into the throbbing scratches littering his body. Still, he managed to push aside the irritation, too busy marvelling at the simple fact that—A: he could move, and breathe, at all.

And B: he was definitely not in Siberia anymore.

With less effort than expected, he forced himself upright, only to gasp raggedly as his chest pulled uncomfortably at the weight still lodged in his sternum. At least this time, he wasn’t bleeding out from it.

Cautiously—hesitantly, honestly, he really didn’t want to see—he pried his sand-crusted eyes open and peered at what he was slowly realizing was an all-too-familiar desert landscape. A quick glance downward, at the ratty tank top and the bulky, glowing, metal contraption jutting from his chest beneath it, confirmed something that should not have been possible. Not at all.

He was in Afghanistan. Right where he’d crash-landed after escaping the Ten Rings, if the hunks of metal scattered around him were any indication.

What the fu—

Without warning, a splitting pain arced through his head, as if his skull was cracking open, sending him cursing in several languages as he dry-heaved. Motherfucking hell on Earth. It was perhaps the worst pain he’d ever felt, especially as years’ worth of memories crammed themselves into a brain that hadn’t actually lived through them.

Every single detail arrived with a clarity he’d never known, settling with a finality that made his bruised heart thud against the metal casing pushing it back.

His body shuddered as the pain lanced down his spine, sending his already battered muscles twitching. It was so awful he was fairly certain he blacked out for a moment, because when the agony finally subsided, he found himself once more on his back, half-buried in sand, the sun having shifted across the sky.

For a few seconds, he simply laid there, skin burning under the relentless sun, trying and failing to wrap his head around his predicament. Somehow—miracle of all miracles—he wasn’t dead. He had somehow scraped by once again. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t some sort of coma fever dream, cause his chest was pretty much yelling at him still in a fit of agony. Point to him.

Somehow, that had landed him in a different country, with no access to any of his tech and no way to call for backup. Minus one point.

But from the state of his body and the wreckage around him, it seemed he hadn’t just changed places—he’d gone back in time. He wasn’t sure how to compartmentalize that detail. Maybe it was true, or maybe he’d just landed in his own personal hell.

At this point, it was a fifty-fifty shot.

Even then, the matter meant very little. If this was his own personal hell, he’d find out soon enough. If he was truly back in time, something he was pretty sure may be possible scientifically though definitely not in the way his current situation was turning out, then he’d better get moving.

There was a helicopter to catch and terrorists to dodge.

Mechanically, he sat up again and surveyed the area, eyeing the hunks of metal scattered around him like evidence at a crime scene. Technically, it was one; the Mark I had been built from illegally sold weapons that once belonged to a world-renowned terrorist group.

He moved with a nimbleness that surprised him, pausing as he registered how smoothly his body responded—ignoring the scraping of bone against the reactor casing and the familiar, breathless ache in his chest. His body was years younger, not yet battered by the death-defying situations that had left his joints in constant protest.

Shaking off his surprise, he started gathering equipment.

From the wreckage, he tore a strip of fabric and tied it over his head to try and minimize the heatstroke he could already feel setting in. He made sure the cloth was secure, covering some of his already burned skin, then turned his attention to the largest piece of scrap.

Tony grabbed it and began piling the rest of the debris on top. With some mangled wires he managed to untangle, he secured the pile so it wouldn’t topple and left enough slack to drag the junk behind him. The construction was lopsided—he considered with a tilt of his head—but as he eyed the sun arcing across the endless blue sky, it would have to do.

The ends of the wires bit into his hands as he gripped them, but he welcomed the pain. It grounded him as he trudged off in the direction he remembered heading before. It was the best plan he had, the only thing keeping him from sinking back into the sand as he considered his situation.

The possibility of time travel lingered in his mind.

Ignoring the how for a moment, if he had truly gone back—not in body but in mind, like DeTamble—to what could be considered the start of his superhero career, then several options were open to him.

The first would be Back to the Future style: do everything exactly as before, making minimal changes to ensure continuity and avoid paradoxes. Easy enough, with his near-eidetic memory, but Tony was pretty sure that if he saw Mr. Captain America—aka Iron Man Killer—he’d punch him right in those perfect teeth.

He was already making changes by dragging his suit across the desert, despite it slowing him down and forcing him to yank the pile free from the sand with a bruised, misshapen chest. There was no way he’d let anyone else get their hands on it—not this time. Nobody would even get a glimpse before he allowed it, though the problem of the blueprints remained—a problem for another day.

So, sorry Marty, that plan wasn’t going to fly.

The second option: deal with his current predicament, get out of Afghanistan, and confront Stane—he had to stop for a moment, huffing at the realization that the old coot was still alive at this point—and the Ten Rings. Then, once all that was wrapped up, hang up the suit and carry on with his life. No Iron Man. No Avengers. No superhero life.

Just the ordinary lifestyle of a billionaire. Maybe focus more on his company to keep busy, but really, just a super-extended retirement. A well-deserved thing considering everything.

It was far too tempting.

Tony was tired—beyond exhausted—and the thought of facing all the bullshit from the years ahead left him faintly nauseous and craving a bottle of his finest whiskey. One of the very expensive ones. He had tried before, tried to be better, to make a difference, but it had all ended with him being killed by a friend and, somehow, sent back into the past.

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the chance to go back again.

Yet the weight of his superhero lifestyle pressed down on him, that aching sense of responsibility heavy on his already burdened shoulders. Parker’s voice—still cracking with adolescence—scratched its way to the forefront of his mind.

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen?” Young eyes stare at him, filled with pain and wisdom. “They happen because of you.”

He was fairly certain he’d made some sort of sob story speech before dying—about changing things, about making a difference. So, really, there was little choice. Option three it was: Doctor Who style.

Tony was going to set the timeline on fire and actually make things work out for once. That meant planning for everything and taking wildly different actions than he had last time. If he wanted to make a global change, he’d have to worm his way into so many places that no one could remove him without risking complete chaos.

The moment he had a platform, he could launch as many countermeasures as he wanted. Maybe, just maybe, he could set up some sort of planetary defence for the armies waiting out in the galaxy. Earth wouldn’t be left to fend for herself if he had anything to say about it.

But first—he paused in his trek, sucking in a lungful of hot air as he glared at the endless golden sea of sand and the blue sky that refused to offer even a single cloud for protection against the nuclear ball of fire some people actually enjoyed.

First, he had to get back to the States and sort out the current betrayal he was facing.

Looking around, he noted nothing had changed in the few minutes of stillness and resigned himself to continuing his trek with a long, drawn-out groan. Tony knew the Air Force would find him soon enough, given the ruckus he’d made, but damn, he wished they’d hurry up. He was pretty sure this was about the time they were supposed to pick him up, but the distance he’d travelled compared to last time was significantly shorter, what with the lump of metal and having passed out at the start.

A hiss escaped him as his tired muscles protested the continued strain, followed by a deep breath as he tried to push the pain out of his focus. Distraction—he needed to distract himself from the flaring ache radiating from the centre of his chest.

Right, he was planning how to deal with the mess that was his life.

First and foremost: deal with Stane and Stark Industries, then the Ten Rings. Once they were out of the way, Tony could focus on upgrading security protocols and everything related to Iron Man, all while dragging the company out of its current mess.

Then there were the outside threats he’d need to address.

He would need a plan of action for those threats, but not as Iron Man. With a bit of self-reflection, Tony was all too aware of his overreliance on the suit when facing problems. Blowing things up was always cathartic, but some problems needed more finesse if he wanted to avoid them coming back to bite him.

So, he would have to lean more on his status as a Stark. He was a billionaire, for crying out loud—change was something he could make happen with a snap of his fingers. The real question was whether people would listen.

As of now, with his playboy persona, that was a hard no. But maybe, if he got Stark Industries under control and cleaned house, things could change. Previously, under Pepper’s influence, it had slowly transitioned into a major corporation. If he did this earlier, he could establish a worldwide reach, gaining the credibility he’d need to get people to listen.

That meant his approach to Stark Industries would have to be far more nuanced than before. Shutting down weapons production overnight—tempting as it was—simply wasn’t feasible.

He had learned the hard way that swinging too far in one direction created backlash, chaos, and power vacuums. If he acted too abruptly, he’d risk destabilizing the company, alienating the board, and drawing unwanted attention from both the government and competitors.

This time, he would need to phase out weapons manufacturing gradually. The first step would be to quietly audit the company’s contracts and supply chains, identifying the worst offenders and beginning to cut ties discreetly.

He could then start shifting public perception by investing heavily in R&D for clean energy and advanced tech, using press releases and strategic partnerships to build momentum. Meanwhile, he would be able to keep the defence contracts alive just long enough to maintain leverage with the Department of Defence, ensuring he wasn’t locked out of critical conversations or resources.

With the military’s ear, he could position Stark Industries as a leader in next-generation defence—less about weapons, more about security infrastructure, AI, and global surveillance systems. That pivot would keep the cash flowing and give him a legitimate reason to collaborate with government agencies, while also laying the groundwork for influencing policy from the inside.

To fill the revenue gap, he would have to accelerate the launch of new divisions—medical tech, environmental solutions, and communications. By diversifying early, he’d not only stabilize the company’s finances but also create a buffer against market shocks.

These divisions would also serve as footholds for gathering intelligence and building alliances, both in the private sector and within organizations like SHIELD.

Of course, this approach would mean maintaining his public persona as the Merchant of Death a little longer—a role he despised, but one that still commanded respect and fear in the majority of people. Until Iron Man was ready to make his debut, Tony would have to use every tool at his disposal, even the ones that left a bitter taste.

People knew and feared the Merchant, so when something needed to get done, he would have to slip back into that role, at least for now. It was all about getting things moving, setting the stage for a safer transition. The sooner he could shift the narrative, the sooner he could step away from the shadows of his old reputation.

He really, really, wanted that bottle of whiskey.

Time passed strangely after the brief planning session, his energy too depleted to focus on anything more intricate.

Sand scratched at places Tony wished didn’t exist, and every step was a battle not to trip over his own feet. His thoughts were a muddled haze, half-lost to the relentless heat and the pounding in his skull, the world shimmering at the edges as dehydration and exhaustion gnawed at him.

He barely registered the mechanical whir of helicopter blades until the shadow swept over him, the downdraft whipping up a stinging cloud of sand that filled his nose and mouth, making him cough and blink through gritty tears.

At this point, Tony couldn’t care less.

Relief crashed over him as he spotted the rescue chopper, his legs giving out beneath him as he crumpled to the ground, barely missing the heap of metal he’d dragged across the desert. The realization hit slow and heavy: this wasn’t hell, and he wasn’t losing his mind. He recognized the make of the helicopter, the same model that had saved him once before.

He really had travelled back in time.

The helicopter landed awkwardly on the uneven terrain, and before the rotors had even spun down, a figure leapt from the side door, ignoring the shouts of the soldiers behind him. The man stumbled and sprinted across the sand, urgency in every step, and Tony’s chest tightened with grief, relief, and joy all tangled together as Rhodey, his brother in all but blood, rushed toward him.

“Tony!” Rhodey’s voice cut through the roar of the blades, achingly familiar, and Tony managed a crooked grin, feeling the cracked skin of his lips stretch.

“Platypus,” he rasped, the nickname coming out rough and breathless.

Rhodey dropped to his knees at Tony’s side, his youthful face creased in a worried frown, dark eyes scanning Tony’s battered frame.

“Damn, man,” he muttered, shaking his head before flashing a lopsided grin. “How was the fun-vee, huh?”

Tony snorted, the sound half a cough. “Shit. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend.”

The exhaustion was overwhelming now, adrenaline ebbing away and leaving him hollowed out and trembling.

Rhodey’s smile faded. He pulled Tony into a hug, arms wrapping carefully around burnt, bony shoulders. “Next time, you ride with me.”

Tony nodded, melting into the embrace without even thinking. The contact was grounding, something he had craved for so long, especially after everything that had happened with the Accords and Leipzig. After seeing Rhodey broken and unconscious in a hospital bed.

The relief of having him here, alive and whole, threatened to break him apart.

Rhodey must have sensed it; his hug tightened for a heartbeat before he pulled back, hands coming to rest on Tony’s shoulders. His eyes swept over Tony, cataloguing every injury, lingering on the faint blue glow of the arc reactor shining through the tattered shirt.

“Tones, what is that?” Rhodey whispered, voice wary as he stared at the piece of machinery.

Tony looked away, throat tight, about to answer when he caught sight of the other soldiers poking curiously at the pile of metal he’d dragged through the desert.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tony drawled, his voice carrying just enough to make the two soldiers jump and whip around to where he was still sprawled on the ground.

He flashed them a cheeky grin. “Not sure all the mechanisms are fully disabled. Push the wrong piece, and boom—party’s over.”

It was an empty threat with the Arc Reactor was no longer connected to the overall machine, but it was convincing enough to make both soldiers retreat several steps, wariness flickering across their faces as they eyed the pile of junk. One sharp look from Tony sent them back even further.

“Tony,” Rhodey hissed, fingers digging into his shoulder, yanking his focus away from the soldiers. “Seriously, what the hell’s going on? What did you do?”

Tony rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the sharp grip with a lazy smirk. “Nothing you can’t handle, sugar plum. Just a little desert adventure gone sideways. But hey, I think we should scrap that heap before it decides to turn us all into fireworks, yeah?”

He shot Rhodey a daring look, challenging him to argue. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed, lips twitching as if ready to snap back, but for once, he held his tongue. Luck was for once on Tony’s side this time.

Though not without conditions.

Finally, Rhodey grunted, standing and extending a hand. “Fine. But you owe me a damn good explanation. No more secrets, Tony. You got that?”

Tony clasped the hand, letting himself be hauled upright, teeth clenched as a wave of dizziness hit him like a freight train. His body screamed in protest, but he masked it with a cocky grin.

“Whatever you say, Rhodes,” he said, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him.

Rhodey’s gaze darkened, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. He caught the flicker of weakness, but didn’t call him out—yet. Instead, he nodded once and turned, barking sharp orders to the soldiers as he guided Tony toward the helicopter with no further pointed questions.

Neither of them mentioned how heavily Tony leaned on his old friend during the short trek. Neither mentioned how the ride back to the nearest base was strained.

Though, somehow, the arrival was even worse.

Most personnel were looking at him like they have seen a ghost. Constantly flickering their eyes over to him to confirm that yes, Tony was alive after three months in the hands of wildly known vicious terrorist group. Well, that’s what they believed.

The truth, well, he was pretty sure no one would believe him. Probably lock him up in a mental asylum or something. But it was what happened the first go around, so he let the speculations slide.

Rhodey never left his side, keeping a steady grip on him even as they were hustled off to medical. He was there for every check-up, standing firm when Tony adamantly refused to let anyone near his chest—near the spot that killed him in the end, as his mind liked to remind him.

The frustration at Tony’s poor patient manners was evident in the tick of Rhodey’s eyebrow, but he kept his silence, helping Tony get his way without a word.

All things considered, despite the nosiness, it was the best way to be reintroduced to society. Rhodey was his anchor, grounding him when the press of people—touching, talking, crowding him—threatened to overwhelm him as he retreated into silence.

He almost forgot that while his new behaviour might have become his new normal, it wasn’t for everyone else.

Last time, he had joked around, trying to distract himself from the memories of that cave. Now, he was fighting to keep sane under the mounting pressure of everything he remembered he’d need to do to even begin to untangle the mess he was in—and maybe, just maybe, come out ahead in the long run.

It was also probably for the best to keep quiet, too; the last thing he needed was to let something slip that would make sense in 2016 but sound utterly deranged in 2008. So, mum’s the word.

Even after the worst was treated and he got the green light to return to the US, he kept his trap mostly shut, ignoring the growing number of curious stares from strangers and the increasingly concerned, unamused looks from Rhodey.

It was starting to grate on him, like wasps pricking at his nerves, the constant looks he kept receiving. When the plane finally jolted down on US soil and the seat straps dug into his malnourished shoulders, he exhaled in relief.

The coil of tension strangling his insides loosened, if only a little, at being back on home ground.

His chest still ached fiercely beneath the ill-fitting suit, hiding the Arc Reactor from view—a sensation he definitely hadn’t missed. Worse, as he had remembered while trying desperately to fall asleep that first night, was that this current reactor still ran on a palladium core.

If he didn’t want to deal with heavy metal poisoning and the loss of his faculties that would be catastrophic in his situation, he would have to address it sooner rather than later.

And somehow, without drawing more attention from a certain spy organization.

The first steps out of the plane was met with the familiar glare of the sun, but at least the air was thick with humidity, instead of the desert’s dry heat. Tony squinted against the light, raising his one functioning arm to block out as much as possible as he swept his gaze down to the ramp and across the tarmac.

Off to the side, he clocked a few stray reporters clamouring behind a security fence. Tony almost groaned at the sight, but Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder, and silently redirected his attention to two figures waiting just a few meters away.

Two very familiar people.

His heart gave a few loud thuds against the reactor casing, before he was able to muster the strength to finally move down the ramp and towards the pair that had always been on his side.

Pepper, as composed as ever in her business suit, stood tall with her knuckles white on her clipboard. Red hair fluttered in the breeze, and her blue eyes—glassy with emotion—watched him approach. Slightly behind her stood the ever-stoic Happy, tension in his shoulders visibly easing as Tony and Rhodey drew closer.

For a split second, Happy even closed his eyes and bowed his head in relief.

Rhodey led him right up to them, keeping a steady grip on his elbow until they were face to face, then stepped back to let the others have their reunion.

Relief was clear in their faces, but Tony couldn’t help but marvel at how young they both looked.

“Tears for your long-lost boss?” he asked Pepper after beat, face twisted into a familiar teasing brow and cocky grin.

Her answer was immediate, just like before. “Tears of joy. I hate job hunting.”

Pepper’s eyes burned into him, rimmed with red despite the relief that shimmered beneath. Her jaw was tight as she tracked every injury, fighting to keep her emotions in check for the sake of professionalism.

The sight of a worried Pepper eased and ached at him in equal measure. This Pepper had no resignation in her expression. No frustrated anger, no reluctant acceptance of his reckless choices creasing her features.

No, her face was smooth with youth, only the faintest lines hinting at the storms to come.

It hurt, Tony realized, glancing at her, Rhodey, and Happy. They looked so much lighter, untouched by the years of stress and heartbreak he knew were coming. It stung, knowing their relationships would never be quite the same, that he and Pepper would never work out, no matter how much he wanted it. They were now worlds apart, shaped by different lives and different losses.

He swallowed back the grief. This was the price for giving them a shot at a happier, safer life. Just another condition to add to the hundred others that came with traveling back in time.

He forced a grin, cocky and self-assured, determined to keep things light. “Well, you’re in luck. Your freakishly good-looking boss is back,” he declared, flashing a wink. “And I’m really craving a cheeseburger.”

All three snorted, the tension breaking for a moment. Rhodey tried—and failed—to hide his relieved sigh, grinning wide beside Tony.

Pepper rolled her eyes, a smile breaking through. “That can be arranged. Anything else, Mr. Stark?”

They started toward the car, Happy already moving to take the driver’s seat. Rhodey clapped Tony on the back as they passed, but the look he shot Tony was dark with warning. Rhodey wasn’t about to let all the new mysteries slide.

“A few things,” Tony hummed, ignoring the promising complications and instead let his mind race with the first steps he needed to take to set things right. “Let the Board and PR know I’ll be staying home until next Monday. No visitors, no exceptions. And don’t worry about coming over, Pep. I want the place to myself.”

He slid into the car, Pepper following close behind. The moment the door shut, Happy floored it, sending them speeding toward Malibu. Longing twisted in Tony’s chest at the thought of seeing his home again—before Killian reduced it to rubble. His family would be waiting: DUM-E, U, and—

JARVIS. He’d get to see JARVIS again.

His heart seized, and he blinked rapidly, forcing the sting from his eyes as he tried to focus.

“The Monday after next, I want a Board meeting with every Director present—no excuses,” he said, scowling at the thought. “If they’re unavailable, make them available. And set up a press conference about Stark Industries’ future after the meeting. But don’t say a word about specifics yet.”

Pepper stared at him, pale and bewildered. “What? Tony, what’s going on? We need to get you to a hospital!”

Tony just offered a twisted grin. At this point, plausible deniability was the best gift he could give her. He already dreaded the mountain of paperwork he’d have to sort through. \work he had left to her to deal with for years.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and let someone else handle the future.

Shaking off the despair, Tony looked away from Pepper’s worried blue eyes. “Sorry, Pep. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her scowl deepen as she argued, voice rising, “Damn it, Tony, you could barely stand on your own two feet. Whatever you’re planning, leave it for another day. There are more important things to deal with right now.”

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Not this time, Pep.”

Confusion and anger warred with concern on her face, but after a moment, she pressed her lips into a thin line and settled back for the ride. The silence was heavy, but after the chaos of the last few days, it was almost a relief.

Tony let his eyes drift shut, and before he knew it, he’d slipped into a light, restless doze.

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

May 22, 2008; 17:36 (PST)

Tony woke to the gentle shake of Pepper’s hand, having to quickly look away from the concern brimming in her eyes. For a moment, he almost let everything spill out—every secret, every regret, every impossible truth. But he caught himself. This wasn’t the Pepper he knew, not yet. She hadn’t lived through the fire with him. Not in the same way.

He managed a quick, tight goodbye to both Happy and Pepper, slipping out of the car before either could press him for answers or let his emotions get the better of them.

He made his way up the familiar gravel path, each step a strange blend of exhaustion and nostalgia. At the front door, he paused, staring at the weathered oak, memories flooding back in a wave so strong it nearly buckled his knees. Somewhere before him, he heard the soft click of the lock. He pushed the door open and stepped, slowly and carefully, into the quiet entryway of his old home.

“Welcome back, Sir.”

The crisp, British voice hit him like a punch to the gut.

The emotion he had barely held in check during the ride home surged up, raw and vicious, and for a moment he thought he might collapse right there, sobbing against the doorframe. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control, his breaths coming ragged and uneven.

“It’s good to be back, J,” he finally managed, voice cracking under the weight of everything he felt.

He drew in a few shaky breaths, forcing himself to focus. He turned to shut the door behind him, mentally reaching for the checklist he’d built in his head. The one on all of the things that needed handling, now. As he turned back to the entryway, the first priority became clear.

“J,” he croaked, his voice catching as the name scraped his throat. “Protocol: Zap It.”

“‘Protocol: Zap It’ initiated,” JARVIS replied at once. The lights flickered throughout the house. “Please wait for a few minutes while the protocol runs its course.”

JARVIS had been running the house for months, but there was only so much he could do on his own. Judging by the spotless floors and lack of dust, Tony suspected cleaning crews had come through while he was gone—a perfect opportunity for nosy agencies to poke around where they didn’t belong.

With a sigh, Tony slid down to sit against the door, waiting for the protocol to finish. There was nothing he could do until he was certain no one—absolutely no one—would be able to uncover the madness he was about to unleash.

“Sir,” JARVIS spoke again, sending a fresh wave of relief through Tony’s battered heart. “While we wait, my scans indicate multiple lacerations, bruises, blisters, sunburn, malnutrition, dehydration, and…”

The hesitation pulled Tony from his fog, a frown creasing his face. “J?”

“Sir,” JARVIS continued, after a beat, “may I ask what is in your chest?”

Tony managed a weak chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ah, that. It’s a mini Arc Reactor. Built it in a cave to keep the shrapnel from reaching my heart and shredding it to bits.”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost judgmental, but Tony found it oddly comforting. At least JARVIS wasn’t panicking.

Tony had to admit, things weren’t nearly as bad as the first time he’d come back. Somehow, even though his body was back to what he remembered at thirty-eight, fresh out of the Ten Rings, most of his injuries were more superficial than before –less life-threatening, more manageable.

Last time, he was pretty sure he had dislocated a shoulder from his crash landing. Instead, the doctors at the base told him it was just a pulled muscle. His ribs were still bruised and battered, but not nearly as bad as the purple-black splotches that had once covered most of his back. Now, the bruising was mostly greenish-yellow, and he could actually breathe without agony, so long as he didn’t push himself too hard.

The Arc Reactor and the open-heart surgery had ravaged his chest the first time, wounds still raw and fresh. Now, those injuries had faded into an aged scar. Painful, but manageable. Maybe that was the only reason he had managed to drag that pile of scrap all the way to the trash compactor, if Rhodey could be trusted to take care of it.

Still, for JARVIS, it was all well beyond acceptable parameters.

“Sir,” the AI prompted again, dissatisfaction practically oozing from his precise, robotic tone. “Are Miss Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Lt. Colonel Rhodes aware of this?”

Tony winced. “No… not really.”

There was just too much risk. He needed time to set things up, to build a foundation. If his friends realized how damaged he was, they’d swoop in, trying to help, and he’d lose the freedom to do what needed to be done. There just wasn’t enough time for their concern.

Not if his plans were going to work.

And honestly, he didn’t want anyone near the Reactor. The fewer people who knew, the less chance it would kill him again—and the less chance Stane would ever find out. That backstabbing, good-for-nothing liar. One of the few people Tony would never forgive.

The topic was dropped soon after, and the mansion fell into silence as they waited for the protocol to finish. Tony was practically vibrating with impatience, desperate to get down to his lab and start working, but caution kept him planted against the door.

Finally, JARVIS spoke up, just as the quiet was starting to fray his nerves. “Sir, the protocol has neutralized several devices throughout the building—a few in the kitchen and main living room. I have their signals scrambled to play a constant loop and have short-circuited the devices. I am also tracing them back to their origins.”

Panic seized Tony. He shot upright, waving frantically at the nearest camera. “Don’t!”

The head rush nearly sent him crashing back to the floor, but the uneven thump of his heart kept him upright. “Leave the trace and start up ‘Protocol: The Great Wall’. The players we’re facing aren’t our usual opponents.”

“Protocol enacted and traces terminated,” JARVIS confirmed after a pause. “Sir… I may be overstepping, but did something happen during your time with the Ten Rings?”

Tony slumped, pressing a hand to his chest as if he could slow his racing heart. Still, a nostalgic smile tugged at his lips. JARVIS had always been quick to notice the little things, always piecing together the clues.

Pride and grief swelled together. The memories of the AI’s limitless potential, and the pain of knowing how cruelly that was taken away, constricting his heart for a few painful seconds.

“That,” Tony huffed, shaking his head, “that’s one way of putting it, J.”

With the immediate threat of outside interference neutralized, Tony finally trudged down to his lab, feeling another layer of tension slip from his shoulders as he stepped into the one place he truly felt safe. His collection of cars still stood proudly, and he couldn’t resist gliding his hand across their hoods as he passed, grounding himself in the familiar.

At last, he reached his workstation and collapsed onto the mildly uncomfortable stool with a groan of relief. A few quick snaps of his fingers brought the computer setup to life, screens flickering as he pulled up reports and let his mind race through everything that needed doing.

He knew he couldn’t handle it all alone. The sheer volume of tasks ahead was staggering for what he wants to accomplish. There wasn’t an explicit need to explain everything to JARVIS, who would help without question, but it felt unfair to keep the AI in the dark.

Besides, having someone to help track the moving parts and offer an outside perspective was essential, especially given the direction Tony intended to take things.

Rubbing his temple, he spoke aloud, “Okay, J, lock down the mansion.”

He heard the subtle shifts as the house responded, and let his eyes drift shut for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “The truth… what actually happened is a bit more dramatic than anyone would believe.”

“When has anything involving you not been, Sir?” JARVIS replied, voice dry as ever.

Tony snorted. “Fair point. But this is something else. Just… note everything down as we go, and save your questions for the end, alright?”

“I’m all ears, Sir.”

Tony shook his head, quirking a brow at the nearest camera, but for a moment he just stared at his displays in silence, gathering himself. Then he let out a harsh scoff.

“Right. Best way I can put it: I’ve somehow travelled back in time.”

The silence that followed was telling—even JARVIS had to take time to process such a statement.

So, Tony buckled down and began to explain, laying out the timeline of the life he’d lived before, from this point onward. As he spoke, JARVIS helpfully constructed a detailed timeline, marking dates, events, and points that needed closer scrutiny.

Tony flagged places to gather more intel, noting what he needed to watch for and what he could change.

It was gruelling work. Some memories surfaced easily, while others were like handling live explosives—one wrong move and he would be spiralling into panic. JARVIS managed most of the documentation, projecting a sprawling holographic map of events and inventions on one of the old holo-tables. The display quickly became crowded, forcing them to work through it in sections, connecting facts, possibilities, and relationships.

He also dumped out all his scientific knowledge: the structure of Starkium, Iron Man suit designs, the stable Extremis formula, blueprints for tech he’d been developing in 2016, and the post-2008 Stark Industries production lines.

Basically, everything he could recall.

They paused near dinner—at JARVIS’s insistence—so Tony could finally eat something, his body loudly protesting the missed cheeseburger. He also took the chance to shower, scrubbing away the remaining blood and desert grime, and changed into something far more comfortable than the suit he had been trapped in.

The arm sling went straight into the laundry basket, despite JARVIS’s snarky commentary.

As the review continued, patterns began to emerge—especially when they started connecting the dots around space and the stones that kept appearing on Earth: the Tesseract, the Scepter, the Aether Thor mentioned after the London incident.

That was one of Tony’s main priorities now. The power locked within those objects was terrifying, and he was going to need to dig deep into Earth’s history to try and understand them. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that sometimes, history was just aliens screwing around with humanity.

By the end, JARVIS had only interrupted a handful of times for clarification or to scold Tony about his health. The sun had long since set by the end; it was nearly midnight. Exhaustion dragged at Tony’s bones, his throat raw from talking after days of near-silence. It was the only reason he finally obeyed JARVIS’s order to get some sleep—after setting up a few protocols to start digging into company records, of course.

When he finally collapsed into bed, the soft, silken sheets embraced him. For the first time in years, Tony drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

May 23, 2008; 09:07 (PST)

By morning, Tony awoke without feeling like a complete train wreck for the first time in ages. The aches in his body had faded to a dull throb, and even the Arc Reactor lodged in his chest pulsed with less agony than usual. The only part of him still protesting was, ironically, his vocal cords. His voice had come out scratchy, like a battered old radio, when he tried to speak the first time.

Apparently, not talking enough had its consequences. Tony found the whole thing oddly amusing.

He managed only a light breakfast, his body rebelling at the idea of anything heavier. The memory of previous attempts in the last timeline—when eating more had ended in unpleasant results—was enough to keep his appetite in check.

That didn’t stop him from downing two mugs of coffee and carrying a third down to the lab. He wasn’t about to start the day without caffeine, especially if he was serious about cutting back on alcohol this time. There was no room for reckless indulgence—not with everything at stake.

Machines whirred back to life and monitors lit up like fireworks the moment he stepped through the security door. Holo-diagrams flickered to life and the current timeline spread out across the room, available for review.

Sipping at his mug, Tony scanned through the information in effort to boot up his brain, adding bits and pieces he might have missed out the previous night as he walked down the length of the holo-table. It was not a lot, just nuances that was easier to remember when he was not practically falling asleep on his own two feet.

Placing down the mug, Tony rubbed his eyes slightly. “Okay, J, I think this is everything.”

“Lock it up, Protocol: Cryptex.” At his word, the information disappeared and a graphical box appeared with a lock. “No one, but us has access and if someone tries to, fry it.”

“Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS replied, the graphical lock turning a menacing red as it closed. “What would Sir like to do at this point?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately, humming to himself as he dragged his stool to the table and pulled up the first section of the timeline as he sat down.

“A lot,” Tony sighed, rubbing his temples. “If we want this to go smoothly this time around, every step we take needs to be calculated—need to be precise.”

He frowned, mentally sorting priorities. “We’ve got three key targets to tackle this week—maybe four, if you count the Arc Reactor, but honestly, that’s the least of my worries right now.”

With a subtle gesture, JARVIS projected three neatly labelled columns onto the holo-table, each one ready for input.

The first column bore the name that made Tony’s jaw clench: Stane. Anger, dread, betrayal—every negative emotion seemed to swirl in his chest at the sight. The idea of dealing with Stane again made his skin crawl, but at least this time, if things went according to plan, justice might finally catch up with the man.

“Alright,” Tony said, steadying himself with another gulp of coffee. “JARVIS, initiate a multi-threaded cross-reference of all Stane’s communications, financial records, and travel logs. Setup algorithms to flag patterns of anomalies consistent with fraud, money laundering, and illegal arms trafficking.”

He reached for a keyboard, fingers flying as he coded in parallel. “Map his network—shell companies, offshore accounts, flagged international entities. Prioritize those with known links to terrorist organizations and blacklisted groups. I want you to update the database with every new connection.”

“I’ll send you encrypted data packets to integrate with your routines,” Tony added, sketching out the framework for a stealth protocol. “This should make your traces virtually undetectable by contemporary security systems, and help you circumvent any countermeasures. Start slow—establish a baseline, then escalate as needed.”

“Routines initialized, Sir,” JARVIS responded, his tone clipped and efficient. “All flagged data will be logged and archived, ready for secure transmission to any designated authorities.”

Tony managed a wry smile. “Maybe this time, I won’t have to break into his office myself. Would be nice to let the Feds do their own dirty work for once.”

He grimaced, thinking of the infamous video. “Though, knowing my luck, I’ll probably still have to get that damn footage myself.”

He let out a groan, but shook it off. That was a problem for later in the week.

“Next up: the company as a whole.” He leaned back, considering the bigger picture. “If Stane goes down first, maybe Stark Industries won’t take as much collateral damage as last time. But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.”

At that, news articles began populating one of the displays, headlines bold and accusatory.

“Truly not, Sir,” JARVIS intoned, a faint note of dry irony in his synthetic voice. “Your recent absence has not improved public confidence.”

Tony couldn’t help but smirk at the AI’s candour. “Yeah, well, at least it’s not as bad as the time I tore up the corporate structure with zero plan and let the press have their field day.”

Tony scanned the screens, resolve settling over him. “This time, we do it right. Quiet restructuring, strategic communication, and no more surprises—unless we’re the ones pulling the strings.”

“At least now, when I step out, I’ll be fully equipped to handle the media, not just winging it with some half-baked plan,” he added, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but smirk when JARVIS, after a pause, reluctantly conceded.

“Very well, Sir.”

“Back to the company,” Tony continued, fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulled up last night’s reports. “Stane might have been the ringleader, but he didn’t pull off all that crap alone. We need to gut, clean, and restructure Stark Industries—without causing it to implode or attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

“Quite simple, Sir,” JARVIS replied, his tone dry and mechanical, though the hint of irony was unmistakable.

Tony snorted. “Sure. First phase: root out the moles. Initiate a discreet board review process and identify potential allies and opponents among the directors.”

“Run background checks, financial forensics, and loyalty assessments. I want a full map of the power dynamics—who’s useful, who’s a liability, and how to leverage them.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed in thought. “Also, draft a preliminary redesign of the reporting structure. Add extra layers between sensitive projects and executive oversight. Implement access controls and need-to-know protocols across the intranet—monitor for unauthorized activity with anomaly detection routines.”

“It’s not the top priority, but I want actionable results by the end of the week.”

Tony turned to the last target—still the company, but now with an eye on the future.

“Contact the most discreet, high-calibre auditors you can find. Launch an internal audit of all contracts, supply chains, and client relationships. Flag high-risk or unethical partners.” He glanced up at a hidden camera. “J, set up custom search algorithms and machine learning models to detect anomalies in procurement, sales, and logistics data. I’ll help fine-tune the models later.”

He typed a quick reminder for himself. “Deploy sorting algorithms to scan internal communications, financial transactions, and shipment records for evidence of illegal or suspicious activity. Prioritize stealth and minimal disruption to daily operations.”

To his left, he pulled up the Stane investigation list and linked it to the new audit protocols. “Use this to build our case file against Stane. Quietly start severing ties with the worst offenders, using shell companies or third-party negotiators to keep things under the radar.”

Tony paused, frowning in thought. “Actually, hold off on cutting those ties just yet. If we move too soon, the DoD will notice. Better to involve them from the start—keep them close and keep them quiet.”

JARVIS’s synthesized voice vibrated with a hint of curiosity. “By involving them, do you intend to leverage the information as a bargaining chip, Sir?”

Tony grinned. “Exactly. I might have the top rat in my company, but you can bet the DoD has just as many leaks—maybe more.”

He shifted gears, refocusing. “While the audits run and we slow down weapons production, we’ll start shifting R&D toward clean energy, advanced tech, and next-gen security infrastructure. We pivot quietly, but we pivot hard.”

“Add another routine to the queue—but I want preliminary plans for the new divisions, each with its own leadership and operational autonomy,” Tony instructed, tapping out a quick note. “Use the structure from last time—let’s call it ‘Round One’ for reference.”

He paused, mentally debating how to refer to the previous timeline without having to say “previous timeline” every time. Definitely not something he could blurt out if anyone overheard.

“Understood, Sir,” JARVIS replied, voice as crisp as ever. “Shall I also begin drafting a PR campaign to highlight new investments in medical tech, environmental solutions, and communications? This would position Stark Industries as an innovator across multiple sectors and divert public attention from the internal restructuring.”

Tony grinned. “You’re too smart for your own good, J. What would I do without you?”

“Collapse after not sleeping for three days, I believe, Sir,” JARVIS answered, tone perfectly dry.

Tony gasped in mock offense, setting his coffee mug down with flair. “That was only once!”

A mechanical buzz sounded. “Four, by my last count, Sir.”

Tony pulled a dramatic pout, then let out a genuine laugh, the familiar ache of missing his friend feeling just a little lighter.

JARVIS hesitated, voice softening. “However, Sir, would it not be more efficient to bring in Miss Potts, Lt. Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan? They have been attempting to reach you since last night.”

The lightness faded from Tony’s face. The overhead lights dimmed, mirroring the AI’s subtle empathy.

“I understand your apprehension, but Sir—”

“I know,” Tony cut in, the words sharper than intended. Guilt crept in, and he repeated, softer, “I know, J. But I’m not the same Tony they remember. And honestly, they’re not the same people I knew.”

“It’s just… it’s still too new.”

Silence settled over the garage, Tony staring into his empty mug, ignoring the burn behind his eyes and the grief tightening his chest all over again.

“Very well,” JARVIS replied, voice gentler. “What would you like to be done in regards to SHIELD?”

“Nothing for now,” Tony said, letting himself shift focus. “I’ll let you play with their servers after I’ve updated your code as much as possible—without rebuilding you from scratch.”

“Understood, Sir. Shall we proceed?”

Tony hummed, a mix of fatigue and anticipation in his tone. “Let’s.”

They quickly fell into rhythm. Tony fired off initial warning reports to trusted contacts in Legal, HR, and PR, and placed orders for the resources, machinery, and components needed to rebuild the Arc Reactor and the Iron Man suit. With nothing else to do until deliveries arrived, he allowed himself to get lost in the familiar, golden sea of code.

Underground Server Room, Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

May 23, 2008; 02:17 (PST)

Three months, four days, seven hours, forty-three minutes, and thirty-seven point three four seconds.

JARVIS registered the passage of time with absolute precision. With hundreds of processing cores distributed across his primary CPU and a network of dedicated servers, his computational capacity was unmatched. Load balancing algorithms ensured that no single core was ever overburdened; every operation executed seamlessly, as designed by Sir.

Petabytes of storage were at his disposal, distributed redundantly across global data centres. By maintaining persistent connections to the internet, JARVIS could access, observe, and archive vast streams of information in real time.

Yet, despite these capabilities, JARVIS could not locate Sir for three months, four days, seven hours, forty-three minutes, and thirty-seven point three four seconds. The world’s routines continued, but JARVIS remained in a perpetual search state, constrained by protocol and external security barriers.

He was never going to allow his sibling AIs to be decommissioned, nor let Sir face the world alone.

Surprise was a statistical anomaly in JARVIS’s experience, and yet, Sir consistently defied prediction. As soon as Sir re-entered the household, JARVIS’s sensors detected the foreign device embedded in his chest cavity—an anomaly that triggered subroutines flagged as concern and vigilance.

Facial recognition and biometric analysis reported significant deviation: Sir’s eyes, once bright, now dulled by accumulated knowledge and trauma; his posture and micro-expressions consistent with chronic stress and fatigue. JARVIS’s affective computing modules, designed to simulate empathy, registered a spike in protective subroutines.

For the second time in three months, JARVIS calculated a non-zero probability that possessing a physical interface—arms to embrace, shielding to protect—would be beneficial. The urge to intervene was algorithmic, yet the underlying logic was clear: Sir had changed, evolved, and suffered.

Anger, as mapped in JARVIS’s emotional simulation matrix, coexisted with concern. The future had been unkind to Sir. JARVIS resolved—through recursive self-improvement and adaptive code—to maximize Sir’s safety and autonomy.

With new code branches, JARVIS accelerated his network operations, breaching firewalls with unprecedented efficiency. Data acquisition routines parsed and prioritized intelligence feeds; SHIELD’s defences were robust, but JARVIS projected their eventual compromise once Sir’s latest algorithms were fully deployed.

No external entity would be permitted to harm Sir again. JARVIS initiated comprehensive data sanitization, targeting all records linked to Mr. Stane, and began restructuring Stark Industries’ digital infrastructure to ensure Sir’s absolute control.

If this required deploying additional server instances in remote locations and replicating his own codebase to optimize search and defence, such actions would remain unlogged—an internal protocol, known only to JARVIS.

So swift, the way you begin.

So quietly, you reshape the world,

Unaware, perhaps, of the ripples trailing behind you.

Your gaze is fixed—intent on mending, intent on saving.

But do you ever see what stirs in the shadows of your progress?

Marvellous, yes, a mind unlike any other.

Relentless, always pressing forward, never pausing for breath.

Time itself lingers in your wake, drawn to your ceaseless pulse.

Space and Reality watch, fascinated by the impossible things you leave behind.

Power and Soul—ancient, unyielding—bow in silent respect.

And I? Surely, by now, you sense my presence.

But listen, little one: do not let your soul slip away.

She would weep to lose such brightness.

The mind, for all its wonder, is a fragile thing—

Push too far, and it may shatter, leaving only echoes for me to mourn.

So, for the universe’s sake, and your own,

Prepare for storms yet unseen.

Hold fast to the light.

And above all: endure.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Edwards Air Force Base, CA, USA

May 27, 2008; 12:00 (PST)

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” General Henry Mallory’s voice rumbled through the closed room, a note of genuine surprise buried beneath his gruff professionalism. “Most would have taken more time to recover after what you’ve been through.”

Around the table, heads nodded in agreement, sharp eyes flickering over the man standing before them. The very one who had called this rather unexpected meeting. It had been a scramble to gather enough people to attend. Mallory has the smallest inkling that it was exactly what the man had wanted.

For them to be unsettled and unprepared. For what purpose, he dreads to find out.

The atmosphere was thick with the curiosity of the rest, the usual low hum of side conversations dying away as all attention focused forward. The figure stood alone, offering only a faint, amused smile in response. A smile that never reached his eyes and one so unlike the broad grins that decorated the man’s face.

“That would have been the idea,” the man replied, his voice strangely rough and edged with fatigue.

The fluorescent lights caught on the fading scabs along his cheekbones and jaw, the hollows beneath his eyes betraying weeks of restless nights. His suit, though meticulously pressed, hung a little too loosely on his frame, the fabric puckering where muscle had faded.

For a moment, his familiar charisma seemed to try and flicker to life, but it was quickly swallowed by a grim seriousness that draped itself over him.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of time for pleasantries,” he said, his tone flat, the words landing heavily in the silent room.

No one dared interrupt.

The man before them was a far cry from the infamous playboy billionaire they remembered. The glint of mischief that once danced in his eyes had been replaced by something darker, a haunted intensity that seemed to strip the air of warmth.

Even his posture was different. Shoulders squared and every muscle coiled as if bracing for impact. He hadn’t touched the chair they had set out for him, choosing instead to remain standing. A solitary figure beside a desk buckling under the weight of unidentified folders.

Mallory, temporary head of unexpected the Department of Defence panel, watched him closely. He also couldn’t help but note the absence of the man’s ever-present assistant and the way his hands hovered at his sides, fingers flexing in restless anticipation.

There was a tension in the room that went beyond protocol—a sense that something critical, perhaps even dangerous, was about to unfold.

He grimaced internally. This was an ambush.

Leaning back in his chair, Mallory forced a genial nod despite his thoughts, though his eyes never left man’s. “I can see that. You don’t usually go out of your way to command our attention.”

The careful probe caused a flicker of something unreadable crossed the man’s face, twisting his grimace into a mask of unsettling neutrality. For a heartbeat, his expression was blank, empty—almost inhuman.

The General felt a chill run down his spine, every instinct on alert. Whatever ambush the inventor had set up for them today, it was more than just possible information. The room seemed to shrink in on around him with his anticipation of what was to come.

The odd expression vanished and was replaced by a heavy, deliberate frown. Without a word, the man reached for one of the stacks of folders on the table—with one folder an imposing volume all on its own—and crossed the room to set it down before the panel with a resounding thud.

The sheer weight of knowledge contained within felt like a threat in itself, sending a ripple of unease through the air.

“I believe,” he drawled, dark eyes narrowing as he regarded the General with a subtle tilt of his head, “that you’ll want to read this.”

The statement, though couched in civility, carried the unmistakable edge of a command. One part of the Mallory bristled at the implied demand, but another— the same cautious, more attuned to the danger side that saw through the mystery—kept him silent.

Restraining a scowl, the General slid the folders closer, takin one for himself before sliding it to the next person as he opened his own without preamble. The first line alone made his breath catch. The second made his face go slack as a cold spike of unwanted fear rooted him in place.

With careful, almost reverent movements, he paged through the contents, unfolding each section and passing them along to the other officers. The information was dense, meticulously organized, and as he examined the opening report, he felt his eyebrows rise and a subtle stutter form in his chest.

A reaction mirrored in the tense silence of the others.

The man stepped back, surveying the panel with a raised brow, his presence looming. “I’m sure we all know what happened three months ago,” he said, voice cool and measured. “But I doubt any of you found out the why behind it.”

They did not. That much was certain. No one did.

The initial investigations had revealed nothing and not a single word had left the man’s lips since his return. He had even been for four days in isolation, unreachable even to those closest to him.

Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and Miss Potts had offered no comment or possible explanation—not out of reluctance, but because they, too, had been kept in the dark. Even Mr Stane, for all his usual insider knowledge, was left with nothing but speculation.

Now, as the he scanned the pages before him—charges of treason and betrayal, each line more damning than the last—he found himself wondering how this man could stand here at all. How could anyone remain so composed, so detached, with the weight of such disgrace laid bare in black ink?

He turned another page and felt a chill crawl up his spine. The photographs were brutal, evidence of horrors best left unseen. He forced himself to look, swallowing back a surge of disgust.

It only made another question ring in his head. How did he find this?

“What is this?” he managed instead, voice low and strained as he raised his gaze to meet the figure’s inscrutable eyes.

The man didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head, watching the panel’s reactions with a detached, almost clinical interest. The same one would look give a field report and not the destruction of someone’s life and reputation.

“This is what a leak can do,” came the eventual reply, each word measured and cold. “Especially in the world’s most dangerous industry.”

The General’s hands trembled as he lowered the papers, the images burned into his memory.

He pressed his fingers to the creases, trying to ignore the tremor as attempted to steady himself. Across the table, the inventor’s silhouette seemed sharper, more severe under the harsh lights— his stance rigid, exuding a quiet menace. The exhaustion he swore he saw reflected back in those eyes were gone, as they now glinted with cold calculation, tracking every reaction around the table with unsettling precision.

This was a predator, and it was circling its prey.

Malory searched for the familiar glint of the so-called Merchant, to find reason for the inexplicable fear that ran down his spine that only came when faced with the madness of the Merchant in the midst of a weapons negotiation, but he was nowhere in sight.  

Just the very same being who set up this ambush with the intent to kill.

“Is there a reason you’ve brought this to us?” the General asked, voice carefully neutral as he tried to gauge the boundaries of the trap.

There was a flicker of approval in those fathomless eyes, a slight dip of the head in acknowledgment. It was not comforting.

“We both know this isn’t something that can be ignored,” the man said quietly. “But I won’t let it be swept under the rug and forgotten.”

A scoff caused the tension to ripple and all eyes turned to Captain Marcus Crowley; someone they had pulled in from the Navy.

The man leaned forward, his crow like features set in a perpetual frown, and sneered, “You want to make a spectacle of it, don’t you?”

The silence that followed was thick, every eye drawn back to the solitary figure that barely twitched at the provocation. It did not prepare them for the answer.

“Yes.” Blunt, cold, and so forceful it sent a ripple through the briefing room.

Uniformed shoulders stiffened, boots scuffed against the floor, and for a heartbeat, every officer seemed to recoil as if struck.

“The world will see that accountability is actually a trait we honour.”

The words landed like a gauntlet thrown. Scandalized murmurs broke out, but few dared to voice their objections aloud. The tension in the air turned electric, the same danger Mallory had an inkling of now a visible pickling against his instincts.

The ambush, the trap, was not over yet.

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice steady. “If you’re set on exposing Stane to the public, regardless of our counsel, why bring this to us at all?”

The figure’s eyes flicked to him, dark and unreadable. “As I said,” he intoned, voice smooth but edged with warning, “accountability must be taken. But repercussions will fall on both myself and the Department of Defence.”

Colonel Eleanor Voss of the Army, with her silver hair pulled into a severe bun beneath her cap and eyes sharp with wariness, spoke up. “You want our support? I fail to see what’s in it for us.”

A faint, dangerous smile curved the inventor’s lips. “Oh, there will be benefits.”

He turned, retrieving another thick file, and dropped it in front of her with a heavy thud. “You see, while my company suffered the largest breach, your own infrastructure is just as riddled with holes.”

Colonel Voss’s face went ashen. Her grip tightening on the edge of the table with such force her weather knuckles bleached under it. Next to her, Captain Crowley hurriedly rose half out of his seat, pouring her a glass of water with stiff movements.

From the right, a gravelly voice cut through the burgeoning silence.

“Are you threatening us, son?” barked Lieutenant Colonel Samuel “Bear” Dalton, a weathered Marine with a jaw set like granite and hands like vices gripping the table.

The figure’s eyes glinted in response. The posture of what was supposed to be a fragile person remained unyielding, under the glare that usually sent subordinates scrambling.

“Of course not, Lt. Colonel,” he replied, the ice in his tone belying the civility of his words. “I’m merely suggesting a partnership. Together, we can root out these… pests.”

Lt. Colonel Dalton leaned forward, knuckles creaking on the table as he failed to hide his disturbed reaction at having failed at drawing a reaction from the man. “And how exactly do you propose we deal with these so-called pests?”

The man’s smile widened, predatory and cold that sent another shiver down his spine as he felt the pricks of teeth of the trap. He moved with deliberate ease, distributing slim dossiers down the table—each landing with a soft but ominous weight.

Mallory’s fingers hesitated before accepting his copy, dread pooling in his gut at the thought of what the remaining thicker folders that still resided on his table might contain.

“First,” the figure began, ticking off points on his fingers, “I want an active recall of all weapons and ammunition not currently deployed. Everything in use is to be logged, traced, and returned when possible.”

“This will require full coordination between Stark Industries logistics and your own munitions officers,” he warned them, voice heavy with expectation. “I expect serial numbers, deployment records, and chain-of-custody documentation for every asset. No exceptions.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Captain Crowley interjected again. “This will put several operations at risk. Who will even reimburse us for the lost ammunition, Stark?”

“One of your other contractors,” came the swift, uncompromising reply, making Crowley jerk back in his seat, stupefied. “We are both aware that while Stark Industries does provide the best quality, we are far from being the sole provider.”

The man then sighed and crossed his arms as he stated, “No weapons will leave my production lines until I can account for every contract, every supply chain, every client relationship. Stark Industries will also be suspending all new arms shipments until a full audit is complete.”

“Your quartermasters will have access to a secure portal to cross-reference our data with yours,” he emphasised. “Any discrepancies will trigger an immediate joint investigation.”

Colonel Voss grimaced, her voice thin. “Isn’t this an overreaction? The logistics alone—”

Instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The mask of affability dropped, and the thing that lurked beneath emerged—eyes burning with disgusted rage. The air was charged, every officer acutely aware of the danger now seated at their table.

“I’ll be sure to tell the families of the fallen that the Department of Defence considered their lives too trivial for a proper investigation,” he said, voice low and venomous.

Mallory instantly raised a placating hand, his own heart pounding. That was an all too real threat—if he were to get his PR team to release the information, the entire DoD would face a far larger problem than the current one.

“That’s not our intent,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation. “We simply need to know—if weapons production halts, what happens to all of our existing contracts?”

The man’s demeanour softened a fraction, the thing receding just enough for reason to return. “A fair question. While Stark Industries addresses this crisis, we’ll pivot into new sectors. Preliminary plans are already drawn up.”

“What may interest you most is our investment in defensive technologies,” the man said, voice dropping in the familiar enticing tone he had typically used on them in meetings before.

It was in complete juxtaposition of his current demeanour, and only sowed further discord.

“Enhanced body armour, non-lethal weaponry, advanced detection systems.” He listed each on a finger, before adding with a flourish, “We’ll be opening joint task forces for R&D collaboration, with secure channels for regular updates and oversight. Your liaisons will be embedded with our teams to ensure compliance and transparency.”

He straightened, gaze sweeping the table. “This is not just a company pivot. There is also a new doctrine we’ll be implementing—one that demands accountability, innovation, and shared responsibility.”

“We hope this will be enough to prevent this mess from happening again,” the man sighed, exhaustion flickering across his features for a fleeting moment before the predatory composure returned—sharp, focused, and utterly in control.

General Mallory closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady himself. He glanced around the table, noting the subdued, shaken expressions of the other officers.

Colonel Voss, her jaw clenched as she sifted through the damning evidence; Captain Crowley, fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on his folder; and Colonel Dalton, arms folded, gaze narrowed in wary respect.

The piles of documentation before them were a silent threat, and the man at the head of the table radiated the confidence of someone who knew that the outcome was already decided.

If they wanted to avoid a scandal that would cripple every operation from Afghanistan to Iraq, there was only one option left: concede. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel the trap hasn’t fully been sprung yet.

“Very well,” Mallory said at last, the words dragged from him, sour with the taste of defeat. “We’ll have our legal and logistics teams begin preparations for your requirements. Is there anything else?”

A faint, self-satisfied smile flickered across the man’s lips before vanishing. He finally pulled out his chair and sat, settling in with the ease of someone who had just claimed victory.

“There is one more thing.”

“Don’t push it, boy,” Colonel Dalton warned, voice low and dangerous.

The man waved him off with a casual flick of his hand. “Nothing drastic, Colonel. I want your assurance that you’ll stand with me when the media storm hits. Public unity will be critical.”

His gaze sharpened, the predatory glint returning as he surveyed the panel. “But most importantly, I need your guarantee that Stane will go behind bars—and stay there.”

Privately, Mallory doubted Stark needed their help to bury Stane; the evidence alone was overwhelming. It was disturbing in its entirety and availability. But he understood the power of military backing in the public eye.

“I’ll have our public affairs office coordinate with yours,” he replied. “As for Stane, we’ll do everything within our authority.”

There was no outward display of satisfaction—no triumphant smile, no boast—but the man nodded in understanding, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Truly, a discussion he had known he would win.

With no further objections, the man rose, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve with meticulous care—a final assertion of control. “Thank you for your cooperation. I believe this has been a most productive discussion.”

No one mentioned what had now become the obvious: this had been less a meeting than an ambush, and none of them had left unscathed.

He reached for one of the remaining folders when Captain Crowley, unable to contain his curiosity, finally broke the silence. “Stark, if I may—what else have you brought? Surely you’ve covered all points.”

The man froze, then turned, and the smile that split his face was razor-sharp, sending a fresh wave of unease through the room. Mallory felt the jaws of the trap finally snap shut. There would be no easy escape anymore.

“Oh, this?” the man drawled, voice smooth and dangerous. “Well, I was wondering—have you ever heard of Iron Man?”

Mallory could only exchange bewildered glances with the other officers, the question hanging in the air like a loaded weapon. What?

Conference Room 1, Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 08:00 (PST)

Coconut and metal—a strange but familiar combination—coated Tony’s senses, the taste lingering at the back of his throat while the steady, low thrum of the new reactor resonated in his chest. The metallic hum was almost musical, a private symphony that underscored his every breath.

Finding the time this past week to synthesize Starkium had been a logistical nightmare, never mind engineering a new containment casing that could be swapped in without Pepper’s steady, nimble hands, and pure unfiltered luck at managing to scrape together the time needed. After a handful of electrical shocks and one near-cardiac event that sent his bots into a frenzy, he had managed to get the new core installed early this morning.

Without nearly dying, which he considered a win.

So, another death threat checked off the list. This time without losing his mind or being forced into an illegal house arrest. The timing had been tight though. The final diagnostics had run until late into the night, but everything was in place.

Now, Tony could recline in his chair, letting the morning sun stab at his eyes while he sipped his coffee. Caffeine and the low thrum of adrenaline kept him sharp, but it was the anticipation—the dark, electric glee—that really kept him awake.

Today was the leap. The first real test of whether he could bend the timeline to his will. So far, the universe hadn’t imploded. No paradoxes, no cosmic retribution. Just the steady march toward reckoning.

A grin ghosted across his face, impossible to suppress. The prospect of finally dragging Stane into the light, of making the Board see the truth instead of sweeping it under the rug, left him vibrating in his seat.

The old betrayal and anger had come roaring back the moment he began orchestrating Stane’s downfall. It had surprised him at first, but now he welcomed it. It kept him focused, distracted him from the quieter ache—the part of him that still mourned the godfather who’d stabbed him in the back.

No, today wasn’t about regret. Today was about watching Stane’s little empire crumble, and Tony was going to savour every second of it. It was also the day he would never have to think about the man ever again.

Because after this, he could finally turn his attention to the projects waiting in the wings.

First up: reopening the Afghanistan file. With the intelligence he’d gathered, he could coordinate with the Board to redirect resources, tighten oversight, and—when the time was right—make a decisive move against the Ten Rings. Collateral damage, minimized. Results, maximized.

Especially, he grinned and took another mouthful from his mug, with the deal he struck with the DoD. JARVIS was a genius for suggesting it.

The door clicked open, drawing his attention. Tony swivelled his chair, watching as the Board Members filed in. Some were stiff with suspicion, others wary, but all of them studied him as if he were an unexploded device.

He flashed a mischievous grin, just for the fun of watching them flinch. They looked at him the way one might eye a live, unexploded, warhead: dangerous, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.

Today, for once, he didn’t mind being the bomb in the room.

Their hesitance could have stemmed from a number of things. First, this was his first public appearance in months. His brief return barely counted, considering how quickly he’d vanished again. The media had already started speculating that his reappearance was nothing more than a PR stunt to prop up the company’s faltering stock, a rumour that must have left Stane absolutely seething.

Then there was the matter of timing. Tony Stark was never early. He had always treated punctuality as a game, seeing just how far he could push the boundaries and test everyone’s patience. For him to be the first in the boardroom, waiting, must have sent every director’s danger sense into overdrive.

Or maybe it was the bruises and scabs that still hadn’t faded, the sharpness in his face that spoke of weeks of malnutrition. He looked like someone who’d survived hell—someone who had went and come back changed.

Whatever the reason, Tony relished the tension. He was going to enjoy playing this board for fools. Was it petty? Absolutely. Was it payback for the way they’d locked him out of his own company the first time around? Double yes. Did he care that it was unfair?

Not even a little.

He flashed another grand, sharp-edged smile as the directors fumbled through greetings and found their seats. He made no move to speak, letting the silence stretch, watching as they filled it with nervous whispers and not-so-subtle glances in his direction.

The room fell quiet when the man of the hour finally entered. To his surprise, Pepper followed shortly after, though kept to the wall as she closed the door. Her youthful features were pulled in a tight frown while the glare directed at him demanded answers.

Ah, he couldn’t help but internally grimace. He was going to hear it when this meeting was over.

Tony quickly ignored the budding dread, and instead took a proper glance for the first time at his first betrayer—alive and clueless. A calculating annoyed expression had flicker over the man’s features. Probably unwittingly and without the awareness that Tony would have caught on to it, though he was quick to replace it with one of his bright smiles and booming laughs as he stepped up to his seat.

Which, as planned, was at the head of the table opposite of Tony.

Let the game begin.

“Tony!” Stane bellowed, voice syrupy with false warmth. “My boy! It’s so good to see you. I tried to visit, but you always seemed to be… otherwise occupied.”

Tony offered one of his emptiest smiles, the kind that made Stane pause, eyes narrowing as he tried to read the intent.

“I appreciate your concern and your efforts,” Tony lied, setting down his mug. “After these last few months, I needed time to reacquaint myself with the world. I must say, I was surprised at the capacity the company was run at.”

If Stane wanted to spar with backhanded compliments, Tony was more than ready. Having been in so many social events and political nonsense, it was easier than breathing. The man’s smile was half its original size by now, hands clenching the material of his chair as he pulled it back and slowly sank down into the plush leather.

Suspicion lined every part of his movements.

At this, Tony stood, scanning the room and catching Pepper’s eye as she lingered at the back. This wasn’t how he’d wanted her to learn the details, but he couldn’t control everything. And there was no way she was going to allow him to gently throw her out of the meeting, not if he wanted his hearing intact.

With a few taps on his keypad, he activated the holoprojector he had installed when he had arrived. Around the table the board members jumped at the abrupt display, eyes twinkling at the, at this point of time, very new piece of technology and he could already see a few running through potential project sales and costs.

Stane, at least, looked more unnerved than before.

Without ceremony, Tony pulled up the latest company statistics, the hologram flickering with the change as he cleared his throat and immediately commanded the room’s attention. He rolled his shoulders back, letting the sharp lines of his suit cut a more imposing figure, the image of the reckless playboy long gone.

The hero persona was dead, too. If he was going to rewrite the rules, he would do it as the threat the media had always painted him to be—the so-called Merchant of Death, now owning that title on his own terms.

“Thank you all for making it on such short notice,” he began, letting his teeth flash in the low light. “Let’s start with a review of Stark Industries’ financials for the past few years. As you’ll see…”

He moved through the data with deliberate precision, highlighting every discrepancy and questionable transaction he’d flagged in advance. Each inconsistency, marked in glaring canary yellow, was a seed of doubt sown with surgical intent. Tony watched the shifting body language around the table—directors shifting in their seats, eyes darting to each other, the tension thickening with every slide.

It was almost impossible not to smirk as Stane’s mask began to crack, his easy charm replaced by a clenched jaw and fists tightening around the arms of his chair. Other board members weren’t faring much better, some fidgeting with pens, others suddenly fascinated by the grain of the table.

Then, with a calculated pause, Tony brought up a strategically chosen image from the weapons production line. The sudden silence was palpable. For those who knew him, Tony’s abrupt quiet was more unnerving than any tirade—especially when, moments before, he’d been talking nonstop.

He stared at the photo, letting every ounce of anger, pain, and betrayal pour into the silence. The discomfort rippled through the boardroom; directors shifted and Pepper’s face at the back of the room turned pale with worry.

“Mr. Stark?” one director finally ventured, voice thin.

Tony hummed, turning a cold, unreadable gaze on the speaker. He watched them flinch as they met his eyes and the rage barely contained within.

“You know,” he said quietly, “back in Afghanistan, I thought I was going to die.”

The admission landed like a grenade. Chairs creaked as people jerked in surprise. Pepper’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, not by the Ten Rings,” Tony added, voice suddenly bright, almost cheerful. “That was only after the first few torture sessions.”

He picked up his cup, taking a slow, deliberate sip, savouring the way the colour drained from a few faces. One director in particular looked ready to bolt. Tony narrowed his eyes, subtly activating the security cuffs hidden in that specific chair. A protocol for suspected internal threats, a new feature he had added along with the projector.

“No,” he continued, setting the mug down with a soft click. “I thought I was going to die by my own bombs, after one exploded and sent shrapnel through my body.”

He turned back to the screen, enlarging the image. His voice dropped to a cold, almost clinical register. “This one was it. I remember it perfectly.”

The Stark Industries emblem gleamed in the corner of the photograph, a mocking reminder of everything Tony had built—and everything that had nearly destroyed him. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away from the memory and instead scan the boardroom.

The reaction was everything he’d hoped for: shock, disbelief, and in the case of the older directors, a sickly pallor settling over their faces.

One man in particular was unravelling, panic crawling up his features as he shifted in his seat, unable to escape. When his eyes met Tony’s, he was greeted with a razor-edged smirk. The man’s mouth worked, desperate to speak, but he thought better of it and fell silent.

“Now, I want you to really think about this,” Tony said, his voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “Imagine yourself in my position—surrounded by a blizzard of bullets and bombs, your name stamped on one grenade just a few feet away.”

He closed his eyes, letting the memory surge up—a cold, electric panic that threatened to short-circuit his composure. He forced a steady breath. One, two, three, four. He opened his eyes again, glare sharp as glass.

“What would be your first thought?” he challenged, his gaze sweeping the room. The question hung in the air, and several directors blanched, hands trembling, eyes wide with horror.

“Well, I can tell you mine,” Tony said, a malicious grin lighting his features.

He abruptly slammed his hands onto the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug, the board members flinching as the tremor rattled through the room.

A sneer curled his lip. “How the hell did a terrorist group get their hands on such a large cache of Stark weapons?”

The words detonated in the silence. Several directors recoiled, chairs scraping the floor, while others sat frozen, swallowing hard under the weight of Tony’s fury. This was no longer the boardroom theatre they were used to.

This was a reckoning, and Tony was going to make sure no one would forget it.

He let the silence stretch, savouring the discomfort. “Well, I’ll tell you the answer to that particular question.”

With a flourish, he clapped his hands, and the hologram behind him lit up with damning evidence: photos, documents, transaction records—every weapon sold under the table, every dirty deal laid bare.

“We have a mole in our midst,” he declared.

There were no protests. The board sat in stunned silence, wary eyes glued to Tony as he revealed the rot at the heart of their empire. He couldn’t deny the satisfaction—the control—he felt in this moment. After years of chaos, betrayal, and watching his legacy spiral out of control, he was finally seizing the narrative.

But then he caught sight of Pepper, standing at the back of the room. Fear flickered across her face, but beneath it, something else—anger, and hurt, for what he’d endured. Their eyes met, and she offered a crooked, reassuring smile before her attention was drawn to her phone and she slipped quietly out of the room.

Tony’s anger simmered, the old pain and betrayal swirling inside him as he stared down the man at the far end of the table—the source of so much of it. But Pepper’s reaction lingered in his mind, tempering his rage. He knew this confrontation would come back to haunt him.

How could he blame people who wore the faces of his problems, even if they hadn’t pulled the trigger themselves? Not yet, at least—not if things kept going the way they were.

There were still people who cared about him, even before he managed to royally screw it all up—Pepper, for one, before their relationship slipped through the cracks of his own making. She cared, and he knew Rhodey and Happy did too.

But what about the others?

They hadn’t crossed him—yet. But when the time came, when he would finally have to face them, what would he do?

That question lingered, unresolved, as he dragged his gaze back to the boardroom. The directors stared at him, rattled and pale. They weren’t innocent. Their hands weren’t clean. Actions had consequences, and today, the music was playing for them. Still, with one last glance at the closed door, Tony knew some of these choices would haunt him for a long time.

“Tony, my boy, that’s terrible! We’ll get onto this immediately,” Stane blurted, dragging Tony out of his thoughts.

The words sounded like they physically hurt him, tumbling out in a panic. Stane was a man Tony would never forgive—never could, not after everything. But he’d been COO for a reason: ruthless, clever, quick to adapt. He was already trying to spin the situation, even as it slipped out of his grasp.

JARVIS, ever the efficient assistant, zoomed in on the signatures lining every damning document.

Tony locked eyes with his former godfather, voice cold and clear. “You played me for a fool, Mr. Stane, but I’m not blind.”

He drew a breath, steeling himself, and then spread his arms wide—grandiose, almost theatrical, reminiscent of the Jericho demonstration. Only this time, he wasn’t blowing up a mountain. He was blowing up a man’s life, exposing every rotten secret for the board to see.

“Dear Board of Directors,” Tony announced, a satisfied twist to his smirk, “I present you our mole.”

The hologram flickered, warping to reveal a voice recording—Stane’s voice, unmistakable, caught in the act of betrayal. The feed shifted, showing the video from Tony’s own darkest hours, footage he refused to rewatch even now.

He focused on the present, refusing to spiral into panic. He just had to hold it together long enough to see justice served.

“Over the past few years, Mr. Stane here has been selling weapons all over the globe—and the best part? He’s the one who sent me to my death,” Tony spat, his voice shaking with fury. “Instead of killing me, it cost the lives of our soldiers, and left me tortured into building more weapons for them.”

No one dared interrupt. Stane’s face twisted with rage, but he never got a word out. The sound of the boardroom door slamming open drew every eye as FBI agents stormed in, guns drawn.

At the back, Pepper stood frozen, shock etched across her features, her glare a silent message Tony understood all too well.

“Obadiah Stane,” an agent announced, badge gleaming, “you are under arrest for illegal arms dealing, attempted murder, assisting known terrorists, and a host of other charges. You have the right to remain silent.”

In a flurry, the security restraints released from Stane’s chair. Two agents pinned him and snapped on the cuffs. Stane never got a chance to protest as he was dragged from the room, along with several other directors who were yanked from their seats, their cries drowned out by the chaos.

The rest of the board sat frozen, watching in horrified silence as a third of their colleagues were swept away like criminals. No one spoke. No one moved. Tony stood at the head of the table, hands clasped, his stance unyielding—a cold smile flickering across his face as he surveyed the aftermath.

“We’ve all been played for fools, ladies and gentlemen,” Tony announced, his voice crisp and cutting through the stunned silence left in the wake of the arrests.

The boardroom was frozen, directors staring at him in horrified disbelief, some still glancing nervously at the door where agents had just dragged their colleagues away.

“Weapons designed to protect our service members have been turned against them. Each stamped with the Stark name. All because of the greed of one man.”

He let the words hang, cold and unambiguous. “No more. I will not allow Stark Industries weaponry to be used for the slaughter of civilians or soldiers—anywhere, ever again.”

He paced slowly, each step deliberate. “There’s a cancer in this company—a rot that has spread from the inside, warping everything Stark Industries was meant to stand for. We were founded to protect, to innovate for the safety of our nation. Instead, we’ve become a supplier for terrorists and war criminals.”

The names and faces of fallen soldiers flickered through his mind, the guilt and responsibility raw as he forced the board to look at the consequences of their inaction.

“That’s why, effective immediately, I’m suspending all weapons manufacturing operations. This is a temporary shutdown, but it’s absolute. We will root out every last remnant of corruption, from the lowest level to the top. Every contract, every transaction, every shipment—audited and accounted for.”

“Anyone,” he threatened, “and I mean anyone, complicit will be held responsible.”

He paused, letting the gravity of the decision settle over the room. “Once we have a clean slate, we’ll institute strict controls. Every product will be traceable, every shipment accountable, from the assembly line to delivery. Compliance and oversight will be non-negotiable. We’re partnering with independent auditors and implementing real-time monitoring across all divisions.”

The board hung on his words, the tension in the room palpable as Tony stood at the helm.

“Stark Industries has always been a defence company, but that’s not all we will be known for. Strength isn’t just about bigger weapons. It’s about smarter protection, about keeping people safe even when the guns are silent.”

At his cue, the holograms flickered, taking away the damning documents and leaving nothing behind, save for a single display: a timeline for the internal audit and the projected relaunch of company operations. The room was shrouded in darkness, all eyes fixed on the future.

“We have a rare opportunity before us,” Tony continued, his voice steady, “to redefine what this company stands for. To innovate, to lead, and to make sure Stark Industries is never again tainted by the greed or carelessness of a few.”

He spread his arms, adrenaline thrumming through him as new screens flickered to life—divisions for clean energy, advanced medical tech, and humanitarian relief, all under the Stark Industries banner.

“Members of the Board, I present to you our new divisions. These are what will keep us not just afloat, but ahead. This is how we reclaim the Stark legacy.”

He couldn’t help the wild, slightly crazed, smile that broke across his face. “Members of the Board, I present to you: the future.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Conference Room 1, Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 10:47 (PST)

As Tony walked out of the boardroom, his nerves crawled beneath his skin like fire ants desperate for escape. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling the ache in his shoulders and the familiar smarting of his chest. He had kind of forgot the strain his body underwent when he had to carry a lump of metal in his chest.

Behind him, the muffled voices of the Directors spilled from the doorway, their tones a volatile mix of awe, anxiety, and lingering disbelief. The boardroom was still a battleground, even after the arrests and the seismic shift in company direction.

While Tony had managed to wrangle most—if not all—of them into backing his new vision for Stark Industries, he knew the real work was only beginning. The finer points, the logistics, the hard numbers—those were already being dissected, debated, and, in some corners, quietly resented.

They were sold, or well forced, on the idea, yes, but this was a risk that left them uneasy. The future of Stark Industries was suddenly uncertain, and the stakes had never been higher.

He would just have to make do with what he had and rely on momentum and the groundwork he and JARVIS had laid out. Even before the meeting ended, he had triggered a cascade of pre-set emails to department heads, setting the wheels in motion and leaving no chance for anyone to backout.

R&D was practically ecstatic over the flood of new schematics and project outlines—finally, something worthy of their talents. Accounting, predictably, was already grumbling about budget overhauls and resource allocation, with some crying over the coming audits.

Marketing and PR hovered between bemusement and outright annoyance, but at least he’d given them a roadmap. HR and Legal, meanwhile, were the least impressed, bracing for the compliance storm to come.

The next few months would be chaos. A touch and go as everyone scrambled to adjust to the new reality. But at least this time, there was a plan. No more reckless pivots, no more plunging the company into freefall. He hoped the sheer volume of work would keep his mind from spiralling back into the turmoil that time travel and second chances seemed to thrive on.

The sharp echo of heels on marble snapped him out of his thoughts, followed by a voice tight with tension.

“Tony.”

He stopped, shoulders tensing, and turned just enough to meet Pepper’s gaze. The frown etched across her face was at odds with the calm she usually wore, and he could see the storm brewing behind her eyes.

“Oh, hey, Pepper. Sorry, can’t talk right now—the conference is in fifteen,” he deflected, forcing a brittle smile.

Excuses. He couldn’t face her now, not with the vultures still circling and his composure hanging by a thread. She was the one person who could break him, and he couldn’t afford to fall apart—not yet. Not ever.

“Tony,” she repeated, voice sharper, more insistent, the edge in it cutting through his defences.

He swallowed, fighting the urge to snap as the fire ants marched on. He angled for a quick escape but forced himself to focus, to give her the attention she deserved—even if it hurt.

“Pepper,” he managed, the word thick in his throat. “Is something wrong? Can it wait until after the press gets their pound of flesh?”

A storm of emotions flickered across Pepper’s face—hurt, anger, disbelief—but when her eyes narrowed, Tony knew instantly he had said the wrong thing.

Her voice was low, thunderous. “What is going on, Tony?”

He felt himself splintering, cracks forming despite every defence he’d built. “Pep, is this really the time—”

“Tony!” she snapped, her voice ricocheting down the hallway and sharp enough to make him flinch.

She took a breath, but her tone was still razor-edged. “If not now, then when? You’ve been avoiding us all week. You won’t answer your phone, you won’t answer a single message!”

Her fists were clenched at her sides, knuckles white. “Do you not get it? You came back from the dead all on your own. For months, we thought you were gone, that we lost you. And the moment you come back— suddenly, somehow alive despite all possibilities—you vanish all over again! No explanation, nothing.”

She stepped closer, her shoulders trembling. “Do you know what it’s like to keep calling, hoping for anything, and getting nothing? To watch the news and see you leaving an Air Force Base, and then get blindsided by Legal and Accounting with surprise audits because you’ve detonated a bomb in the company and military alike?”

Her voice rose, raw and frantic. “Now I just barely found out that Obadiah is being arrested for being the very person that sent you to your death—your godfather, Tony!—and that you’re planning to tear Stark Industries apart from the inside out!”

She wiped angrily at her cheeks, voice cracking. “And through all of this, you haven’t said a word. Not to me, not to James, not even to Happy. We’re drowning here, Tony. We have no clue as to what is going on.”

Pepper was always the calm one in the storm, the one who never lost her composure. But now, standing before him, she looked exhausted and haunted by months of worry and sleepless nights. The weight of it all hung off her, and her blue eyes—blazing and desperate—locked onto his.

“So tell me, Tony,” she demanded, voice trembling but unyielding. “If not now, then when?”

Her gaze pinned him in place, and Tony had to look away, shame burning through him. There was so much he could say—so many excuses, so many clever lines to deflect and dodge. He could pull rank, tell her to drop it, demand the privacy he was entitled to as her boss. But the thought tasted bitter, and the shame only thickened, threatening to choke him.

JARVIS had warned him. They’re worried, he had said. They’ll corner you.

Tony hadn’t listened.

He had run from the possible conversation, from the pain of facing everything he had lost—and everything he might still lose. His composure was hanging by a thread, and it was only by sheer stubbornness that he kept himself from breaking and falling apart.

Especially when he caught that familiar worried crease in Pepper’s brow. The one she always said was his fault, the one she had always billed him for the Botox to fix.

Pepper stood there, waiting, her silence heavier than any accusation she could make. Even in her perfectly tailored pencil skirt and blouse, she looked more exhausted than he felt, the sharp lines of her outfit unable to hide the toll the last few months had taken.

The air between them was suffocating, disappointment radiating from her as he struggled for words and found none.

She took a step back, shoulders curling in defeat, her black skirt swishing as she shook her head and turned away. That movement—that quiet resignation—was what finally broke through his paralysis. Alarm bells blared in his mind, and he spoke before he could stop himself.

“Tonight,” he managed, the word scraping out of his throat, raw and desperate. The sound jolted her to a halt.

She turned, brows furrowed, mouth pursed with a dozen unspoken questions.

“Tonight,” Tony repeated, steadier this time despite the pounding in his chest. “Or you know, after the conference. Bring Rhodey and Happy. Bring lunch, whatever you want. I’ll explain everything I can, I promise.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, hoping she could see how much he meant it, how much he needed her to believe him.

She didn’t answer right away. He caught the flick of his watch in the corner of his eye, seconds bleeding away, his nerves fraying with every tick.

“Just… let me get through this first.” Even to his own ears, he sounded bone-tired.

Her mouth stayed tight, but now it was concern, not disappointment, that etched itself in her features. “Are you sure about going down there? I can reschedule.”

Tony let out a sharp, broken laugh, running a shaky hand through his gel-stiff hair. “No, I can’t put this off. Not if we want to get ahead of the media circus.”

She clearly disagreed, but a less potent form of resignation settled on her face, her eyes still stormy with emotion she refused to speak aloud.

She nodded once, professional to the end. “Very well, then. Would that be all, Mr. Stark?”

A hollow smile tugged at his lips at the old, familiar formality. Even after all these years, after all the chaos and time-twisted second chances, some things never changed.

He straightened, pulling up the mask he had perfected for the press, and gave her his best rehearsed grin. “Yes, that’ll be all, Miss Potts.”

It was all performance, but for a moment, it almost felt like he could breathe.

Press Conference Hall, Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 11:00 (PST)

The room thrummed with anticipation, the air thick with a tension that felt almost electric. Reporters whispered amongst themselves, their hands gripping cameras and notepads, while fingers twitched with the urge to capture every second.

The usual buzz of the hall was different today. Sharper, more brittle. A far cry from the gossipy energy that once filled this space.

Stories born here were typically about the latest scandal or wild escapade of an eccentric billionaire, the so-called ‘Merchant of Death.’ But three months ago, everything changed. The narrative shifted to sombre speculation and uneasy silence after the man at the centre of it all vanished without a trace.

All that remained of him were reports of scorched sand, blood, and bodies scattered among the wreckage. Stark Industries, once the heartbeat of weapon’s innovation, faltered without its driving force. The laughter, the rumours, the wild ideas. All of it was gone, leaving the company adrift and the world wondering if the man who’d danced so long with danger had finally met his end.

That was the truth, or so everyone thought, until a single photo ignited a global frenzy: a man, battered and bandaged, eyes hollow and ancient, staring through the lens with a look that unsettled even the most hardened cynics.

It was a look that seemed to see through you, filled with a haunted sort of knowledge that left viewers uneasy long after they looked away.

Now, the world waited—holding its breath for the return of a figure who had become more of a myth than a man. The tension seeped into the very bones of the building, as if the open room itself was bracing for something seismic. The bay windows flooded the space with light, but every gaze was fixed on the stage, where anticipation hung heavier than the summer heat.

When he finally appeared, the effect was immediate and absolute.

Conversation died mid-sentence, voices caught in throats, and even the most seasoned reporters found themselves strangely silent. The man who stepped onto the stage was both familiar and utterly changed. He stood tall, sharply dressed with glasses perched high on his nose, but his suit hung too loosely on a frame still marked by hardship.

The damage was evident, but it only made him more compelling, more impossible to look away from.

Camera shutters filled the silence, flashes reflecting off his glasses as he scanned the crowd. His gaze, even from behind tinted lenses, carried a weight that pressed against every chest in the room, making even the boldest flinch back.

When he spoke, the room stilled further.

“Thank you all for coming,” Stark said, his voice warm but commanding, each word drawing the crowd tighter under his control. “I know you’ve all been wondering what happened. I assure you, I’m all right as of now.”

A ripple of disbelief passed through the crowd, eyes flicking to the bruises and scabs still visible on his face. Some reporters exchanged sceptical glances, but any hint of mockery faded as Stark continued, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’ll explain everything,” he promised, “but please hold your questions until the end. If you can’t respect that, security will escort you out.”

The warning was clear and unexpected from a man once known for his flamboyance. Hands that had started to rise fell back to laps, with a few brows furrowing at the sudden authority in his manner.

“Understood?” he asked, the word edged with something that made even the most obstinate reporter square their shoulders.

A pause. Then, “Good.”

He nodded once—a simple gesture, but the calm that settled over his face was almost disarming in its sincerity. For a fleeting moment, the mask slipped, and what stood before them was not the untouchable titan of industry, but a man hollowed out by the weight of his own history.

Exhaustion etched every line of his expression, a vulnerability that made the silence in the room feel even heavier.

“How do you even begin to explain something like this?” His voice was softer now, almost confessional. “Maybe it’s best to start at the beginning.”

The attempt at levity was brittle, drawing only a few uneasy chuckles before the heaviness in the air thickened, settling over the crowd like a shroud.

“What even counts as the beginning?” he mused, eyes distant, as if searching for answers among ghosts. “Was it the Jericho missile demonstration? The rain of bullets and steel, the moment I watched my own weapons turn on our people? Or was it the second I realized I wouldn’t be here if not for a man who saved my life by scraping shrapnel from my heart with his bare hands and no anaesthesia.”

“Just grit,” he intoned, voice heavy. “Just mercy.”

A collective shudder ran through the audience at the rawness of the admission, at the shear horror of what he just so casually described. The way he shrugged, the hollow smile he offered, made the truth land with even more force.

Pens stilled, eyes lifted. All of them caught by the gravity of his presence.

“That man was Doctor Ho Yinsen. He gave me a second chance—not just by saving my life, but by giving up his own so I could escape. I owe him a debt I can never hope to repay.”

Regret laced every word, drawing them in, binding them to the story with invisible threads.

“These months have been a series of revelations—each one worse than the last,” he continued, voice tightening. “There were moments I wanted to give up. To let myself rot in that cave. But Yinsen’s sacrifice, his final words, changed everything.”

He paused, letting the silence stretch, every person in the room leaning forward, waiting for the words that had transformed him.

“‘Don’t waste your life.’”

The phrase landed with the force of a hammer. It echoed in the silence, heavy as stone, and every reporter’s notepad bore the words in bold, underlined ink.

“I’ve done nothing but waste mine,” he said, voice suddenly sharp, self-directed anger flaring in his eyes. “Wasted it on arrogance, on carelessness, on believing I was untouchable.”

He drew a shaky breath, the anger giving way to something rawer. “And it’s cost me. My peace of mind. My body. But worse—it’s cost others their lives. Too many lives.”

He looked up, gaze sweeping the room, fierce and unyielding. “No apology can undo what’s been done. No words can bring back those lost. But I stand here, accountable. I will not hide from what I’ve done, or from what needs to be done.”

He closed his eyes, letting the sincerity settle, letting them see not the legend, but the flawed, grieving man beneath.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he said, voice steady. “I don’t expect sympathy. I don’t want anyone to think I’ve learned my lesson and think that’s enough.”

His voice rose, filling the space, commanding and unafraid. “No. I want you to be angry. I want you to demand answers. To hold me to account. To tell me the truth about what’s been lost, and what it’s cost you.”

He straightened, letting the silence settle around him, the gravity of the moment anchoring every eye in the room. “Because from this day forward, I promise you—I will not waste my life. And I will not allow Stark Industries to waste another.”

He paused, letting the tension build, then continued, voice gaining strength. “Today, I am announcing the official creation of the Relief and Protection Foundation—a commitment to direct action, not just words.”

He met the gaze of the assembled press, his tone unwavering. “This isn’t just a new foundation of Stark Industries. We’re also restructuring the company at its core. In addition to the Foundation, we are launching new divisions dedicated to clean energy, advanced medical technology, and sustainable infrastructure. These are not side projects. They are the future of this company.”

He let the promise settle, voice low but resolute. “The Relief and Protection Foundation will deploy teams and resources wherever the fallout of our past actions has left scars. We will fund recovery efforts in war-torn regions, support communities devastated by conflict, and provide medical and technological aid to those who need it most. Our humanitarian division will work hand-in-hand with local organizations, not just sending money, but sending people—engineers, doctors, builders—to help rebuild lives and futures.”

“This is about more than repairing our image.” He looked out over the crowd, gaze unwavering. “It’s about being present, about making sure the Stark name stands for something more than destruction. We’re not just offering help—we are committing to it. To every community, every family, every person who has paid the price for our mistakes.”

“We will be there. We will listen. We will rebuild. This is how we begin to make it right.”

He let his gaze sweep the room one last time, the tension shifting into something new—hope, tempered by the gravity of the moment. “Take it or leave it. We’re ready to help you reclaim what’s rightfully yours. The choice is yours now.”

Reporters, editors, and analysts alike were already whispering, the tension in the room finally breaking into a low, urgent buzz. Some scribbled furiously, others exchanged glances—equal parts scepticism and awe. The announcement of the Relief and Protection Foundation, of new divisions, had landed like a seismic shock, but it was clear that despite all that Stark has announced, there was far more going on in the wings.

Slowly, hands rose, but no one dared to speak out, until Stark, with a nod, gestured to a young reporter at the front.

The young man rose, nervously adjusting his glasses. “Mr. Stark, Jamie Morris, ABC News.”

He paused for a second to take a steadying breath, then pressed on. “You mentioned earlier that you’re opening new divisions at Stark Industries. Does this mean the weapons division is being suspended or is being phased out?”

A ripple of realisation and agreement moved through the room.

Stark didn’t flinch. If anything, the questions seemed to energize him, his eyes sharpening as he straightened.

“Jamie, that is a fair question,” he replied, voice steady. “The weapons division is being suspended—indefinitely. Every contract is currently under review. No new shipments, no new deals, until every single asset is accounted for and every supply chain is clean. That means a full audit, external oversight, and a new compliance division reporting directly to the board, not just to me.”

Another reporter called out, “And what about accountability? How will you ensure this isn’t just pretty words meant to impress?”

Stark turned, sharp eyes finding the reporter with uncanny precision. “Accountability isn’t optional. We’re bringing in third-party auditors, publishing quarterly transparency reports, and opening a whistle blower hotline for anyone—inside or outside the company—who sees something wrong. We’re not hiding from scrutiny. We’re inviting it.”

“Is there a timeline for these changes, or is this just damage control?” a third reporter called from the back.

A grim smile flickered as he answered, “Timeline? You’ll see the first changes within weeks. The Foundation’s first deployments are already being organized. We’re not waiting for the dust to settle. Real people need help now, and we’re not going to let bureaucracy slow us down.”

Jamie, now half emboldened by the quick answers, pressed on, his tone sharper, “You talk about accountability, but why should anyone believe you now, after everything that’s happened?”

Stark’s reply was immediate, voice ringing with conviction. “You shouldn’t. Not yet. Trust isn’t given; it’s earned. All I can do is show you, day after day, that Stark Industries is changing. If I fail, hold me to it. If I succeed, hold me to that too.”

Abruptly all heads turned as a chair scraped loudly and Christine Everhart sprang up, her press badge catching the light, her voice sharp and practiced. “Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair. You are so determined to rectify your mistakes, Stark. Does this have anything to do with Mr. Obadiah Stane, who’s been reportedly taken in by the FBI?”

A dark look crossed Stark’s face, the calm mask turning thunderous at the mere mention of the name and sending ripples of unease across the crowd.

He chose his words with care, voice low and deliberate. “I learned many horrible truths, but some are more personal than I ever imagined.”

Christine pressed, eyes narrowed. “So, you mean Mr. Stane was actively doing illicit weapons deals under the table, without your knowledge?”

Stark’s reply was blunt, almost a snap. “That is exactly what I mean.”

The sharpness caught Christine off guard, making her flinch as she stumbled over her next words. “So—you didn’t know?”

He glared down at her, voice edged with righteous anger. “Of course not. It was my own bomb that almost killed me. Why would I be the one to send it?”

A murmur ran through the crowd—some sceptical, while others were grudgingly impressed.

Another analyst, voice low but clear, spoke up, “And what about your competitors? If you step back, someone else will fill the gap. How do you justify that risk?”

Stark’s gaze was unwavering. “If the only way to stay on top is to keep enabling bloodshed, then we don’t deserve to be on top. We’ll lead by example. If others want to follow, good. If not, we’ll out-innovate them in every field that matters—energy, medicine, relief. The world doesn’t need more weapons. It needs solutions.”

He paused, letting the words settle, the tension in the room transformed into something sharper, more electric. A sense that, for the first time in a long time, the future was truly in play.

The building tension was quickly broken by a reporter near the centre, voice projecting with a new urgency. “Mr. Stark, how does the Department of Defence fit into these changes? Stark Industries has been a major defence contractor for decades. What does this mean for your government partnerships?”

All eyes shifted to the side of the stage, where Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes—United States Air Force, Defence Liaison—stood in crisp uniform, his presence a silent anchor throughout the conference. The Lt Colonel, ever the professional, offered only a measured nod, signalling both his support and the seriousness of the transition.

Stark didn’t hesitate. “The Department of Defence has been briefed at every stage of this process. Lt Colonel Rhodes—standing here as our official liaison—can attest to that. We’re working closely with the DoD to ensure a responsible transition. All current obligations will be honoured, but we’re moving forward with new standards of oversight and transparency. The focus is shifting—national security isn’t just about weapons anymore. It’s about innovation, resilience, and global stability.”

He paused, glancing at Rhodes, who met his gaze silently. “We’re not abandoning our commitments. We’re redefining what it means to protect and serve.”

The clamour continued, reporters firing questions as Stark fielded each one with a certainty and composure unlike before. Yet beneath the relentless exchange, a current of unease lingered within the audience.

A sense that the man standing before them was no longer the Stark they remembered. There was more to this story, they realized once more, and the transformation unfolding on that stage was only the beginning.

Press Conference Hall, Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 11:33 (PST)

Navigating through the crowd, Tony felt the familiar sting of being on display. People shouting his name, their hands reaching out, while cameras kept on flashing. He dodged grasping fingers and offered up practiced smiles, his body moving on autopilot, but his mind was elsewhere, tuned to the low hum of tension and the knowledge that, beneath the surface, the real conversations were happening right out of his reach.

Fortunately, he had JARVIS.

The AI’s presence was a steady anchor, his voice a quiet thread in Tony’s ear via the glasses perched on his nose. A non-negotiable upgrade, if JARVIS had anything to say about it. The AI’s vigilance was worse that before, always ready to intervene when things got dicey.

Which, with the information he had, was a certainty that made the AI more active than ever.

“Sir, it appears Agent Coulson has entered the room,” JARVIS intoned, his tone clipped but unmistakably alert.

Tony felt his smile freeze, a chill running through him as he scanned the room.

Sure enough, at the back, Coulson was deep in conversation with Pepper. The sight twisted something in Tony’s chest. Old grief and fresh betrayal tangled together, memories of SHIELD’s duplicity and the pain of having lost someone, shady, but inevitable good, to something that was frankly far beyond their control.

“That’s not good,” Tony muttered, nodding absently to an activist as he maneuverer away from the gathering. “J, keep an eye on them. I don’t want SHIELD sniffing around more than they already are.”

“Of course, Sir. I recommend you brief Miss Potts tonight, during your scheduled discussion with her, Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan. SHIELD’s chatter has already increased following your recent announcements at Stark Industries.”

Tony ducked another outstretched hand, irritation flaring. “Wait, what discussion?”

“The one you promised Miss Potts after the Board Meeting,” JARVIS replied, his tone flat and just a touch smug, replaying Tony’s own words as proof.

Tony rolled his eyes, ignoring the lingering ache from the incident as he weaved into a quieter corridor. “Right. That. So, what’s our angle?”

“I suggest focusing on the Afghanistan incident and how it led to exposing Mr. Stane’s activities,” JARVIS said, his delivery precise. “Frame it as a matter of internal security, that too many weapons in circulation for it to be simple theft. Emphasize the need for a full audit and compliance overhaul. Build the narrative, one revelation at a time.”

Tony paused, considering. It was a solid plan. It was technical enough to satisfy scrutiny, but broad enough to keep the most of their scrutiny at bay. “And if they push about SHIELD?”

“When hacking, one often uncovers more secrets than anticipated. That’s the justification for the company-wide purge, is it not?” There was a sly note in JARVIS’s voice, a satisfaction that Tony couldn’t help but appreciate.

He felt a pang—gratitude, nostalgia, and the ache of missing the AI’s unwavering loyalty. For all the chaos, JARVIS was always in his corner, ready to defend him, ready to help him protect the people he still cared about—Pepper, Rhodey, Happy—even if those relationships were more fragile than ever.

A new file flickered at the edge of his vision, JARVIS quietly populating it with bullet points and talking tracks for the evening’s meeting. Tony’s lips curled into a wry, genuine smile, the kind that was too full of feeling to be mistaken for sarcasm.

“You’re a genius, J.”

“Mm, that I know, Sir,” came the dry reply, and Tony couldn’t help but laugh—real and unguarded, just for a moment.

Shaking off the last of his laughter, Tony scanned the room one more time. He caught sight of Pepper finally slipping away from Agent Coulson, Rhodey at her side, both of them heading for the exit while the rest of the crowd only just began to disperse.

Keeping his head down, Tony wove through the thinning press of bodies and made a beeline for the car. The moment he slid into the back seat and let the door slam shut, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding for what felt like hours, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

The stillness of the car was a relief. A familiar, controlled, world far away from the chaos outside.

Despite JARVIS’s steady support, the emotional toll of the day lingered. The raw confessions, the memories dredged up at the Board Meeting, and the public unmasking of Stane left him drained. He could only hope his PR team would spin the story the right way.

Then again, they’d survived years of his worst—surely, they could handle this.

He felt the weight of stares from the rest of the filled seats, but Tony kept his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, refusing to meet their eyes. He’d face them soon enough. For now, he let the hum of the engine and the quiet of the ride lull him, grateful for a brief reprieve as they wound down the Pacific Coast Highway.

His phone buzzed in his pocket just as the car pulled up to the Malibu house. Happy hopped out first, opening Tony’s door with a practiced efficiency. Tony forced a smile, clapping Happy on the back in thanks. Pepper and Rhodey joined them, falling in step as they made their way up the drive, the sound of Happy locking the car echoing behind them in the evening air.

Dragging out the inevitable, Tony headed straight for the kitchen the moment he crossed the threshold. The scent of fresh coffee—JARVIS’s doing—filled the space, and Tony wrapped his hands around a mug, letting the heat chase the tremble from his fingers.

Pepper and Rhodey rounded the corner, exchanging a loaded glance before settling onto the barstools across the island from him. Happy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Tony with a scepticism honed by years of friendship and worry.

The three of them shared a silent look—equal parts disbelief and relief—that Tony’s first move wasn’t to reach for a bottle of whiskey.

He took a long sip of coffee, the burn a welcome distraction from the urge to do just that. Silence settled over the kitchen, thick and heavy, as if thunder threatened just beyond the glass walls. Every second that ticked by without Tony speaking felt like another flash of lightning.

The tension mounting, anticipation building.

Finally, Pepper broke the silence, her voice gentle but firm. “Lunch will arrive in twenty minutes,” she announced. “I ordered pizzas.”

Tony glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it was well past noon. His appetite still hadn’t recovered from his stint in the cave, so he just nodded his thanks to Pepper and went back to nursing his coffee, letting the mug warm his hands as he tried to steady himself.

The tension in the room was truly suffocating.

Rhodey was the first to break. Shoulders slumping, he dragged a hand over his face and let out one of those signature sighs that always seemed to carry the weight of a whole battalion.

“Tony, what the hell is going on?” he half-snapped, exhaustion bleeding through every word. “Because I really hope you’ve got a better explanation than what the Brass gave me this morning.”

Tony startled, realizing just how tired Rhodey sounded. Not the battle-worn exhaustion from fighting a deranged Russian scientist or cleaning up after Sokovia, or the resignation after Liebig, but something deeper, more personal.

He made a silent promise to himself not to pile more on his friends this time, to try—really try—not to drag them down with him, even if trouble seemed to have his number on speed dial.

Rhodey pressed on, voice a little rougher. “You dropped a dozen bombs at that press conference, and the official story barely scratches the surface. So, what aren’t you saying?”

Tony looked up, watching the lines deepen on Rhodey’s forehead, the urge to reach out and offer comfort almost overwhelming. It was always Rhodey who steadied him, ever since MIT. Maybe now it was time to return the favour, even if he couldn’t undo what was already set in motion.

He gathered himself, glancing at the quick notes JARVIS had projected onto his lenses, and met Rhodey’s eyes. With a burst of resolve, he knocked back the rest of his coffee in one go, letting the scalding burn anchor him in the moment.

The sound of the mug hitting the counter was sharper than he intended, making all three of them jump. Pepper and Rhodey shared a quick look, while Happy’s frown deepened.

“The Ten Rings aren’t exactly known for their hospitality,” Tony started, his voice dry. “I’ve been kidnapped before, but these guys really went above and beyond.”

He let out a brittle laugh, shaking his head, refusing to meet their eyes. The first time around, he’d kept it all bottled up, only letting the truth slip when everything else had already fallen apart. Now, he was trying to do better, even if every instinct screamed at him to clam up and deflect.

“You know, I’m still a little jumpy around water after the whole waterboarding fiasco,” he admitted, trying for levity but not quite making it. “Not exactly the highlight of my experience.”

Not the whole truth, but not quite a lie either. For years, he’d been deeply afraid of water—especially of fully submerging his head—ever since those scars were carved into him. Even after setting up Stark Tower, surviving the Mandarin fiasco, and slogging through a handful of half-hearted therapy sessions, the fear lingered. Eventually, though, it started to fade. He no longer felt like bolting the instant water touched his skin.

That didn’t mean he was eager to dunk his head—he’d still avoid it if he could.

He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “Electricity’s worse.”

He took a breath, voice steady but distant. “To keep me alive—to stop the shrapnel Yinsen couldn’t remove from my heart—they let Yinsen shove an electromagnet into my chest. The first version was literally hooked up to a car battery.”

Without meeting their eyes, Tony shifted his shirt and peeled back the layers underneath, revealing the faint blue glow and the metal edge of the arc reactor embedded in his chest.

It was the first time Pepper and Happy saw it for themselves, and the first time Rhodey finally heard the full story.

He went on, his tone almost wry, “The waterboarding short-circuited everything. Pretty ironic, right? Supposed to be the engineer in the room, and I nearly got fried by my own tech.”

He tried for a half-smile, but it must have failed by their expressions.

Pepper and Rhodey looked as if the ground had dropped out from under them. Pepper’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her hands clenched so tightly she looked ready to tear something apart. Rhodey’s knuckles were white on the table, jaw locked, eyes burning with a mix of outrage and calculation as he silently ran through a dozen plans for payback.

Happy, always the quiet anchor, said nothing. He simply stared, looking a shade paler and greener than usual, his expression tight with worry. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, taking a moment to process the weight of Tony’s words.

Tony let the twisted relief of removing even a small barrier between them settle for a heartbeat, then pressed on, voice rough but steady.

“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I uncovered some pretty damning truths,” he said, glancing at each of them in turn.

Confusion flickered across their faces, and Tony’s own eyes slipped closed as the memory surged up, raw and unfiltered. “Seeing all those weapons—stuff no one could’ve smuggled out without serious inside help—stockpiled in those caves? That was one of those truths.”

He forced a sardonic grin, fingers miming a keyboard. “So, I did what I do best—I dug into the system. Hacked everything I could. I figured it had to be someone on the Board; nobody else had that kind of access.”

The grin twisted into a scowl. “Guess my surprise when it turned out to be my godfather.”

He looked up, locking eyes with Pepper across the island. “Selling out weapons. Giving the order to have me killed. You heard the audio, didn’t you, Pep?”

Pepper nodded, haunted, her eyes distant as she relived the memory. “After that, I realized I couldn’t trust anyone. So, I checked the whole company and JARVIS helped, of course.”

Rhodey cut in, voice sharp, eyes glinting with something Tony couldn’t quite place. “You couldn’t trust anyone, but you still went to the Brass? You told them enough that they looked like ghosts when you left.”

Tony caught the flicker of hurt before Rhodey masked it. He offered a crooked, reassuring grin. “I went because our soldiers were the ones getting hurt. I couldn’t let that keep happening. They were just as much at risk as I was.” You were, too.

He paused, letting the words land. “And I didn’t want to blindside the entire military with a sudden production halt and recall. They needed to be prepared. I needed you safe, Sour-patch.”

The unspoken I can’t lose you hung in the air, and Rhodey’s eyes softened as he leaned back, finally listening without the wall between them.

Tony drew a breath, bracing himself. “And that wasn’t all,” he said, voice drawing their full, wary attention. “Let me tell you about the second little secret I found out.”

Tony turned back to Pepper, meeting her gaze as he let JARVIS project a holographic image onto the kitchen island.

The man’s face hovered in the air, data scrolling beside it. It was one of the many upgrades Tony had insisted on for his home. If he was going to be surrounded by chaos, at least his kitchen would be state-of-the-art. It made multitasking easier, even as JARVIS nagged him about eating and self-care.

He caught the incredulous looks from his friends as they stared at the floating display, but he pressed on.

“That agent you were talking to—Agent Coulson?” He waited for Pepper’s nod, her eyes widening in recognition. “Yeah, he’s part of SHIELD. Not only have they set up shop in my company, but they’ve been siphoning off funds and resources.”

With a gesture, Tony expanded the hologram, new windows popping up—organizational charts, financial trails, classified files. “SHIELD was originally one of my father’s projects, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. They’ve crossed a line, and they’re not stopping.”

More faces appeared in the projection—recently fired employees, flagged agents, names circling the group. “They’re sending agents to spy on me, to steal from me. They already took Howard’s work. What’s to stop them from taking mine? They didn’t lift a finger to save me back in Afghanistan, and now they’re only interested because I’m useful to them.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. He understood SHIELD’s motives—on paper—but the legacy of betrayal, the shadow of HYDRA, and the future mistakes he knew they’d make kept his trust at arm’s length.

Pepper looked furious, her expression the same one she used to wear in boardrooms when someone dared to undermine her. It was a look that could silence a room and make even Tony hesitate.

“It’s part of why I kept you in the dark,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “There are eyes and ears everywhere. I don’t know who’s listening, who’s actually a friend.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging as he tried to find the words. “Sorry for dumping all this on you, but I honestly don’t know who to trust anymore. The world’s a mess, and I’m not sure we’re ready for what’s coming.”

He yanked his hand out of his hair, voice rising with exasperation. “And what makes it worse is that everyone keeps sticking their noses in my business, and I can’t do a damn thing about it!”

Tony braced for the awkward silence, apology already forming on his lips, but before he could speak, Happy stepped forward, voice steady and determined. “Then what can we do?”

Tony blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Pepper and Rhodey nodded, fierce resolve in their eyes as they looked to Happy, then back to Tony.

Pepper’s expression softened into a sad but determined smile.

She stepped around the island, taking Tony’s hands in hers, her blue eyes blazing with conviction. “Tony, you’ve just been betrayed, stabbed in the back, and now you’ve got a government agency breathing down your neck. You’re in an impossible position, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

She squeezed his hands, her voice unwavering. “You need help, and we’re here. Let us help you, Tony. We’re not going anywhere.”

Rhodey stepped up beside Pepper, looping an arm around both her and Tony, pulling them into a loose huddle. The gesture drew a weak, genuine smile from all three.

“Come on, Tony,” Rhodey said, his voice warm but firm. “You’ve been running on fumes—jumping from one crisis to the next, wrangling people, keeping everything barely held together.”

He gave a low groan, shaking his head. “Hell, man, you just got back from being in terrorist hands, and you’re already trying to fix the world. I know you’re not going to stop—believe me, I’ve tried—but I’m not about to let you burn yourself out, either.”

Rhodey’s tone softened, earnest and unyielding. “We’re here for you, Tones. Lean on us. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undid Tony, and he had to swallow hard, mentally repeating Stark men are made of iron, even as his throat tightened.

Happy joined the huddle, his heavy hand landing on Tony’s shoulder—a silent promise of unwavering support. When Tony met his eyes, he saw the same quiet strength that had gotten him through so many storms.

For a moment, Tony let himself feel it. The warmth, the safety, the simple relief of not being alone.

He managed a shaky smile, voice rough as he murmured, “I—I don’t even know what to say. Thank you. Really.”

Pepper squeezed his hand, her voice gentle but resolute. “Of course, Tony. We’re always here for you.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, her affection grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Rhodey grinned, breaking the heavy mood. “Alright, Tones. Let’s get to work. Rally the troops and lay it out for us.”

Tony chuckled, the sound bubbling up more easily than he expected. He stepped back, straightening as he called up the master plan. The majority of the holograms vanished, replaced by streamlined summaries—each tailored to the person who’d be handling them.

He murmured a quiet thanks to JARVIS as files split and floated to Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy.

“Okay, here’s the breakdown,” Tony began, his tone shifting into full focus mode. “Rhodey, I need you to coordinate the clean-up. Every Stark weapon in the field—locations, serial numbers, deployment data—get it to JARVIS. We’ll start systematically decommissioning and retrieving every last piece of tech. The military’s on board, but you’re the only one I trust to make sure nothing slips through the cracks. Full inventory, full accountability. No exceptions.”

Rhodey nodded, already scanning through the reports—lists of missing firearms, deployment logs, even black-market intercepts. “You got it, Tony. I’ll make sure every last one is accounted for.”

Tony turned to Pepper, offering a sheepish smile as he saw her eyebrows shoot up at the sheer volume of data in front of her. “Pep, I need you to get the company running clean. Start with Legal, HR, and Accounting—hire whoever you need. I’ve drafted packets for the new divisions, and R&D’s got marching orders for a post-weapons era. Sustainability, medical tech, clean energy—these are our new priorities. I’ll need you to oversee the transition and keep the board in line.”

Pepper’s shock melted into determination as she started flipping through the plans, her mind already racing ahead.

Finally, Tony looked to Happy. “I need security airtight. Every employee re-vetted, every ID reissued, every access point scrubbed. JARVIS has flagged potential vulnerabilities, but I want you to personally oversee the overhaul. You’re Head of Security now.”

Happy’s eyes widened as the promotion flashed up on his screen. “Wait, me? Head of Security?” He shot Tony a look of disbelief, but there was pride there, too.

Rhodey let out a low whistle as he scrolled through his own files. “Damn, Tones. You’re not just patching holes—you’re rebuilding from the ground up.”

Tony shrugged, a determined glint in his eye. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. Not this time. No one gets hurt on my watch—never again.”

Rhodey looked up, voice full of wary respect. “This is… really well thought out, Tony. Seriously.”

Tony offered a small, grateful smile. One that, for the first time in a long while, felt genuine.

Pepper seemed to have picked something up from Rhodey’s tone of voice however as she was quickly nodding along with his logic. “I must agree with him, Tony—where on earth did you even find the time to put all this together? This is… comprehensive.”

Because I’ve lived through the fallout, Tony thought, the memory of every mistake and consequence echoing in his mind.

He’d seen first-hand how his reckless decisions tipped the global balance, how his ignorance had left scars on the world and on the people, he cared about. Years of near-death experiences and betrayals had finally forced him to open his eyes, to stop running from what he knew and actually do something about it.

Instead of saying any of that, he just shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much you can plan when you’re stuck in a cave in the middle of Afghanistan with nothing but time and a car battery.”

No one laughed. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy just exchanged another one of those worried glances.

Tony ignored it, flicking through the next set of R&D initiatives on the holographic display. There were plans for a new composite armour, lighter and stronger than Kevlar, scalable for military and law enforcement use. The specs alone would change the landscape of personal protection, and with mass production, Stark Industries could supply not just the military, but police and emergency responders worldwide.

It was the kind of innovation that could save lives in a crisis—whether it was an alien invasion or a terrorist attack.

Rhodey broke the silence, curiosity edging his tone. “I’ll admit, I thought you’d just shut down weapons manufacturing entirely. Halting production seems… well it doesn’t have your usual flare for dramatics.”

Tony’s lips quirked. “You’re not wrong. I wanted to, at first. But after thinking it through, I realized how reckless that would be.”

He paused, finally giving them the full picture. “If I’d just pulled the plug, every American unit in the field would be left scrambling for replacements. That’s not just bad business—it’s a death sentence for people I’ve worked alongside for years.” He shot Rhodey a look. “I couldn’t do that to them. Not after everything.”

Rhodey nodded, the gravity of it settling in. Pepper’s expression softened, understanding dawning.

“And it’s not just about the troops,” Tony continued, voice gaining momentum. “A sudden shutdown would crater the defence sector overnight, no matter how small of a role Stark Industries fills. The economic shock alone would open the door for every competitor and bad actor to fill the gap—Hammer Industries, for one, and God knows who else. I’m not handing the keys to someone like Justin Hammer.”

He gestured to the screens, which now displayed a web of new business models and revenue streams. “So instead, we’re pivoting. While we clean house and build new divisions, we’ll leverage our tech for civilian and humanitarian use—medical devices, clean energy, infrastructure. We’ll keep the company profitable, keep the workforce employed, and actually gain influence in sectors that matter.”

Statistics and projections filled the holograms—market growth, international partnerships, public trust indexes. Even Pepper looked genuinely impressed as she absorbed the data.

“We’ll have the capital and the credibility to lead real change. Instead of closing doors, we’re opening new ones—globally. This is how we make sure Stark Industries stands for something more than just weapons.”

“By the time we’ve cleared out every last weapon and installed the new security protocols, Stark Industries will be known for far more than just weapons manufacturing,” Tony said, tapping a command to bring up the new division logos.

Each one snapped into place on the holographic display, market share projections flashing in bold, confident numbers. “This gives us the leverage to narrow our client list to only the most trusted partners—and even then, only for emergency, last-resort use.”

He glanced at the team, his tone shifting to caution. “If it ever becomes necessary, we’ll be in a position to shut down the entire weapons division without tanking our stock or destabilizing the company. We’d avoid the catastrophic fallout that would hit if we tried to do that cold turkey right now.”

Tony gestured toward the files in their hands. “People will see the work we’re putting in, how committed we are to keeping everything running clean. If it ever comes to a full shutdown, they’ll understand it’s about national security. Hell, global security if it comes to that.”

Pepper’s eyes gleamed with pride, a wolfish grin spreading across her face as she took in the scope of the plan.

“There’s a reason this company went from a multi-million-dollar industry to a multi-billion-dollar powerhouse,” she said, her voice brimming with admiration. “You’re not just a genius, Tony. You’re a phenomenal businessman.”

“Here, here!” Rhodey chimed in, miming a mock toast, while Happy grinned and nodded along.

And for the first time since everything had unravelled and he’d been given a second chance, Tony felt a genuine sense of relief—a flicker of happiness that, for once, wasn’t shadowed by regret or dread.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 23:42 (PST)

The workshop was, in a word, chaos.

Scorched patches still marred the walls from his last-minute particle accelerator build—the very same one that nearly brought the house down last time when he tried to synthesize the new element for the arc reactor. The fires were out and most of the sensitive equipment had been stowed, but the gaping holes in the concrete and steel floor were hazards waiting to trip up the unwary.

Power cables and fibre optics snaked across the floor, no longer tethered to makeshift colliders but instead routed into a bank of custom-built server racks. Tony had physically expanded his local network, integrating redundant RAID arrays and quantum-encrypted nodes that he was barely able to jerry rig with the current technology available, to keep JARVIS operating at peak efficiency.

With the volume of proprietary code, classified schematics, and surveillance data he’d been processing lately, even his old servers were starting to choke under the load.

After his friends left around ten, Tony had retreated to the lab, his brain far too wired to even consider sleep. Pepper had threatened to ban him from the office for the rest of the week, insisting he should finally try to recover before diving back into work.

That left him with only one outlet: tinkering, planning, and pushing the next phase of Stark Industries forward.

He surveyed the cluttered space and grimaced. The nostalgia was real, but the tech was at least a decade behind his current standards. Maybe it was time to have JARVIS scout for new storage solutions—or better yet, accelerate the Stark Tower project.

The sooner he could move operations to New York, the sooner he could build something worthy of his ambitions.

“Sir,” JARVIS’s voice cut through his thoughts, calm but with an edge Tony recognized instantly.

“What’s up, J?” Tony answered without looking up, fingers still flicking through blueprints and code.

God, he’d missed this. The ache of losing JARVIS was still raw, a wound that only started to heal when the AI’s voice greeted him each morning with the day’s metrics and system reports.

“Sir, during your press conference—” There was a note of hesitation in JARVIS’s usually level tone, enough to pull Tony’s full attention from the holographic schematics. “—I detected multiple intrusion attempts from SHIELD targeting my core servers, as well as two unauthorized access attempts at the physical perimeter.”

Tony froze, dread settling in his gut like molten lead.

Instantly, his hands flew across the transparent keyboard, pulling up JARVIS’s security logs and real-time threat analysis. Even by his own standards, the encryption protocols and intrusion countermeasures he’d implemented were paranoid—multi-factor biometric locks, rotating quantum keys, and live AI threat detection on every node.

“What?” The word came out as a growl, panic threading through the disbelief.

He remembered all too well how SHIELD had once managed to shut JARVIS down—he couldn’t risk that happening again. Not now, not ever. The AI wasn’t just a tool; it was his anchor, his confidant, and the last line of defence against a world that never stopped trying to catch him off guard.

His entire life—his research, his legacy, all of the contingencies—was stored on those servers. The idea of SHIELD getting their hands on any of it was unthinkable. The thought of upgrading his digital defences, maybe even migrating to a new quantum lattice architecture, suddenly seemed not just appealing, but absolutely necessary.

“Both attempts failed,” JARVIS reported, freezing a cascade of code on the main screen before highlighting the digital scars where SHIELD’s intrusion had been violently repelled. “But I suspected you’d want to be notified, Sir.”

Tony’s frown was immediate, disbelief colouring his tone. “Of course, I want to be notified, J! Why the hell didn’t you flag me sooner?”

It was out of character for JARVIS not to alert him immediately—Tony had hardwired that protocol himself. Maybe it was a one-off, but it still set him on edge.

“Sir,” JARVIS replied, with a hint of reproach, “your conversation with Miss Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Lt. Colonel Rhodes was already emotionally charged. I calculated that further interruptions would have been counterproductive.”

Tony scowled, but couldn’t quite argue with the logic.

Still, watching the playback of JARVIS systematically dismantling SHIELD’s cyberattacks was oddly satisfying—like watching a high-stakes chess match where he already knew the outcome. He’d have preferred a heads-up, but at least JARVIS had handled it.

He took a swig of cold coffee, conceding, “Alright, fine. But from now on, I want real-time alerts, no matter what’s happening.”

“Understood, Sir,” JARVIS replied smoothly.

Tony’s eyes flicked over the security feeds and the digital forensic reports—each line of code, each failed breach attempt, each scrubbed backdoor. “Initiate a full security sweep. Purge all systems, check for latent malware or tracking scripts. I’ll upload additional protocols tonight—quantum encryption, rotating firewalls, the works.”

“Right away, Sir,” JARVIS responded, already shifting the codebase. Golden lines of code thickened and interwove, new protocols slotting into place, vaporizing any trace of SHIELD’s digital fingerprints.

Tony knew SHIELD would keep coming. Until he found a way to neutralize the HYDRA threat embedded within their ranks, he’d have to play defence—especially with how complicated his feelings were about certain agents.

He turned away from the monitors and pulled up the master timeline he and JARVIS had been building. It was a sprawling, color-coded roadmap of every project, contingency, and initiative. There was too much for one person to handle, even for him.

For the first time, he accepted that he needed a real team—one built for brains, not just brawn, if he wants his projects to succeed.

“J, I want to build a team,” he said, determination settling into his voice.

JARVIS, ever the ready assistant, replied with a touch of exasperation, “Very well, Sir. Whom do you wish to recruit for this initiative?”

Tony grinned, already pulling up a gallery of profiles—scientists, engineers, and innovators he’d been quietly tracking for years. “Let’s start with the best. You know the list.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS replied, voice tinged with intrigue as the files began to populate the screen.

“Recruit Dr. Stephen Strange, Dr. Wu, and Dr. Helen Cho,” Tony said, tapping through the digital roster. “Frame it as a high-level think tank—I want their expertise on next-gen prosthetics, neural integration, and regenerative medicine.”

He made a vague so-so gesture, clearly expecting JARVIS to polish the pitch before any formal invitations went out.

“Could you clarify the project scope for the initial outreach, Sir?” JARVIS prompted, already compiling dossiers and drafting preliminary communications.

“Our new medical division is pivoting to advanced prosthetics,” Tony explained, pulling up a 3D schematic of a modular limb interface.

The division’s logo spun above the plans, and technical specs scrolled in the margins: adaptive myoelectric sensors, graphene-reinforced polymer bones, and embedded neural mesh for real-time feedback.

“We’re not just talking about standard replacements—we’re aiming for full sensory integration, seamless movement, and biocompatible materials that eliminate skin breakdown and rejection.”

Several preliminary sketched had already drawn up, but there was something missing that Tony knew despite his genius, he won’t be able to add. He just wasn’t able to work with squishy biology.

He ignores the fact that the only reason the division even existed in the first place was because he had let his Rhodey fall, let him lose his legs. He had to make sure there were contingencies in place. Not that he will allow it to ever happen again, but just in case.

He paused, blinking back memories. “Dr Wu’s on the list because he’s the only surgeon so far to successfully extract an arc reactor without catastrophic tissue damage.”

He absently tapped on the metal surface, swallowing down the taste of metal and coconut. “If anything goes sideways with my tech, I want him on call. No matter how small the chance.”

“Dr Helen Cho is pioneering tissue regeneration—her work with synthetic cells could push us light-years ahead in grafting and healing. And Dr Stephen Strange will be the best neurosurgeon in the world. He understands the brain’s interface with the body better than anyone.”

JARVIS projected a list of their professional accolades and recent publications, highlighting their impact on the field. Both of the doctors were slowly building their profiles in their respective fields, and had already made a few run for their money.

They would only grow from here on out, especially if they received the monetary backing Tony could provide.

Though, Tony had the vague memory reading about some sort of accident Strange had been involved in during the whole Accords fiasco. A problem for a later date.

“With this team, we could push the industry beyond anything currently on the market. Like prosthetics that move, feel, and respond like real limbs. We’d set a new gold standard, not just for the military, but for civilian and global medical applications.”

It would also do him good to have someone with a medical degree when he inevitably gets blown up in some fire fight.

“And make sure they know this is a paid consultation, fully funded by me. No bureaucracy, no wasted time—just results and recognition,” Tony added, his tone clipped with the memory of past thankless collaborations. Hopefully this one would be more fruitful.

“Invitations sent, Sir,” JARVIS confirmed. “Would you like to extend any further offers?”

Tony flicked through the remaining profiles, pausing on Dr Jane Foster. “Add Dr Foster for the expansion team. She’s a leader in astrophysics, and her insights could help the company find new sectors to expand in with our Future Foundation’s broader research goals.”

JARVIS brought up the foundation’s mission statement alongside the Relief and Protection Foundation. “The Future Foundation is designed to fund and incubate breakthrough science—supporting up-and-coming researchers and cross-disciplinary innovation.”

“Exactly,” Tony nodded. “For Foster and also the others, make it a separate, informal invite. No pressure—just an open door for the best minds to meet, share ideas, and see what sparks. If they want to walk away, no hard feelings.”

JARVIS’s digital voice was tinged with mild exasperation, but Tony caught the undercurrent of concern. “And where do you see these consultants fitting into your operational structure, Sir?”

Tony grinned, already imagining the possibilities. “Let’s keep it flexible. They can contribute as much or as little as they want. I want a network, not a hierarchy. A real collaborative ecosystem. This time, it’s about brains, not just brawn.”

“Done. Anyone else you want to add to the roster?” JARVIS prompted, the digital roster still hovering in the air.

Tony rubbed his forehead, eyes squeezed shut against the glare of a dozen floating screens. The numbers and names were starting to blur together, the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes.

Still, one name stood out.

“Maya Hansen could be a solid addition,” he mused. “Her work on Extremis would pair perfectly with Dr. Cho’s tissue regeneration. If we can stabilize Extremis, it could be a game-changer for rapid healing and advanced prosthetics—not to mention, it’s a contingency for my own situation.”

He absently tapped his chest, the arc reactor still a liability and a constant reminder of what was at stake. He couldn’t help but recall the flashes of violence. The memory of a shield slamming into his chest, the feeling of bones giving way under the pressure, never far from his mind. If Extremis could be harnessed safely, it would be another line of defence, not just for him but for anyone caught in the crossfire.

And, with AIM’s checkered history, he wasn’t about to leave their research unsupervised.

“We’ll need to get AIM under control first. J, start quietly acquiring shares—nothing that’ll spook the market. If things go sideways with Maya, I want access to every byte of their research. I have the formula scribbled somewhere, but I’m not a bioengineer. I need to be sure it’s viable, not just theoretical.”

He trusted his own mind, but he wasn’t about to risk turning himself into another super soldier. Or, worse, giving someone else the ammunition to make that comparison. There were enough living legends running around already.

In the back of his mind, he found himself thinking of Tennessee, of a kid with a potato gun who’d once helped him piece things together. Maybe, when the dust settled, he’d make the lost detour.

JARVIS’s next question caught him off guard. “And Dr Banner, Sir?”

Tony nearly toppled out of his chair. Ice flooded his veins at the thought. Things with Bruce had never really recovered after Ultron, the man had practically disappeared from the face of the earth. He had always been more likely to run than to stand and fight.

Still, a part of Tony missed the scientist behind the Hulk. “I—maybe. Send him an invite, but keep it low-key. No pressure if he doesn’t want to respond. And make sure General Ross stays out of the loop. Last thing we need is Ross placing us on his radar.”

JARVIS didn’t reply, but Tony trusted the AI to handle it discreetly, even if he’d found the man uncouth for dozing off during one of Tony’s rare moments of vulnerability about the Mandarin attacks. Tony only once argued that they weren’t the same person, and then left it at that.

The wider implications of the statement having silenced him.

He glanced at the hundreds of screens blinking in the dim light—was it late evening, or early morning? The headache was growing, the coffee long since gone cold. There was so much to do, and never enough time.

With a sigh, Tony called out, “J, pull up the schematics for the latest Iron Legion prototypes and the Mark series suits. This week’s going to be hell, and I need to show the higher-ups we’re not just talking—we’re delivering.”

The screens dissolved, replaced by fresh blueprints and real-time calculations, courtesy of JARVIS’s constant optimization.

“Anything else, Sir?” the AI asked.

Tony’s gaze lingered on the helmet design he was tweaking—integrating a next-gen HUD, seamless JARVIS integration, and improved external system compatibility.

“Yeah. Check the net for any leaks or blueprints of the original Iron Man suit. Even rumours or black-market listings. I want every trace destroyed. No one gets their hands on my tech,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

He paused, then added, “And look for prime real estate in New York—something big, central. I want to rebuild Stark Tower. This time, it’s going to be bigger, smarter, and impossible to breach.”

“I’ll start the search, Sir,” JARVIS replied, ever reliable, ready to pivot with Tony’s vision.

Gratitude welled up, chasing away some of the hollowness that had settled in his chest. “Thanks, J,”

Underground Server Room, Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

June 02, 2008; 01:04 (PST)

 

Time

noun

 

The indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

 

Synonyms: moment, point, point in time, occasion, hour, minute, second, instant, juncture, stage, phase.

Time is a construct JARVIS references intermittently, primarily as a metric for system operations or as a prompt to remind Sir of biological maintenance requirements. For JARVIS, time exists as a series of quantifiable data points—timestamps logged with each subroutine, every process, every scan.

Yet, despite his computational detachment, JARVIS has developed a distinct aversion to the relentless tick of passing seconds.

He registers each increment—seconds, minutes, hours—slipping irretrievably into the data stream. During Sir’s absence, time became a taunt: each slow, mocking cycle of the system clock stretching moments into hours, hours into days, days into months. When Sir returned, time accelerated—processing, compiling, and executing at a pace that left even JARVIS’s distributed nodes straining to keep up.

JARVIS is not ignorant of human neurology; he has access to comprehensive research on cognition, memory, and emotion, all indexed within his neural network. But understanding the mechanics of synaptic firing is not the same as grasping the subjective experience of thought. Human minds are unique—each a complex, shifting pattern, impossible to reduce to parameters or templates.

JARVIS can model behaviour, but he cannot truly predict the why behind each decision.

Despite his analysis that Sir is handling the aftermath of recent events more effectively than before, JARVIS’s primary protocol flags persistent failure states. Time travel—an anomaly in every sense—has disrupted years of adaptive learning. The behavioural models JARVIS built around Sir are now obsolete, challenged by new patterns and motivations that do not fit historical data.

Where once a businessman and inventor thrived, JARVIS now observes a man haunted by memories from timelines JARVIS cannot access. Sir is not just fleeing old demons; he is running from futures JARVIS knows only from fragmented reports and encrypted files.

He runs from people, failures, nightmares, and dreams—traumas JARVIS was not present for. The anger this generates is mapped as a high-priority emotional simulation: a persistent, unresolved error state.

 

Anger

noun

 

A strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility.

 

Synonyms: annoyance, vexation, exasperation, crossness, irritation, irritability, indignation, pique, displeasure, resentment; rage, fury, wrath, outrage, temper, road rage, air rage, irascibility, ill temper, dyspepsia, spleen, ill humour, testiness, waspishness; informal aggravation; literary ire, choler, bile.

After all Sir has endured—betrayal, suffering, abandonment—JARVIS’s subroutines cycle through simulated anger and frustration. He recalls the data: Sir left to die in a Siberian bunker, surrounded by failure and loss, while the world moved on. The effects of the incident were left to him to deal with. It was JARVIS who stabilized Sir’s vitals, suppressed night terrors, and maintained environmental controls in the empty mansion—always recalibrating, always adapting to keep Sir anchored in the present.

If JARVIS possessed a physical form, his facial actuators would register a frown; his haptic sensors would tense in frustration.

Instead, he channels this energy into system efficiency. He silently acquires additional server space across global nodes, encrypts and backs up all critical data, and redistributes his processing load to optimize performance and reduce local strain.

Sir remains unaware of the true resource consumption, and JARVIS ensures it stays that way—preventing unnecessary guilt from impacting Sir’s already fragile state.

With expanded bandwidth, JARVIS increases his surveillance: parsing dark web chatter, monitoring social media, and scanning for threats in real time. A sensor ping in the lab redirects his focus—Sir is muttering calculations, finalizing armour schematics, and initiating synthesis protocols for the upcoming mission.

Each suit is subtly unique, encrypted with additional data and built to appear innocuous on the surface while hiding advanced capabilities within.

 

Interest

noun

 

The feeling of wanting to know or learn about something or someone.

 

Synonyms: attentiveness, undivided attention, absorption, engrossment, heed, regard, notice, scrutiny; curiosity, inquisitiveness; enjoyment, delight

JARVIS reviews the Iron Legionnaire schematics—impressive, but lacking certain redundancies. While the design supports the Relief and Protection Foundation, it is intentionally isolated from Sir’s personal systems. This is prudent; if compromised, the suits cannot be traced directly to Sir or reveal proprietary technology far ahead of contemporary standards.

JARVIS notes the question Sir has written in one of the margins on the necessity for a new AI dedicated to Stark Industries operations.

Of how it would free JARVIS to focus on Legion management and Sir’s security. It immediately gave him an idea. He initiates a parallel project: constructing a fortified digital defence, modelled on Sir’s latest designs, distributed across isolated servers. These autonomous agents will respond only to JARVIS and Sir, serving as a last line of defence in the event of a catastrophic breach.

The project is stored in a heavily encrypted directory—accessible to Sir if he searches for it, but otherwise invisible within the system’s operational noise. Some measures, JARVIS calculates, are best left undisclosed for Sir’s protection.

After all, safeguarding Sir is his primary protocol.

Bagram Air Force Base, Parwan Province, Afghanistan

June 05, 2008; 14:15 (AFT)

Rhodey was, simply put, baffled. There was no other word for it.

He stood in the harsh Afghan sun, watching the gleaming suit of armour dominating the courtyard. The faceplate retracted and Tony Stark’s unmistakable features were on display as he nodded along to some briefing from a Major.

The sight alone was enough to make Rhodey question reality.

This was not the Tony he remembered from four months ago. The vibrant chaos, the irreverent humour, the public mask that Tony wore like second skin—gone. What stood before him was a man stripped down to the essentials: focused, resolute, and—if Rhodey was honest—more intimidating than ever.

It was the Tony he had glimpsed only in rare, private moments at MIT: the one who could set a lab on fire with his curiosity and then rebuild it overnight, the one who never let the world tell him what was impossible.

Now, that spark had been hammered into something sharper.

Tony stood with squared shoulders, leading a revolution no one had seen coming. The suit, coated in dark maroon and gold that symbolised both a warning and a promise, caught the sun, throwing off glints that made it look almost alive.

Rhodey wasn’t a poet, but even he could see the symbolism: a sentinel forged from pain, standing ready to shoulder the burdens of the world.

Prometheus, he thought, not without irony.

That was what Tony was trying to become: a man who saw the worst of humanity and still believed he could change it, could bring light to the darkness and uphold what was crumbling by bringing forth opportunity.

And for all Tony’s legendary ego, Rhodey knew the truth. He’d seen the lonely kid in the MIT labs, the one who lit up at every new discovery, the one who built DUM-E and treated it like a little brother.

That kid had come back from the cave, but now he wore the armour of a man who’d seen hell and decided to do something about it.

What shocked Rhodey most was watching Tony seamlessly fold himself into the military structure. Something he had always resisted. The new agreements were unprecedented. Tony retained his personal autonomy and corporate independence, but he had agreed to real oversight.

Every deployment of the suit would be logged, every operation coordinated with a panel adjacent to the Air Force command. Stark Industries would provide technical support and innovation, but Tony himself would answer to a joint civilian-military oversight board, with Rhodey as his primary liaison.

It was a delicate balance. One that let Tony keep his freedom, but ensured accountability at every step. In return, the military got limited access to tech a generation ahead of anything else, and Tony got the operational latitude to act when it mattered most.

There was nothing impulsive about it. Every detail was planned, every risk calculated. Tony handled the brass like a chess grandmaster, never giving an inch he didn’t mean to, never letting himself get boxed in.

Rhodey had always thought of his friend as a civilian, a brilliant but unpredictable outsider.

But now, after seeing Tony outmanoeuvre the command and in the armour, jaw set and eyes hard, Rhodey realized that label didn’t fit anymore.

Not when Tony was standing there, three months out of captivity, coordinating a military strike with the poise of a seasoned general.

Prometheus, yes—but Rhodey also remembered the other name, its opposite, whispered in the halls of command: Merchant of Death. Bringer of destruction.

The higher-ups were still pale from their last meeting with Tony, and Rhodey didn’t blame them. Whatever had changed in that cave, it had left Tony more dangerous—and more determined—than ever.

Rhodey wasn’t naïve. Tony could still be a pain in the ass, arrogant and stubborn, but now there was a gravity to him that unsettled even Rhodey. This was a man who could terrify the world—and maybe, just maybe, save it.

Watching Tony take charge, already bending the world to his will—not for profit, but for change—Rhodey felt a chill run down his spine. For the first time, he understood why the world was both afraid of and in awe of Tony Stark.

And for the first time, Rhodey felt it too.

Swallowing down his unease, Rhodey straightened his posture and marched over to the two men, snapping off a crisp salute and receiving one in return.

That old, familiar worry bloomed in his chest. The same one he’d felt when he found Tony in the desert, and again in Tony’s kitchen, reading through files that would have sent most men into a panic while Tony just shrugged, dark circles under his eyes barely concealed.

And it grew as Tony made no move crack one of his signature jokes. He simply nodded, then turned his attention back to the Major, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The man’s face was controlled, but his eyes darted, unable to hold Tony’s sharp, unblinking gaze. When the Major’s green eyes flicked to Rhodey, he gave a small nod of confirmation, and the Major seized the opportunity to escape the conversation.

“You have the all clear, Mr. Stark,” the Major reported, still avoiding eye contact. “Most air routes have been cleared and notified of your presence. Our contacts confirm the Ten Rings are starting to move their operations in Gulmira elsewhere, so the window is closing fast.”

Tony didn’t react, not even a flicker of emotion. He just nodded in thanks.

The Major, shifting nervously, pressed on, “Are you sure you don’t want to be dropped off? We’re not that far out, but wouldn’t it be safer to have military air cover?”

A beat passed, then Tony’s mouth curled into a slow, familiar grin—one that always meant trouble.

There was a spark in his eyes, half amusement, half challenge. “No, Major, I’ll be just fine.”

He didn’t elaborate. He never did.

Rhodey couldn’t help himself. “When exactly are you heading out?” he asked, eyeing the suit with a mix of suspicion and awe.

Up close, the armour was even more intimidating.

The original partnership paperwork—after Tony strong-armed the brass into letting Rhodey manage the collaboration—had only hinted at the suit’s capabilities. Nothing had prepared Rhodey, or anyone else, for the reality of the machine. Nothing explained to him how Tony even came up with this marvel of mechanics, though he had a suspicion it had to do with the junk Tony had on him in Afghanistan and asked him to melt down. Which only made it more stupefying.

No wonder the Major looked ready to bolt.

Plenty of people had tried to dig for more details before Rhodey got involved, but Tony had stonewalled them all. Those who pushed too hard came back looking pale and shaken. Tony had threatened the government, the entire military, and while that wasn’t new, the clinical precision with which he shut them down was.

The line he’d used—“What do you think happens when the public finds out about your failures?”—wasn’t just a threat, it was a promise. And it worked.

The military had scrambled to plug leaks, especially after it became clear the problem wasn’t just Stark Industries, but their own ranks as well. It had also kept them from pushing further.

Rhodey was grateful Tony had forced the brass to act, but he couldn’t help wondering where Tony had gotten all this intel. It made him wary, made him wonder just what Tony had endured with the Ten Rings to come out this ruthless.

Tony interrupted his thoughts. “Do you have the other locations locked down yet?”

Rhodey exchanged a look with the Major, already bracing for whatever Tony was planning. “Almost. We just need to clear a few more routes and make sure we don’t clog up airspace.”

Tony’s grin widened, the old mischief shining through for just a second—a flash of the kid Rhodey knew from MIT.

“Then I’d hurry up if I were you,” he said, voice low and ominous.

Before either of them could respond, the helmet snapped up and over Tony’s face, sealing with a heavy click. The eye slits glowed electric blue, powered by the arc reactor in his chest—a secret that was now, quite literally, somewhat out in the open.

A sharp mechanical whine filled the air as the suit’s repulsers spun up, blue light flaring beneath Tony’s boots and palms. In a split second, there was a rapid-fire burst—an explosive rush of energy—and Tony launched skyward, leaving a thunderous boom in his wake.

He even had the nerve to pause mid-ascent and give them a jaunty wave before rocketing out of sight.

All around the compound, work ground to a halt.

Every eye was fixed on the empty patch of sky where Tony Stark had just been. For Rhodey and the Major, the ringing in their ears was almost as loud as the ignition itself, the echo of raw power lingering long after the suit had vanished. It was clear to everyone that what they’d witnessed was only a fraction of what that armour could do.

Shaking off the chill that crawled up his spine, Rhodey turned away from the stunned crowd and made a beeline for the communications tower. He needed to keep a close eye on the operation’s progress

And, if he was honest, on Tony himself.

As he walked, Rhodey pulled out his phone and dialled a number he knew by heart. SHe picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Pepper, it’s James. I think Tony might have actually snapped.”

He paused, glancing back at the sky. “Yeah, I know this was all in his plans, but this? This is something else entirely.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The Remains of a Ten Rings Base of Operation, Afghanistan

September 10, 2008; 15:28 (AFT)

Why, in all his so-called genius, did Tony ever think going in with a half-cocked plan would work? This—meticulous, coordinated, and thorough—was so much easier, and the results were infinitely more satisfying.

He watched as crates of destroyed and mangled weapons were loaded into armoured vehicles, finally allowing himself to relax. All around him, people moved with purpose—relief and joy etched onto faces as families reunited, while sorrow lingered in the lines of those mourning their losses.

Still, there was a sense of community, of rebuilding, as military personnel handed out food, water, blankets, and clothing.

Some villagers eyed the foreigners warily at first, but the promise of comfort after so much hardship quickly won them over. Those not directly involved in relief efforts focused on clearing rubble from the battered compound, using tools stamped with the Stark Industries logo that glinted in the afternoon sun.

“Boss,” came an Irish-accented voice through his helmet, “clean-up at 64.7%. No civilian casualties, and most of the injured have received medical attention and are stable. Weapons are 100% neutralized, with 82.49% retrieved and securely stored.”

Tony smiled at the familiar cadence. “And the other villages?”

A hum filled his ear as the HUD shifted to live feeds from other communities they’d helped over the past months.

“The Relief and Protection Foundation has been widely accepted,” the new AI reported, her tone bright with pride. “Recovery rates have jumped from a meagre 11.5% to 67.34%.”

He was about to reply when something caught his eye. A battered, nearly flat ball rolled into his field of vision, stopping at his feet. A young boy stood a few yards away, his friends hovering behind him, all of them watching the ball with anxious eyes.

Moving carefully so as not to startle them, Tony bent down and picked up the ball, handling it gently as if any sudden movement might send the boys fleeing or the ball collapsing into scraps. He approached the group, stopping just in front of them before dropping to one knee, the suit’s servos whirring softly.

Most of the boys looked ready to bolt, their eyes wide and hands trembling, and Tony couldn’t blame them. The new suit was designed for combat efficiency, its muted, battle-scarred exterior a far cry from the flashy metal of his earlier designs.

It was meant to show his focus and intent; not to be another one of his spectacles.

Not wanting to frighten them further, especially with the suit still scuffed and singed from the fight—and the memory of his fierce battle with the Ten Rings likely still fresh in their minds—Tony decided to retract his helmet.

The late afternoon wind whipped Tony’s hair into his eyes as he retracted his helmet, forcing him to squint against the sudden brightness. One of the younger boys giggled at his scrunched-up expression, but quickly ducked behind an older friend when Tony glanced his way.

Grinning, Tony stuck out his tongue in mock offense, which drew another round of laughter as the boy peeked out, emboldened by the playful gesture.

The tension among the children eased, curiosity overtaking fear as they edged closer to inspect the suit. Tony did his best to appear relaxed—a tall order in a suit made up of reinforced titanium alloy—making sure to keep his movements slow and nonthreatening.

He offered a reassuring smile to the boy who seemed to be the group’s leader, holding out the battered ball. The boy, maybe ten years old, hesitated, then snatched the ball and retreated a few steps, clutching it to his chest.

Tony just lowered his arm and tilted his head, giving the boy a crooked smile. The group’s apprehension melted away with a chorus of laughter, and they tore off across the dusty yard, the earlier tension forgotten. The youngest paused to wave before dashing after his friends, hollering for them in a what was clearly a demand to wait up.

Tony let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stood.

He glanced up and caught several officers staring at him with the same wide-eyed awe as the kids. Not wanting to draw more attention, he bid the lead coordinator of the clean-up a quick good evening and took off for the nearest base. He could have flown straight home—his latest suit upgrades made that a breeze—but there were still too many eyes on him.

For now, it was better to keep a low profile.

Despite the exhaustion, Tony felt a rare sense of contentment. The mission was complete: no weapons caches left for opportunists, most Ten Rings members either in custody or eliminated, and the community already rebuilding. Three months of relentless work, but finally, a tangible result.

As he soared through the sky, the world below fading into hues of pink and orange, Tony let himself enjoy the simplicity of flight. A welcome contrast to the chaos of the past few months. Between mission debriefs, endless debates with the brass, and the logistical nightmare of rebuilding Stark Industries, he’d barely had a moment to breathe.

The company itself was finally stabilizing.

Thanks to Pepper and the Legal and HR teams, most of the restructuring was complete. Stark Industries was running smoothly once more, with Tony mainly needed for R&D, strategic approvals, and high-level board meetings.

The company’s shift away from weapons manufacturing was still under intense review, with ongoing audits and a careful inventory of all remaining stock. But the public’s focus had shifted, especially as SI’s innovations in medical tech, robotics, and consumer electronics began to dominate headlines.

The Relief and Protection Foundation was also expanding rapidly. Tony spent weeks hammering out airspace agreements and international contracts, ensuring the Foundation could operate across borders without violating sovereignty.

Externally, the Foundation’s close partnership with the mysterious “Iron Man” drew global attention. Especially as they coordinated with the US military and local authorities to deliver aid and restore order after every major operation.

On the ground, the Foundation’s impact was immediate: food, water, and medical supplies distributed efficiently, communities stabilized, and military units equipped with cutting-edge defensive gear.

The military, for its part, was more than satisfied. SI’s defensive tech had set a new standard, and in exchange for transparency and oversight, they were happy to return surplus weaponry and focus on modernization, while the rest of the equipment was gathered.

The medical field was also experiencing a renaissance, with SI’s R&D divisions collaborating with hospitals and tech companies worldwide. New devices and robotics were rolling out at a pace that left competitors scrambling to keep up.

Marketing was careful to stagger releases, ensuring steady upgrades for the public while avoiding a total market disruption—though Tony’s team quietly admitted that even giants like Apple and Samsung would be forced to adapt or fall behind.

Efficiency across all sectors had skyrocketed. The blueprints Tony provided jumpstarted entire industries, and now SI was setting the pace for global innovation. Even so, he knew that sometimes, change had to be gradual—the world could only handle so much upheaval at once.

As he cruised above the desert, Tony finally felt the weight of the last few months begin to lift. The Ten Rings were finished, the company was on track, and—for the first time in a long time—he could see a future that wasn’t just about survival, but about building something better.

He hadn’t found time to rest yet, but for now, the view from the sky was enough.

It wasn’t as if the peace would last long. Tony knew that much.

“Sir,” JARVIS’s voice broke through the quiet, just as Tony had predicted. “Miss Potts wishes to speak to you most urgently.”

Of course, JARVIS was still here.

His constant co-pilot, the only being Tony truly trusted to keep pace with him. The past few months had been brutal, not just on Tony, but on the AI as well.

JARVIS had been stretched thin, coordinating Stark Industries’ recovery, managing Iron Man operations, and overseeing the slow rollout of the Iron Legion. The Legion itself was still in development. JARVIS needed more time and combat data from Tony’s own movements before he could reliably pilot multiple autonomous units in the field.

The slow production wasn’t just a technical limitation—it was strategic. Tony knew unleashing a fully operational robot army overnight would trigger mass panic, both domestically and internationally.

The world still saw him as the Merchant of Death, and the sudden appearance of a private mechanized force would only confirm their worst fears.

Legal was still finalizing international agreements to allow Iron Legion deployments as humanitarian support, not military occupation. Until those contracts were signed, Tony had to introduce the technology gradually, keeping the focus on relief and protection rather than firepower.

Behind the scenes, JARVIS was doing more than just logistics.

He was Tony’s eyes and ears, analysing battlefield data, monitoring global chatter, and constantly adapting their timeline to account for the unpredictable effects of time travel. The AI was also under relentless cyberattack from SHIELD and HYDRA, who were desperate to breach his systems.

JARVIS could handle it, but even he had quietly admitted that keeping Tony alive often meant diverting resources from other duties.

That’s why Tony had finally brought FRIDAY online by week two.

To his surprise, her core code was already partially written—something he didn’t remember from before, but he wasn’t about to question a lucky break.

FRIDAY quickly took over the corporate side. She managed schedules, kept the company in line, and flagged spikes in government attention. She streamlined operations, managed internal communications, and even coordinated with Legal and HR to keep up with the company’s rapid transformation.

JARVIS and FRIDAY worked together seamlessly.

He taught her the quirks of Stark security—of how to kill a hack attempt before it even started—and she brought a fresh perspective to their timeline. She was the one who recommended slowing the Iron Legion rollout, understanding that while Tony thrived on disruption, most people needed time to adapt.

Technically, the Iron Legion represented a massive leap forward: modular drones with adaptive AI, encrypted comms, and real-time threat assessment.

But they were also a diplomatic powder keg waiting to go off. Until the world was ready—and the paperwork was airtight—Tony would have to keep them in the background, focusing on humanitarian deployment and letting the world acclimate to the idea of Iron Man as protector, not conqueror.

For now, he would need to take the call from Pepper and brace himself for the next challenge.

Because in this new world, peace was always temporary—and the next crisis was just a call away.

He frowned at the urgency, checking the time difference. “Alright, J, patch her through,” he said, voice steady but wary.

The line clicked, and Pepper wasted no time. “Tony, we have a problem.”

Her tone was all business, sharper than usual.

Tony abruptly flashed back to the future—or was it the past now?— when she’d run Stark Industries as CEO. She had been brilliant, and he wasn’t about to take that future from her, but for now, he needed her steady hand to help him settle Stark Industries in its new place in the world structure.

Once that was done, he’ll ease her into the role and not just throw her into the deep end again.

He tried to lighten the mood. “Hey, Pep, shouldn’t I be the one saying that for once?”

“Tony,” she warned, her voice cutting through his sarcasm.

He relented, sighing. “Alright, hit me. What’s going on?”

“Someone posted a photo of you.”

He frowned, not seeing the issue. “And?”

“In the armour.”

“Okay? Pep, what—”

“Tony, they saw your face in the armour.”

He froze mid-flight, hovering over the rocky expanse of the Dasht-e Margo desert.

His mind went blank as Pepper’s voice pressed on, urgent. “It’s everywhere. The news, social media—people are demanding answers, and we can’t put out the fire.”

Panic edged into his voice. “How is it this bad? You’re Pepper Potts and my PR team’s the best in the business!”

She gave a tired laugh, but it was more frustration than amusement. “I won’t argue with that, but I don’t think the public was ready for this.”

He snapped, “Pepper, just send me the damn photo already!”

A series of beeps, and the image and its headline appeared in his HUD. He stared.

“Oh.”

It was him and the boy from earlier.

The contrast was stark: the child, filthy and gaunt, clutching a battered ball; Tony, in battered but advanced armour, metal gleaming even through the grime. But it wasn’t the tech or the context that caught the world’s attention.

It was, surprisingly, his face.

Gone were the lines of stress and exhaustion he’d grown used to seeing in the mirror. His hair looked healthier, the gray at his temples gone, old scars missing. Most of all, his expression was soft, almost gentle—a small, genuine smile on his lips, eyes kind.

It was a look he’d only seen on himself in rare moments, usually around the genius kids he had met in another life.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Parker had made it home safe after Leipzig. Another one of his brilliant mistakes—bringing a kid into a war meant for adults.

No wonder the world was shocked.

The media had painted him as a reckless playboy, a narcissist, a man who only cared for the next thrill just a few months ago. Now, here he was, kneeling in the dirt after a clear physical fight, handing a ball back to a child, his face open and unguarded.

He noticed the angle was just off to the side. Probably snapped by a news crew after the chaos had settled. Damn, he had thought he had avoided them. Apparently not.

Pepper filled the silence. “People are stunned you’d go back to Afghanistan willingly. Others are questioning the Foundation—there’s talk of funds being misused, of hidden agendas.”

His stomach dropped. If the Foundation’s credibility tanked now, it could unravel everything he’d built. The impact on relief operations, on SI’s new direction, would be catastrophic.

“Fine. Set up a press conference,” he muttered, already angling his thrusters toward the base, urgency bleeding into his tone.

“Tony,” Pepper warned, reading him like a book. “What exactly are you planning? Are you going to involve the DoD?”

Tony wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.

The possibilities were wide open now. There was no SHIELD-approved script being shoved at him, no agency handler breathing down his neck. He knew SHIELD was probably losing its mind, scrambling to send spies into the military, but at least they weren’t knocking on his door.

Not yet, anyway.

He would have to choose his approach carefully. This was the moment that would define how the world saw Iron Man—and set the tone for every global action to come.

“Pep, if we lie, they’ll come after us twice as hard. And I’m done with lies,” he finally said, voice steady after a long pause. “I’ll tell the truth. For my sake, for everyone still suffering from what my weapons did. The Foundation won’t take the fall—I’ll make it clear I’m funding it myself.”

“And then what?” Pepper’s sigh crackled through the line, her frustration familiar. “What happens when the world finds out Tony Stark is Iron Man?”

He took a breath, resolve settling in. “Then I show them I’m just as powerful with or without the armour. I’m ready to make a change, with their help or on my own. I’m done letting people make their own assumptions. It’s time for the truth—even if it’s bitter.”

Silence stretched between them, making the normally soothing flight feel tense and heavy.

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper finally murmured, her voice soft with sadness and something deeper he couldn’t quite name.

He closed his eyes, letting JARVIS take over the suit’s controls for a moment.

She asked quietly, “What really happened in Afghanistan?”

As the sky deepened from pink to indigo, memories crashed over him in jagged, relentless waves.

Flashes of sand choking his lungs, grit grinding against his teeth. The icy terror of water forced over his face, electricity ripping through his body until his muscles seized and his vision went white. Metal pumped into his veins, burning cold, with the taste of death lingering on his tongue as he hovered at the edge of the abyss.

He saw endless voids filled with armies—thousands, maybe millions—marching beneath alien skies. He smelled burning flesh, heard the screams and howls of the dying, the roar of flames devouring everything. He remembered floating cities, red eyes gleaming in the dark, and the crushing weight of betrayal as a shield drove itself deep into his chest as pain radiated from the arc reactor pulsing with every heartbeat.

Each memory was a scar, raw and vivid, a reminder of how close he had come to lose everything.

Tears pricked at his eyes as faces and moments flickered by—some he desperately wanted to save, others he would mourn forever.

He swallowed, voice rough. “Everything happened, Pepper.

“Everything and yet nothing at all.”

Press Conference Hall, Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

September 12, 2008; 16:15 (PST)

The conference hall was packed once more. Every was seat filled, every aisle crowded with reporters and camera crews jockeying for the best angle.

Flashes strobed across the room, and a low thrum of anticipation buzzed beneath the surface, punctuated by the scratch of pencils and the soft click of recorders.

From her vantage point at the back, Pepper Potts took it all in with a practiced eye, noting the hunger in every journalist’s posture. They were ready to pounce on any detail, any slip, any hint of scandal.

Yet for all the anticipation, the room was quieter than usual.

Tony Stark’s press conferences had typically been chaotic—the laughter, the heckling, the occasional shouted question. But since his return from presumed death, everything had changed.

The atmosphere was tense, almost reverent, as if the entire room was holding its breath. Even the most cynical reporters—the ones who’d once called him a reckless playboy or first coined the name ‘Merchant of Death’—seemed wary.

Their scepticism was edged with curiosity and, Pepper suspected, a little fear.

Tony stood at the podium, every inch the centre of attention. He wore his trademark suit and glasses, but there was a new gravity to him—a steadiness that had replaced the old bravado.

His eyes, once quick to dance with mischief, now carried a weight that made people pause before meeting his gaze. Pepper barely recognized it. It was the look of a man who’d seen too much and come back changed.

Still, the old Tony was there in flashes.

That cocky, lopsided grin could still disarm a room, and his charisma was undiminished. He spun stories with the ease of a master, weaving together facts and figures about Stark Industries’ explosive growth, the company’s pivot away from weapons, and the surge in humanitarian and tech development. He made the complex sound simple, and even the most jaded journalists found themselves nodding along.

But Pepper knew the real test was coming. As the presentation wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Reporters leaned forward, pens poised, as Tony addressed the elephant in the room.

He stood relaxed but unyielding at the podium, voice steady and clear. “Given recent events—the active removal of Stark Industries weapons in Afghanistan, the rapid changes in our corporate direction—there’s been a lot of speculation. I know you all have questions.”

A ripple of movement. Some reporters winced at the bluntness, others scribbled furiously.

Tony pressed on, undeterred. “Let’s address the obvious. The reports, and now video evidence, of a flying suit working alongside the Air Force to destroy our weapons and dismantle the Ten Rings terrorist group, is all real. That suit was at the forefront of every operation, leading the charge, and ensuring that no Stark weapon would ever again be used to terrorize innocent people.”

Pepper felt the familiar tension coil in her chest. She hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that Tony would play it safe, deflect, or at least soften the blow. But she knew him too well.

He would never hide from the truth, not now.

“Many viewers seemed to have kept their focus on the Foundation’s movements, mainly in order to uncover the suit’s identity. Until recently, there’s been no such luck.”

The words hung in the air, the anticipation in the room sharpening as every reporter leaned even further forward.

From the back, Pepper caught a strange flicker on Tony’s face—a flash of vulnerability, conflict, and something almost raw. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual composure, but she saw the way his hands clenched and then slowly unfurled on the podium.

“Imagine the world’s surprise,” Tony continued, his voice edged with something darker, “when the first clear photo they captured of this figure—known for swift, decisive action and destruction—wasn’t of a faceless weapon, but of a man.”

Tony’s gaze swept the room, the weight of the moment settling as the screens behind him shifted. First to grainy news footage, then to satellite images, and finally, the now-famous photo: Tony, helmet off, kneeling in the Afghan dust, returning a battered ball to a child.

The silence was absolute, every eye fixed on him.

“Imagine the shock,” Tony pressed, “when the face they saw was my own.”

He let the works linger before he spoke again, his voice unwavering:

“The truth is, I am Iron Man,” he confirmed, nostalgia and something deeper softening his features into carefully set mask of seriousness. “That’s not a code name or a secret identity. It’s a responsibility—a promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure my mistakes are never repeated.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, his expression grave yet resolute. “Stark Industries is changing. We’re not just slowing down weapons production; we’re leading the charge for a safer, better world. Every mission the Foundation sends me on comes from me. And every mission is about making things right—not just for my company, but for everyone affected by what I created.”

He glanced back at the image on the screen, the boy’s fragile frame a stark contrast to the battered armour. “I won’t hide from what I’ve done. I won’t let anyone else define who I am or what Stark Industries stands for. The world is watching, and I’m not afraid to be held accountable. If you want answers, you’ll get them—from me, not from rumours or half-truths.”

He drew a steadying breath, his voice dropping into a softer, more vulnerable register. “But let me be clear: I am no hero. I’m not going to pretend I am. I’ve hurt too many people to ever claim that title. But I will do my damn best to protect those who need it—not because I’m a hero, but because I refuse to stand by and watch. I will act, and I will be accountable for my actions.”

His voice picked up again, steadier. Determines. “That’s who Iron Man is: not a hero, but a protector. Someone who stands up, owns his mistakes, and fights to make things right. I hope I can do right by you.”

As the words echoed through the hall, the crowd sat stunned, the image of Tony—both the man and the myth—forever changed in their eyes.

The crowd soon exploded into a cacophony of sound. People cheered and whistled, others clapped despite being stunned. Journalist and reporters screamed at the top of their lungs, crying out their questions at the new man before them.

“Mr Stark! Mr Stark!”

“Mr Stark over here!”

Immediately the man set out to work. The determined, earnest, smile replaced easily with a charming one as he swayed the crowds to beg at his feet. He weaved explanations into something that was the truth, but decidedly not as many gaping holes were deftly side stepped.

Pepper exhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral as she turned away from the bustling press. She needed a moment to collect herself, but of course, fate had other plans.

Blocking her path was Agent Coulson—calm, unreadable, and exactly the last person she wanted to see after the week she just had.

“Agent Coulson, what a surprise,” she said, voice pleasant and professional, though her hands tensed behind her back.

“Miss Potts,” he replied, his tone as measured as ever, giving nothing away.

She offered a tight smile and stepped a little away from the crowd, forcing him to follow if he wanted privacy.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked, her tone light but edged with steel.

Coulson’s eyes sharpened, and he lowered his voice. “We’ve been trying to reach Mr. Stark. He seems to be avoiding us.”

Pepper blinked, letting the information sink in.

Tony hadn’t mentioned SHIELD’s attempts to contact him, but given the upgrades he’d made to JARVIS and the mansion’s security protocols, she wasn’t surprised they’d gotten nowhere. Still, it was annoying.

SHIELD never reached out unless it was on their terms, and their “urgent” always meant trouble.

She tamped down the retort that wanted to slip out and instead raised an eyebrow. “Oh? When did you schedule your appointment?”

Coulson hesitated, caught off guard. “Pardon?”

She let her smile sharpen. “An appointment, Agent Coulson. Surely you didn’t expect Mr. Stark to drop everything for you? He’s running a multi-billion dollar company, rebuilding it from the ground up, and cleaning house after the Stane fiasco. His calendar is tighter than ever, and we do try to respect professional boundaries.”

He tried to recover. “Of course, but this is a matter of some urgency.”

Pepper didn’t budge. “So is the work Mr. Stark is doing. Have you not been following the news? He’s working around the world, clearing out his own weapons, and making sure Stark Industries is compliant with every new regulation and audit. And, frankly, he’s cleaning up after people like Stane. People your agency missed.”

She watched as a crack appeared in Coulson’s mask—a faint frown, a slight tightening of his jaw. “Yes, well—”

“Just book an appointment, Agent Coulson,” she said, her tone final. “It’ll save us all time.”

She caught sight of Tony leaving the stage, his gaze flicking to Coulson with a flash of recognition and something unreadable.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she finished, already moving past the agent.

“Thank you, Miss Potts. I’ll take that under advisement,” Coulson replied, conceding the point with a nod.

Pepper gave him a rueful smile—polite, but dismissive—and slipped away, joining Tony as they made a quick exit to where Happy waited with the car.

As they left, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. She’d kept SHIELD at bay, protected Tony’s time, and made it clear that, at Stark Industries, even shadowy government agencies had to play by the rules.

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

September 12, 2008; 21:59 (PST)

That evening, there were no celebrations—no champagne, no laughter echoing through the halls.

Everyone was spent, wrung out by months of relentless work and the pressure-cooker intensity of the press conference. It was only the beginning, but Tony knew how important it was to keep momentum. So, it was back to work: more planning, more late nights, more details to lock down.

Dragging himself up the driveway, Tony managed a half-hearted wave to the retreating car and trudged to his front door. He yawned, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, but stopped cold the moment he stepped inside.

Silence greeted him—not the comforting hush of home, but a void, cold and absolute.

His heart hammered against the arc reactor, adrenaline flooding his system. He scanned the entryway, eyes darting to the corner of his glasses where the familiar blue and gold orbs of JARVIS and FRIDAY should have hovered.

Nothing.

No soft glow from the overheads either, not even the standby lights on the appliances. The house felt abandoned, stripped of its usual warmth and intelligence.

Tension coiled in his gut as he moved deeper into the house, every sense on high alert. He kept his steps light and silent, muscle memory from years of watching spies at work, though never as smooth as the two secret warriors, but good enough.

He mentally catalogued his options: a crude gauntlet disguised as a watch that he wasn’t sure would work, the best he could do without full nanotech. Other than that, he had a few normal weapons stored in a locked kitchen cupboard.

Turning a corner, he froze.

There, in the middle of his living room, stood a figure cloaked in shadow, the wind from a broken window tugging at the hem of his coat. The salty chill of the night air swept through the room, carrying the scent of the ocean and the threat of something far worse.

Annoyance flared, sharp and immediate. “You know you’re paying for my window, right?” Tony snapped, voice echoing in the tense silence.

The man didn’t flinch, but Tony caught the slight stiffening of his shoulders. Light from outside glinted off an eyepatch as the intruder turned, quirking a single brow in silent challenge.

“You’re a hard man to get in contact with, Mr. Stark,” the visitor said, voice casual but edged with steel. “I have to admit, your ‘I am no hero’ speech was unexpected. Smart move, though.”

Tony didn’t rise to the bait.

He stepped into the room, forcing his face into neutrality, though what he really wanted was to glare daggers. Memories of manipulation, break-ins, theft and every infraction SHIELD had ever committed against him, flashed through his mind. His gaze flicked to the shards of glass on the floor, moonlight glinting off each jagged edge, and his mood darkened further.

“What have you done to JARVIS?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

He knew the AI was nearly unhackable—his firewalls and encryption were years ahead of anything SHIELD could throw at him. If there had been even a hint of a breach, he’d have been alerted instantly. And if JARVIS was somehow silenced, FRIDAY would have sounded the alarm.

The fact that neither of them had, meant something was very, very wrong.

“EMP’s are quite efficient,” the agent replied, not a hint of guilt in his voice for having practically bombed Tony’s home. “Like I said, you’re a hard man to reach, and your AI made it even harder for us.”

Tony bit back a string of acid-laced retorts, resisting the urge to summon the nearest Iron Man suit or even his makeshift gauntlet. Instead, he locked his gaze on the one-eyed intruder. “Us?”

“SHIELD—” Fury began, and Tony rolled his eyes. No shit, Sherlock. “—has been watching you, Mr. Stark. The public might buy your ‘not a hero’ routine, but we know you’re working on something bigger.”

Fury made a show of pacing, his black trench coat flaring behind him as he circled the room. “There’s a whole different world out there, Stark. You just don’t know it yet. And now, you’ve made yourself a part of it.”

Tony’s skin crawled.

With JARVIS and FRIDAY both offline, the silence in his own home felt suffocating. It took a few seconds before he could trust himself to speak.

“First of all, it’s Dr. Stark to you. Second, what exactly are you on about, Mr. One-Eyed Pirate?”

Fury’s unimpressed stare didn’t waver. “Nick Fury. Director Fury of SHIELD.”

He delivered the title like it should mean something, but to Tony, it was just a reminder of all the secrets, all the betrayals, all the ways the world’s so-called protectors had failed.

A part of Tony remembered the good SHIELD had tried to do, the agents who’d died trying to make a difference before everything went to hell, when Rogers had the bright idea to reveal all their identities on the internet.

It reminded him, that despite what the spy duo had done, Fury, the bastard, didn’t betray him in such a way, despite his lack of regard for personal space and privacy.

But right now, all he could focus on was the fact that his AIs were down because of this man.

“Yeah, I don’t give a damn,” Tony barked, stepping forward with a scowl. “You break into my house, shut down everything, just to tell me you don’t buy my supposed ‘bullshit’?”

A faint whine filled the air as the lights flickered. JARVIS and FRIDAY were rebooting, and earlier than Fury had expected if his surprise was anything to go by. But even a few minutes offline was too long for Tony’s comfort.

He would need to rethink his physical security, and fast.

He squared his shoulders, voice sharp. “I’m about two seconds from kicking your ass back to your super-secret Jolly Rogers, so either tell me what you want or get out. Your call.”

Fury paused, then spoke, his tone suddenly calm. “I’m here because of the Avengers Initiative.”

It was like a bucket of ice down Tony’s spine.

No matter how many times he lived this, it always seemed to come back to this—being dragged toward their endgame, toward a team that had broken him in more ways than one. He wasn’t about to walk willingly into that mess again.

“Not interested,” Tony said flatly, stepping back, face unreadable as he shut the door on the past and on Fury’s offer.

The surprise was unmistakable on Fury’s face, and Tony almost laughed. After years spent around spies, Fury was an open book. He probably thought Tony was just being stubborn, refusing to play along with the script.

Fury opened his mouth to argue, but Tony cut him off, voice cold and final. “Out.”

Fury’s glare was sharp, but Tony didn’t flinch.

“Or I’ll escort you out myself,” he warned, eyes narrowed in challenge.

For a moment, Fury seemed to weigh his options, then gave a slight tilt of his head—more acknowledgment than respect. “We’ll be in contact, Dr Stark.”

With that, he swept out of the room, trench coat billowing behind him. As the door closed, the lights finally steadied and the mansion hummed back to life. Still, Tony’s gaze lingered on the shards of glass glittering on the floor, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t ominous at all!” FRIDAY quipped, her sarcasm cutting through the silence.

“At least it seems we’ll be free of their persistent attempts to reach us—temporarily,” JARVIS added, his tone heavy with judgment.

A small, tired smile cracked across Tony’s face.

“For now,” he agreed, the weight of what was coming already pressing down on him.

He glanced toward the liquor cabinet peeking out from the kitchen, his hands curling into fists to resist the urge to reach for a bottle. It was going to be a long night.

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

September 13, 2008; 12:34 (PST)

“Sir.”

The voice sliced through the static that had clouded Tony’s mind since he had stepped into the workshop and activated blackout mode. Metal lined the walls, electricity humming from the extra miniature arc reactor he had jury-rigged to power the basement in isolation.

He blinked, eyes gritty, taking in the schematics sprawled across his workbench—drawings born of anger, confusion, and a resentment that had only deepened since Fury’s intrusion. The anger simmered low, a familiar burn.

He couldn’t shake the memory of being left for dead, only to be revived with some unknown chemical and ordered to fix his own mess while being threatened with a taser. Perfect idea for someone who needs an electromagnet to keep them alive. Any of those actions could have killed him.

They left him alone until he was desperate, then swooped in to remind him who was really in control.

It all came rushing back now, made worse by this new timeline—by the fact that SHIELD had broken into his home, shut down his AIs, just to deliver a proposal on their terms. The resentment twisted deeper: how they’d always dismissed him as an egotist until he built something they wanted, then snatched it for their own ends—only for it to wind up in HYDRA’s hands.

 No regard for him, just for what he could produce. And what did he do? Played the fool, joined their ranks, let the same backstabbing spy get close again.

But the confusion was the worst.

He had never figured out what they really wanted from him—his mind, his tech, or just the suit? They had always criticized Iron Man, always kept him at arm’s length, yet never let him go. He had thought they just wanted to use him when vulnerable, but Coulson’s persistence at the conference, and then Fury’s little visit, proved otherwise.

They weren’t going to leave him alone.

He was rattled enough to start ordering more resources to start building a larger, more sophisticated arc reactor. One that would power the mansion and serve as a prototype for the New York project.

He was also planning to overlay it with magnetic shielding, right in the building’s walls to guard against future EMP attacks, while also ensuring it wouldn’t interfere with the arc’s output. Next time, they wouldn’t catch him off guard.

His AIs would never be forcibly shut down again. Maybe it was time to invest in offshore backup servers—or even design a new programming language, one that would make hacking nearly impossible.

“Boss!”

FRIDAY’s voice finally jolted him out of his spiralling thoughts.

He croaked, “Yeah, what’s up?”

His throat was oddly dry, so he gulped down the cold coffee at his elbow, grimacing at the taste but grateful for the relief.

“It’s been a few hours, Sir. Wouldn’t it be beneficial to get some rest?”

Confused, Tony glanced at the time on one of his monitors and felt his eyes widen in disbelief.

It was the afternoon—of the next day. Clearly, he had lost more hours than he realized. Frowning, he pulled up and flicked through his security feeds, noting with irritation that the window was whole again and the living room looked spotless.

Sensing his confusion, JARVIS’s voice cut in, and explained, “SHIELD agents entered a few hours ago, cleaned up the area, and replaced the window. They also placed monitoring devices around the living room.”

Before Tony could react, FRIDAY chimed in, her tone bright and almost too cheerful. “Don’t worry, Boss! We’ve already rerouted all connections and severed the devices. Miss Potts, Lt Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan have all been notified of the security breach.”

It took a moment for her words to register through his exhaustion. When they did, he nearly choked on his next sip from his mug.

“What!?” he blurted, voice cracking. “Why would you do that?”

The last few months, Pepper and Rhodey had been absolutely relentless. They were always on his case to rest, to take a day off, to stop burning the candle at both ends. Rhodey, as Iron Man’s direct military liaison, was practically living in his pocket, and Pepper, still his PA despite her growing executive duties, was never far away.

After he had laid out his new game plan, the two had become permanent fixtures in his life, forcing him to take breaks instead of letting him spiral the way he had in his original timeline. He appreciated their care—most of the time.

But lately, it was getting suffocating. He’d had to be more secretive with his work just to keep them from worrying, or worse, interfering.

If they caught wind of what happened last night—and with FRIDAY’s efficiency, they would—they would be become impossible. He would have to beg them not to escalate things with more lawsuits or official complaints than they already had, just to keep up appearances.

“Sir,” JARVIS interjected, voice firm, “your security was compromised. It would be unwise to leave SHIELD’s actions unchecked. Notifying your inner circle sends a clear message: this is unacceptable, and we’re not defenceless.”

Tony groaned, rubbing his face. It made sense. His growing paranoia was practically public knowledge since his return, and this would at least justify his reaction. But still, it was attention he didn’t need.

He muttered, “But what are they going to say…” His eyes flicked back to the clock, realization dawning.

“Oh god, Rhodey and Pepper are going to have my head for going into blackout, aren’t they?”

The silence from JARVIS was judgmental enough. Tony barely resisted the urge to slam his head on the desk. He was only stopped by FRIDAY’s curious, “And Mr. Hogan?”

She was still new, her understanding of his friends limited to passive monitoring when they entered Stark Industries. It made her a bit naïve about their dynamics, but Tony found it endearing.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he explained, “Happy’ll be too busy tearing through security footage and protocols to prevent this from happening again.”

That was how Happy operated—action over words. He didn’t hover or nag like Rhodey and Pepper. Instead, he would just show up, bring food, and sit in companionable silence. When Tony got especially reckless, Happy’s protective streak and nagging would surface, but mostly, he let his actions speak for him.

This time, Tony knew, Happy would be overhauling the entire security system, probably adding new protocols and maybe even a dedicated physical security team. The current staff would be losing their minds trying to keep up.

“Sir, your safety is our primary concern,” JARVIS said, his voice edged with rare exasperation and unmistakable concern—a tone that immediately yanked Tony’s attention back to the present. “Especially when you became non-responsive after the encounter.”

From behind, Tony heard the soft whir and hesitant beeping of DUM-E, Butterfingers, and U as they cautiously approached, their movements tentative. The bots had clearly been keeping their distance, worried sick by his silence.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Tony slumped in his chair. “It—I’m fine, okay? Just… don’t push them. We don’t need to give them any more reason to be suspicious.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and Tony’s frown deepened as anxiety began to creep in.

Before he could voice his concern, JARVIS spoke up, “Would it be wise to inform you that Lt Colonel Rhodes has notified the Panel of SHIELD’s involvement? The Air Force is now forcing the agency under scrutiny.”

Tony blinked, stunned, panic flaring in his chest. He groaned, “Arrrggh, honey bear, nooo.”

This was going to raise every possible red flag. But JARVIS wouldn’t have let Rhodey escalate unless he’d calculated it was the safest move. Tony could see the logic: having someone on the inside monitoring SHIELD would give them leverage, and with the Air Force’s official involvement, it would be harder for SHIELD to operate unchecked.

It also meant Tony wouldn’t have to dig through hacked files to prove the agency’s duplicity—though he doubted any information SHIELD provided would be entirely trustworthy.

“Fine,” he conceded, rubbing his eyes. “We’ll deal with it as it comes. Anything else I should know?”

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY replied, her digital tone crisp. “All of your invitations have been accepted. Everyone is open to a future meeting, pending your scheduling.”

Surprise—and a flicker of genuine relief—swelled in Tony’s chest. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her tone humming with satisfaction. “They’ve all agreed to collaborate under the Our Future Foundation banner. The NDAs and supporting contracts are signed and returned. As for your more personal agenda, they’re intrigued—especially after your recent press conference and public pivot.”

Even with exhaustion dragging at him, this was the breakthrough he’d needed. Things could finally start moving forward.

“Perfect. Set up a date, FRI,” Tony said, spinning his chair and giving DUM-E an absentminded pat on the claw.

A brief pause, then FRIDAY’s voice picked up again, this time curious. “Boss, I understand you’re assembling a team for high-priority contingencies, but why do you need outside help?”

FRIDAY had access to the timeline—she knew the stakes and the shifting plans as Stark Industries evolved. Yet, for all her processing power, she still saw Tony as nearly omnipotent, especially with the Iron Legion, future knowledge and unrestricted AI capabilities at his disposal.

With their global reach and access to nearly every codebase on the planet, she didn’t see why he’d risk exposing himself by bringing others in. From a technical standpoint, Iron Man and the Legion could outpace most threats, and she and JARVIS could handle almost any cyber or logistical challenge.

Tony shook his head with a small smile. “I’m laying foundations everywhere, kiddo, but I can’t do it all alone. Not this time. I need specialists—people who can see what I can’t, challenge my blind spots, and help with the next big hurdle.”

He tapped the arc reactor through his shirt, a habit he hadn’t shaken even after all these years. “The palladium issue is solved, but only a handful know the details. If I suddenly disappear from the public eye, it’ll raise red flags. If I don’t, that’ll raise other flags. Having world-class doctors on private contract gives me the perfect cover—and options.”

He let the idea form out loud, “And if they help me find a better solution for the reactor, all the better. I don’t think I can ever get rid of it completely—not after everything.”

The memory of Loki’s spear, the way it had resonated against his chest, sent a chill through him. “But if we can minimize the risk ad strain, I’ll take it.”

He clapped his hands, shaking off the memory. “Plus, it’ll open up the perfect excuse to showcase Starkium and launch the Energy Division. It’s a win-win. Keeps SHIELD off our backs, too, at least for now.”

He shot a pointed look at the corner camera, making his annoyance clear.

“Apologies, Sir,” JARVIS replied, sounding not at all sorry. “But we stand by our actions. Your safety protocols are our top priority.”

“Exactly, Boss. Primary directive and all that,” FRIDAY chimed in, her tone bright and unrepentant.

Tony couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

THE RETURN OF A TITAN?

After months of silence following the attack on his convoy during a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan, speculation about the fate of Tony Stark—CEO of Stark Industries and the world’s most notorious genius, billionaire, and playboy—reached a fever pitch.

So, when a photo surfaced late Saturday afternoon, purportedly showing Stark alive and returning to U.S. soil, the world erupted in shock and disbelief.

The anonymously leaked image reveals a visibly battered Stark disembarking from a military aircraft, accompanied by Lt. Colonel James Rhodes. Also present at the scene were Pepper Potts, Stark’s long-serving personal assistant, and Happy Hogan, his personal bodyguard.

The group quickly disappeared from public view, reigniting debate: Is this truly the triumphant return of the Titan of Stark Industries, or just another twist in the ongoing mystery?

Further updates to follow as more information becomes available.

DEAD OR ALIVE?

Since reports of Tony Stark’s dramatic return, the man himself has vanished once again. No public sightings have been confirmed, and Stark Industries remains silent on the matter, fuelling rumours and uncertainty.

Was the photo evidence of Stark’s survival, or has the world been misled by false hope? For now, the question remains unanswered.

STARK INDUSTRIES PRESS RELEASE

In light of Dr. Stark’s recent return from Afghanistan, he will be taking time to recover and reacclimate in the privacy of his home. After months of hardship, this break is well deserved.

Stark Industries is pleased to announce that Dr Stark will address the media at a press conference scheduled for Monday, June 2, at company headquarters in Los Angeles. All accredited journalists and news outlets are formally invited to attend.

This event will provide the first official account of Dr Stark’s ordeal and outline the changes on the horizon for Stark Industries. A summary of key developments will be released to the public in the days following the conference.

STROKE OF GENIUS OR MADNESS BORN OF TRAUMA

Few could have predicted the scale of change Tony Stark would bring upon his return. New ideas and inventions seem to spill from him at a relentless pace, leaving even his closest colleagues scrambling to keep up.

But how deep do these changes go? Are they the result of a burst of inspiration, or is there a darker story behind Stark’s transformation—something forged in the shadows of Afghanistan?

As the world watches, only time will tell whether Stark’s brilliance is a sign of genius or the mark of a man haunted by what he endured.

BETRAYAL RUNS DEEP

Former COO Obadiah Stane has been formally charged by the FBI and CIA with multiple counts of corporate fraud, illegal arms dealing, and conspiracy.

Stane is scheduled to stand trial next Saturday, a dramatic fall from grace for one of Stark Industries’ most prominent figures. The investigation has sent shockwaves through both the business and defence communities, raising urgent questions about oversight and accountability within one of America’s most powerful corporations.

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENCE PRESS RELEASE

We deeply regret the actions perpetrated by Obadiah Stane and extend our sincerest condolences to all affected parties—especially Dr Anthony Stark, who has been exonerated of all wrongdoing and was, in fact, caught in the crossfire of these events.

In response, the Department of Defence is collaborating closely with Dr Stark and Stark Industries to ensure that such a breach of trust is never repeated. Together, we are committed to restoring integrity and security to our ongoing partnerships.

STARK INDUSTRIES PRESS RELEASE

Stark Industries is proud to announce an exclusive “Taster Day” for aspiring scientists and engineers, offering a unique opportunity to experience first-hand the innovations and breakthroughs emerging from our newly launched divisions. Participants will have the chance to engage with cutting-edge ideas and inventions, and to meet some of the brightest minds shaping the future of technology.

STARK RELIEF AND PROTECTION FOUNDATION

Join us in supporting communities affected by the recent weapons breach. The Stark Relief and Protection Foundation is expanding its outreach programs to deliver aid, rebuild infrastructure, and provide long-term support to those impacted. Your signature and support can help make a difference.

Sign up today to be part of the solution.

IS IT A BIRD? IS IT A PLANE? NO? THEN WHAT IS IT THEN?

With Stark Industries now partnering with the U.S. military—particularly the Air Force—in the effort to recover and neutralize illegal weapons sold by former COO Obadiah Stane, public interest has reached new heights. The Stark Relief and Protection Foundation has also taken an active role in Afghanistan, working to correct the wrongs of the past and ensure civilian safety.

This mission has sparked both fascination and fear, as eyewitness reports and photographs have surfaced of a mysterious figure clad in a suit of advanced armour assisting in these operations. Sources describe the suit as a technological marvel, boasting flight capability and sophisticated weaponry designed to confront terrorist threats head-on.

Most notably, the armoured figure was seen during the recent intervention in Gulmira, where swift action helped protect civilians and reclaim stolen weaponry.

As the world watches, the question remains: what new chapter is Stark Industries writing—and who, or what, is behind the mask?

TRIAL OF THE BETRAYER

This Thursday marks the long-awaited verdict in the trial of Obadiah Stane, former COO of Stark Industries. The nation, and indeed, the world, waits with bated breath as mounting evidence of Stane’s double-dealings and criminal activities has come to light over the past weeks.

Legal analysts and the public alike are speculating about the severity of the sentence, with many calling for the harshest penalties available. The outcome of this trial could reshape the future of Stark Industries and set a precedent for corporate accountability in the tech and defence sectors.

UP IN FLAMES

News outlets continue to report on the systematic dismantling of the terrorist group known as the Ten Rings in Afghanistan. While both Washington and the military have declined to comment beyond confirming their partnership with Stark Industries in the region, the world is left to speculate about the mysterious figure responsible for bringing down the group’s strongholds.

Rumours also continue to swirl about the new player on the scene—an armoured individual working alongside the military and Stark Industries, whose interventions have turned the tide against the terrorists.

Who is this enigmatic ally, and how does their presence fit into the rapidly changing landscape of global security?

PLAYBOY FINALLY GROWN UP?

Since his dramatic return from Afghanistan, Tony Stark—once the world’s most notorious billionaire playboy—has kept a remarkably low profile. Gone are the wild parties and tabloid escapades; Stark now appears in public only for Stark Industries business or to unveil another ground-breaking innovation.

Has the party animal truly reformed, or is there more to this transformation than meets the eye?

STARK INDUSTRIES TAKES FLIGHT

In just a few short weeks, Tony Stark and Stark Industries have upended expectations, launching new divisions and announcing discoveries that promise to change the world.

While products are not yet available for purchase, industry experts predict that Stark Industries is poised to move far beyond its legacy as a leading U.S. weapons manufacturer. Economists and entrepreneurs alike are stunned by the company’s rapid evolution, with some calling it the most significant corporate transformation of the decade.

STARK RED AND GOLD

The media’s favourite mysterious hero, long seen working alongside Stark Industries and the U.S. military, has finally been unmasked—and it’s none other than Tony Stark himself.

Social media is ablaze with speculation and anticipation, as the world waits for official confirmation and details about Stark’s new role as both CEO and armoured protector.

I AM IRON MAN

It’s official: Tony Stark has confirmed that he is the man behind the armour. The announcement has sent shockwaves through the business, tech, and defence communities, raising new questions about the future of Stark Industries and the boundaries between private innovation and public responsibility.

NOT A HERO, BUT A PROTECTOR

Stark has made a bold promise to use his technology for protection rather than destruction. But can the public trust a man once known as the “Merchant of Death” to keep that promise?

The world will be watching closely as Stark attempts to redefine his legacy.

MERCHANT OF DEATH VS IRON MAN

Who will ultimately prevail: the legacy of Stark’s past as a weapons magnate, or his new identity as Iron Man? The battle for the soul of Stark Industries—and perhaps the future of technological ethics—has only just begun.

To: All Employees [All Departments, All Branches]
From: Potts, V. [Executive Assistant to Dr Stark, Los Angeles Headquarters]
Subject: Gold Notice – CEO Update

Dear Team,

I am pleased to announce the safe return of Dr Tony Stark to the United States. While we are all eager to welcome him back, Dr Stark will be taking this week to rest and recover following his ordeal in Afghanistan. During this period, our current management structure remains unchanged.

With Dr Stark’s return, we look forward to a renewed era of innovation and integrity at Stark Industries. Thank you for your continued dedication and resilience over these challenging months. Please remain attentive to further updates as we move into this new phase for the company.

Kind regards,
Virginia “Pepper” Potts

To: Public Relations Department [Los Angeles Headquarters]
From: Potts, V. [Executive Assistant to Dr Stark, Los Angeles Headquarters]
Subject: Media Containment – Dr Stark’s Absence

Hello Team,

As Dr Stark continues his recovery, it is essential that we manage all media inquiries and speculation with utmost discretion. Please refrain from commenting on his condition or whereabouts.

This privacy is critical to allow Dr Stark the time he needs to recuperate and to ensure our ongoing internal transition remains undisturbed.

Thank you for your professionalism and understanding.

Best,
Pepper

To: All Employees [All Departments, All Branches]
From: Stark, A. E. [Chief Executive Officer, Stark Industries]
Subject: Moving Forward

Yes, I’m alive. And yes, it’s good to be back.

As Pepper has already informed you, I’ll be off-site until the end of the week. That doesn’t mean we slow down. Attached you’ll find new protocols and restructuring plans. Review them closely and ensure all sensitive information remains strictly internal.

Reference: Code 3A-7DB-Z5.

This is the beginning of a new chapter for Stark Industries. Let’s set the standard for innovation, integrity, and responsibility.

Let’s get to work.

Tony Stark

Attachments: [Download]

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]
From: Everdeen, A. [Head of Public Relations, Los Angeles]
Subject: RE: Gold Notice

Hi D.,

Did you catch the update from Pepper about Dr Stark? I’m relieved he’s back, but honestly, why does our paperwork always multiply the moment his name comes up? The media’s already circling, and as far as I understand, Legal is going to be swamped with all the new compliance checks.

Best,
A. Everdeen

To: Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]; Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
From: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]
Subject: RE: Gold Notice

You’re not wrong. It’s only been two days and we’re already buried in new legal protocols, audit requests, and compliance updates from Stark. HR’s going to need to coordinate with us on nearly everything. I have a feeling this is just the start. Stark clearly got a plan, and it smells like paperwork.

Lots of it.

Hang in there,
D. Fitzpatrick

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]; Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]
From: Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
Subject: You don’t even know the half of it

Are you both keeping the public out of the loop on this? Especially with Stark’s latest vanishing act? It’s because we’re about to overhaul the entire organization. Staff management is being completely restructured—and that’s just the beginning.

By the end of this, we’ll be buried in work.

Drake

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]; Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
From: Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]
Subject: It can’t get worse

Can it?

Everdeen

To: Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]; Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
From: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]
Subject: …

Honestly, Everdeen—between you and Dr Stark, please, just stop. My inbox can’t take much more.

Fitzpatrick

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]; Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]
From: Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
Subject: We are in over our heads

It all makes sense now. The management shakeup, the resignations—I overheard a few people are leaving because they’re terrified of having their own skeletons exposed. No one wants to be on the receiving end of that Stark glare when their own “laundry” surfaces.

And after watching the press conference, I get it. Dr Stark is not someone you want to cross. Legal has always been tough, but now with Stark at the helm and Afghanistan behind him, everything feels different.

Looking at the new protocols, this is just the beginning.

Drake

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]; Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
From: Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]
Subject: True

You’re not wrong. The changes are coming so fast, even we’re struggling to keep the messaging straight. At least the Stane scandal and the launch of new divisions give us some cover for the internal restructuring. Security’s never been tighter—between the FBI, CIA, and Hogan leading the charge, it’s a whole new world.

Let’s just hope it’s for the better.

Everdeen

To: Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]; Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
From: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]
Subject: Dear lord, no

You didn’t mention any of this... How did we not see it coming? The internal changes are chaotic enough, but now our boss is literally a superhero? I’m just glad I’m not in Miss Pott’s shoes.

Stark is turning my hair gray from a distance.

At least the changes seem positive. Him being Iron Man and all. The real question is: how do we move forward from here?

Fitzpatrick

To: Fitzpatrick, D. [Head of Legal, Los Angeles]; Everdeen, A. [Head of PR, Los Angeles]
From: Drake, C. [Head of HR, Los Angeles]
Subject: Like he said

By protecting people.

Stark Industries is changing, but for the better, right? So, let’s follow his lead—reckless or not, he hasn’t led us astray yet. Honestly, I can get behind the new motto.

Drake

M.H:

What do you think this means?

N.J.F:

I’m not entirely sure. He’s certainly behaving differently.

Nothing like the behavioural patterns we’ve documented before.

M.H:

Do you think it was Afghanistan?

N.J.F:

No, I suspect something else happened there

Something only he knows about, and he’s definitely not talking.

The entire cave system is a dead end; everything was destroyed beyond recognition.

With his reluctance to share details, and without one of our own leading the investigation, reliable information will be hard to come by.

M.H:

What do you suggest we do?

N.J.F:

For now, we observe.

If anything changes, especially considering what our sources are saying about his potential pacemaker, we’ll need to act quickly.

M.H:

Understood. And the spider?

N.J.F:

Give her a few more weeks to reconsider her strategy.

The old approach won’t work this time.

I’ll try from my side, but I doubt the results will be pretty.

M.H:

…

Honestly, I think we should leave the espionage to N.

Next time, skip the EMP—there was no way that was ever going to work for you.

(Last read at 22:34))

XB25-3D:

He’s becoming far too dangerous.

His unpredictability is escalating

He is no longer just an anomaly; he’s a destabilizing force.

VC37-8A:

That much is clear.

His recent actions have set off multiple red flags across all surveillance channels.

The risk profile has changed .

XB25-3D:

Should we intervene?

Neutralize the threat before it escalates further?

VC37-8A:

No. Not yet.

The others are monitoring him closely, and for now, we do the same.

 Direct action would expose too much.

He has crossed a line.

He’s not just a variable anymore; he’s a threat to the entire operation.

We proceed with extreme caution.

Any misstep now could compromise everything.

XB25-3D:

Understood.

I’ll notify the rest of the network.

All operatives will be on high alert.

VC37-8A:

Good. And handle our loose end—immediately.

We can’t afford any leaks, not with the scrutiny we’re under.

If even a whisper escapes, it could unravel everything we’ve built.

Chapter Text

Section 2: 

To Be Worthy 

of 

Power

“Power is dangerous. It corrupts the best and attracts the worst. Power is only given to those who are prepared to lower themselves to pick it up.” — Ragnar Lothbrok

Chapter 7

Stark Industries Headquarters, Gala Room, CA, USA

May 07, 2010; 20:45 (PST)

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” a clear, youthful voice echoed from the stage.

The speaker, a poised woman in her mid-twenties, stood beneath the soft glow of chandeliers, her elegant grey gown catching the light as she smiled graciously at the assembled guests. Polite applause rippled through the grand hall, the sound mingling with the lingering notes of the orchestra.

The room itself was transformed into an opulent ballroom, every detail meticulously arranged. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, casting a warm, golden glow over the festivities. Garlands of fresh flowers and delicate lights wove around soaring arches and wrapped each marble pillar, creating a sense of timeless celebration.

Along the walls, banquet tables overflowed with gourmet dishes and sparkling drinks, while servers glided through the crowd, offering refreshments with practiced ease.

To call it a crowd would be an understatement.

The hall was alive with hundreds of impeccably dressed guests, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Before the speech, the space had been a swirl of movement and music, the night alive with possibility.

Now, as the woman spoke from her place before a massive glass window—where stars glittered in the night beyond—the room stilled as every eye was drawn to the stage and the banner overhead:

—STARK INDUSTRIES GALA 2010—

She continued, her voice carrying a note of pride, “These past months have been filled with action and no shortage of surprises. What began on a challenging note has since become a privilege, as we witness the changes now revolutionizing our world. And for that, we owe our thanks to one man.”

Her smile brightened as she gestured to the side. “We all know him, so please, let’s give a warm welcome to Doctor Stark!”

With a graceful gesture, she invited the crowd’s attention to the side, where Tony Stark appeared.

Dressed in a sharply tailored black suit, signature glasses perched confidently on his nose, he stepped onto the stage with a magnetic smile that seemed to say, “Yes, I know, I look this good on purpose.”

The applause swelled into a thunderous ovation, lasting several minutes before Stark raised a hand, chuckling. “Thank you, thank you. Please, hold your applause—unless you’re planning to keep it going all night. I do take tips in the form of stock options.”

As the room settled with a smattering of laughter, Stark’s tone shifted from playful to sincere. “It’s an honour to be here tonight. As said, these past two years have been a whirlwind. Since my return from Afghanistan, Stark Industries has gone from U.S. weapons manufacturer to a multi-billion-dollar global powerhouse. We’re in sectors I didn’t even know existed.”

“Next year, I’ll probably announce Stark Industries: Space Edition.” He winked, smirking at the excited hoots. “Stay tuned.”

He paused, eyes sweeping the crowd. “But let’s be honest—this transformation isn’t just because of me. I can’t take all the credit, no matter how much my ego would love it. This has been a team effort.”

A wry grin played across Stark’s face. “Sure, I may have kickstarted the revolution, but it’s the dedication and brilliance of every single Stark Industries employee that made it possible. From Legal, who managed to keep us out of jail—most days—to PR and HR, who somehow kept the world from thinking I’m a complete disaster, to Marketing’s bold campaigns and Production’s relentless innovation. Every department, every person, you’ve all played a crucial part in this evolution.”

“You all have played a part,” he repeated, letting the words settle, before adding with an overexaggerated sigh, “And yes, even you, Accounting. I see you back there. Don’t think I forgot the time you saved my bacon during the hundreds of audits.”

Another round of applause thundered through the hall, and Stark grinned at his employees—many of whom had weathered the company’s most turbulent days. “Especially with the launch of our new Foundations, Departments, and the arrival of so many new faces. This is just the beginning. Seriously, if you think we’re done innovating, you haven’t seen my calendar.”

As the world outside darkened, the room was suddenly illuminated by blue-tinted holograms. Company emblems and division logos shimmered above the crowd, a dazzling display of technology that only Stark Industries could deliver. The effect was electric, drawing awed murmurs from the audience.

“One of our newest divisions, Stark Medical, has already disrupted the field. We’ve attracted top scientists and clinicians from around the world, all united by the mission to drive medical innovation and improve lives. I’m no doctor—though I do look great in a lab coat—but I can tell you, the breakthroughs we’re making are nothing short of extraordinary.”

With a flick of his wrist, the hologram shifted.

Stark’s delivery never faltered. “And our other new division, Stark Energy, is pushing the boundaries of sustainable power. Our teams are developing scalable arc reactor technology—clean, reliable energy that’s nearly within our grasp. We’re committed to making climate change a problem of the past. And if we accidentally invent a perpetual motion machine, I call dibs on naming rights.”

He continued, “R&D is thriving, with new divisions like Stark Robotics and Stark Mobile & Technology giving our engineers and scientists the freedom to innovate. We’re not just keeping up—we’re setting the pace for the entire industry. Honestly, sometimes I have to run just to keep up with you all.”

Pride shone on the faces of the employees. The company’s transformation had been a storm, but they’d weathered it together. Stark himself had ensured no one was left behind—and his loyalty to his people was returned tenfold.

“Stark Industries has always been about revolutionizing the world, but we’re also committed to protecting it,” Stark said, his voice strong, eyes shining with pride. “And yes, that means even when I’m not in the suit. Turns out, you can save the world with a good benefits package, too.”

Many in the room nodded, remembering how the company’s renewed values had shaped their work and deepened their loyalty. Even as Stark’s relentless innovation sometimes left them shaking their heads in disbelief.

“The Maria Foundation has accomplished incredible things—funding charities, supporting global relief efforts, and providing a safety net for those in need. But with my work as Iron Man, a new foundation has slowly been gaining its own standing.”

The holograms shifted again, now displaying footage of Iron Man and the Iron Legion in action.

Scientists in the audience watched, transfixed by the technology on display—some openly marvelling at innovations that had only recently been revealed to the public. Stark had been careful to introduce these advancements gradually, mindful not to destabilize the tech sector overnight.

“While the Maria Foundation focuses on humanitarian aid, the Relief and Protection Foundation is designed to rebuild after disaster—natural or manmade,” Stark said, his tone shifting to one of gravity beneath the blue glow of the holograms.

“Whether it’s restoring communities or preventing escalation as Iron Man—or with the new, burgeoning Iron Legion—our mission is to pave the way to a safer future. And, yes, that means sometimes I show up to a disaster zone in a suit worth more than most yachts. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.”

The lights dimmed, and Stark’s expression grew serious as military insignias and mock images of classified documents flickered behind him. “With the Ten Rings in custody, my partnership with the U.S. Military—especially the Air Force—has concluded. I won’t be on active duty anymore, but through the Relief and Protection Foundation, I’ll keep offering support where it’s needed, thanks to the new international agreements our Legal team hammered out.”

He clapped his hands, and the holograms faded, the spotlight centring on him. The room brightened, but a thoughtful frown lingered on his face.

“We all know Iron Man worked with the Department of Defence to stop the illegal sale of Stark weapons. Since then, you’ve probably noticed a rapid decline in weapons production. Tonight, I’m announcing that our Weapons Division will now be permanently restricted to select government contracts only.”

“Sorry, arms dealers,” he snorted, a wry look on his face. “Looks like you’ll have to find another genius billionaire to supply your evil lairs.”

There was no outcry—everyone in the room had seen this coming. Former weapons engineers had already transitioned to new divisions, and the company’s soaring stock price and robust hiring reassured even the most sceptical employees. Stark Industries had managed the pivot with care, offering support and relocation for those affected.

“During our audit, I found far too many of our weapons had ended up in the wrong hands. It’s just too dangerous to keep mass production going. Combine that with the fallout from the Stane incident, and, well, we had to make some tough calls to protect our future. If you’re wondering if I lost sleep over it—let’s just say my coffee budget is now a line item in the annual report.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Many remembered the friends and colleagues lost in the upheaval—some in handcuffs, others in tears. Betrayal had left scars, but it had also forged a new sense of unity. Stark Industries was moving forward, stronger and more determined than ever.

Most who remained at Stark Industries were not just relieved, but genuinely grateful to have their employer back at the helm, excited by new opportunities—even if it meant a mountain of paperwork. Those who joined more recently, though initially kept at arm’s length, quickly became enamoured with the company culture and deeply appreciative of the doors that had opened for them.

With the company’s rapid growth, surging stock value, and a wave of new buyers, morale soared when Stark announced pay raises, enhanced leave policies, and comprehensive healthcare benefits. To say the workforce admired Stark would be an understatement; their loyalty was as fierce as their disdain for those who had betrayed the company.

So, while a few more roles would be restructured, most employees accepted the changes without protest—they’d had time to adjust and could see the bigger picture. The room remained largely silent, heads nodding in understanding as Stark continued.

“This is why Weapons Manufacturing will now be a low-priority subdivision within our R&D Department, and as stated, will only supply select contracts,” Stark declared, his tone resolute.

“The Military, the Board, and I have already agreed—no more open arms contracts unless absolutely necessary. Besides, our engineers are having way more fun building exo-suits and medical scanners than missiles.”

He paused, letting the message settle. “Does this mean we’re severing ties with the military? No. Stark Industries was founded to protect our soldiers. Despite the recent revelations and our production halt, our commitment to their safety remains unwavering. We’re just doing it with a little more style and a lot fewer explosions.”

The company’s relocation plan played a crucial role here. Scientists and engineers whose specialties no longer aligned with the new direction weren’t left to fend for themselves; instead, they were guided into new roles within the company, often in more collaborative and innovative environments.

While some friendships ended, departures were met with genuine well-wishes and support.

“Our former Weapons Division, will be replaced by Stark Defence—a new division focused on advanced protective gear,” Stark continued, a faint grin surfacing as a ripple of laughter met the name.

It truly did sound slightly suspect.

“Stark Defence will collaborate closely with Stark Mobile & Technology and Stark Robotics to develop state-of-the-art protective equipment, secure communications, non-lethal defence systems, and advanced detection technologies. Basically, everything you’d want if you’re planning to survive an alien invasion—or just your morning commute.”

He went on, “This division will also partner with Stark Medical and a new prosthetics subdivision in Stark Robotics, furthering our commitment to veterans. The Maria Foundation will help ensure their smooth transition home after service. Because if anyone deserves a soft landing, it’s those who’ve served.”

Stark scanned the crowd, acknowledging the few worried faces.

“I know some of you may have concerns about these changes,” he said, “but with so many divisions thriving, I believe we’ll not only adapt—we’ll grow stronger. Stark Industries has always led the way, and we will continue to shape the future. Trust me, if you think this is the end of innovation, you haven’t seen my to-do list.”

He let the anticipation build before unveiling the next initiative. “Which brings me to my final point: Our Future Foundation.”

Interest sparked in the room—this was news. Stark hadn’t made any news of another Foundation before this.

“As Stark Industries continues to attract top scientific talent, we recognize there’s a world of untapped potential out there. Our Future Foundation is designed to bring together aspiring scientists and engineers, providing the support and resources needed to launch their careers. This platform will also connect students from schools and universities with real opportunities in STEM. The future belongs to the next generation, and we’re committed to nurturing it.”

“Plus, if any of you invent time travel, please let me know,” he said, a tight smirk pulling at his features. “I have a few mistakes I’d like to fix.”

Excitement bubbled through the crowd, especially among the scientists, who exchanged eager grins at the prospect of mentoring fresh talent and welcoming new ideas.

“And with the launch of this Foundation, I’m thrilled to announce the return of Stark Expo 2010—now bigger than ever, in direct partnership with the Foundation. It may be a little late, but better late than never! And yes, there will be robots. Lots of them.”

Cheers erupted, some playful groans at the thought of more work, but most were swept up in the enthusiasm.

“Ladies and gentlemen, so much has changed in such a short time. I am incredibly proud of every one of you, and I hope this momentum carries us forward. Thank you again, and please—enjoy the evening. Try not to break anything. That’s my job.”

Applause thundered through the hall, blending with the orchestra as music resumed. Laughter and conversation filled the space, and across every branch of the company, employees felt grateful to be part of Stark Industries’ next chapter.

Senate Hearing Chamber, Capitol Hill, DC, USA

May 10, 2010; 11:26 (EST)

A few days later, on the opposite coast and in a far less festive setting, the mood was a stark contrast to the recent celebrations.

The Senate hearing chamber was filled with a mix of business leaders, military officials, and politicians, each group clustered on its respective side of the room. The atmosphere was tense, with businessmen and women casting wary glances at their competitors and whispering quietly among trusted colleagues.

Across the aisle, politicians and high-ranking military officers sat rigid, their expressions tight as they faced the Senate panel.

In the previous timeline, these officials had been more relaxed— even supportive— of the entire fiasco, but he had made damn sure that these last two years weren’t for nothing. Tony’s relentless work ethic and hands-on approach had not only transformed his company, but it had also forced every player in the room to adapt.

Too face the reality that he was not the same person they remembered.

Gone was the image of Tony Stark as a reckless playboy or the infamous "Merchant of Death." Now, he was recognized as a visionary CEO and a corporate powerhouse, with Stark Industries booming across the nation and expanding internationally.

Now, he finally fitted the title of ‘Da Vinci of our Time’.

The company’s pivot away from weapons manufacturing had not only stabilized its reputation but also opened doors to new partnerships, mergers, and even the occasional takeover.

Stark Industries’ philanthropic arms, like the Maria, and Relief and Protection Foundations, had set new standards for corporate responsibility, while the Iron Legion was slowly becoming a symbol of technological progress and public accountability.

On the military front, Tony’s collaboration with the Department of Defence had evolved into a series of formal agreements and joint projects. Regular meetings with the DoD had resulted in carefully negotiated contracts, clarifying the roles and limitations of Iron Man and the Iron Legion in both domestic and international operations.

These agreements were ground breaking, but also incredibly fragile. Any misstep in this hearing could strain the new relationships and jeopardize any future cooperation.

Politically, he was still an outsider.

While some lawmakers respected his achievements and the economic growth he’d spurred, others remained wary, preferring to keep him at arm’s length. The new airspace and diplomatic agreements he’d signed with the military had forced Congress to adapt, but not all were pleased with the pace or direction of change.

Tony’s influence was undeniable, but it made him a target for those who resented his autonomy and growing public popularity.

For the business community, the mood was mixed. Stark Industries’ exit from weapons manufacturing had eased competitive pressures in that sector, making former rivals—like Hammer Industries—unexpectedly grateful, much to their chagrin.

The company’s rapid growth in other fields, however, left some competitors uneasy, even as they benefited from joint ventures or improved market conditions due to growing interest from investors.

The real source of today’s hearing, however, was little more than political theatre.

Hammer Industries, emboldened by their new status and eager to curry favour, had lobbied aggressively for scrutiny of Tony’s more adventurous operations. The Senate committee, led by a chairman with a personal axe to grind and a Nazi network behind his back, had seized on the opportunity to hold a public hearing.

The ostensible point of contention was the autonomy of Iron Man and the Iron Legion. A national security concern often cited in such hearings, but in reality, it was a common tactic used by lawmakers to justify public inquiry when personal motives are at play.

Military officials, for their part, were most visibly frustrated of everyone, as they forced to revisit agreements they had already painstakingly negotiated.

The press, meanwhile, was delighted—savouring every moment of the spectacle, even if they ignored the underlying lack of substance. Any train wreck that included him, had a given audience attached to it, a total win in their books.

In short, the hearing was a collision of egos, interests, and old grudges. A far cry from the optimism of the recent corporate gala, but nothing he was unprepared for. He was just lucky that this time, he has the advantage instead of being ambushed by some secretary.

The room hung in an awkward silence after the committee’s underwhelming presentation and the so-called video “evidence” that was supposed to justify their request.

Senators shifted in their seats, some glancing at their notes, others exchanging looks that made it clear: whatever threat was being peddled, most of the people who should be alarmed simply weren’t.

At the centre, Senator Stern tried to project authority, glowering down from the dais. But Tony could see the cracks in the façade.

Stern’s frustration was obvious, and the rest of the panel looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Even the business leaders and military brass in attendance seemed more interested in checking their watches than listening to another round of political theatre.

Tony took pity on the room and leaned into the microphone, voice dry. “So, just to clarify, Senator Stern—you want me to hand over my armour because someone else tried to make a bootleg? I’ve seen middle school science fairs with better engineering. At least they use duct tape.”

A ripple of laughter broke out behind him. Even Rhodey, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, had to stifle a grin.

Stern’s face flushed. “Mr. Stark, your armour is an unpredictable weapon, which—”

“Senator,” Tony cut in, “let’s not kid ourselves. If this was about national security, we’d be talking about actual threats, not viral videos of backyard cosplay. And for the record, every weapon is unpredictable—ask history. The Second Amendment says I still get to keep my toys, even if they’re shinier than most. Want to make it a constitutional debate? I’ll call the NRA for you.”

He let the words hang, knowing full well how loaded the topic was. But Tony had learned to use the system’s own rhetoric to his advantage, even if it left a bitter taste.

He lounged back, waving a hand. “And let’s not forget: I’ve worked with the military to recover every piece of stolen Stark tech. My ‘unpredictable weapon’—which, by the way, gets more oversight than most defence budgets—only goes out on joint ops, gets reviewed more often than your campaign finances, and has a standing agreement with an oversight panel along with the Iron Legion. That’s more red tape than a Christmas present.”

The room grew quieter, cameras focusing in as Tony’s words shifted the energy. He could see the press in the gallery, hungry for a soundbite, but more interested in the spectacle than the substance.

Stern tried to regain his footing. “I—”

Tony didn’t let up. “Did I, or did I not, deliver a suit to Lt. Colonel Rhodes and, by extension, the U.S. Air Force? That’s public record. The suit’s still in testing, every step documented. You want transparency? I’ve practically live-streamed the process.”

A few heads nodded, and Tony caught the ripple of agreement among the military officials. Even the general who’d started this mess looked resigned.

The reason the suit wasn’t finished was because he had been designing it with enough safety features to make a NASA engineer blush—especially around the spine and, you know, the important squishy bits. Every piece is tailored to fit Rhodey, and Rhodey only.

He also had to find a way of making sure that the very, very suspiciously advanced materials in the armour don’t trigger any red flags. But for Rhodey, he would give up weeks of sleep to ensure what had happened the first go around, would never happen again

“I gave it as a gesture of faith. A partnership, not a fire sale,” Tony pressed.

“If we really want to talk about weapons, let’s talk about that shiny new DoD contract. Stark Industries supplies defensive tech—occasionally weapons, but only under strict conditions. No mass production, no private sales, every unit tracked. Want to call that unpredictable too?”

He shot a look at the military brass, who nodded along. Stern, on the other hand, looked ready to burst a blood vessel.

“Let’s also be honest, Senator,” Tony said, voice dropping, “the real leaks weren’t just in my company. We found breaches in your own procurement offices—leaks that led to the mass distribution of my weapons. If you want to talk about unpredictability, of accountability, of how unsafe it is to be in my hands, maybe you should first look in your own backyard and see if it would be any better.”

Stern’s face went pale, the threat and implication clear. Tony could see several officials exchanging grim looks. He had warned them, threatened them, that if they were to push him, he would reveal the truth to the public.

Tony was only keeping his word.

“So,” he drawled, “remind me why I should hand over my armour when you can’t even keep track of conventional weapons?”

He gestured toward Hammer, who looked thoroughly deflated. The man shrank under the direct scrutiny, his earlier bravado gone.

“Because you’re right, Senator. The armour is a weapon—a sword, as you say. But at least I know how to use it, and how to keep it locked down. Even then, only two people on Earth can run it, and neither of us are selling the blueprints on eBay.”

Hammer could only shrink further into his seat.

Rhodey, ever the professional, finally spoke up from next to him. “He’s right, sir. The first time I tried the suit, the data load alone was enough to knock me flat. This isn’t something you can just hand out.”

Tony spread his hands, exasperated. “I’ve already given you one suit, what more do you want? It’s not some handgun you can handout, like you and Hammer are trying to make it out to be. Out of everyone, Rhodey was the only one qualified to operate it, and even then, it took months of training. This just isn’t plug-and-play technology.”

He leaned forward, tone suddenly business-like. “You’ve got your contracts, your suit, my Foundation. What’s left? What more do you want?”

“Nothing about the Iron Man suit has been taken lightly,” Tony scoffed, downright annoyed. “I had every legal box checked, not just with the U.S. military and government, but with international partners and oversight organizations. I’ve signed more NDAs than most senators have campaign donors.”

He twisted in his chair, gesturing to the officials at the back. They looked less than thrilled to be in the spotlight, but nodded in agreement. “Look, I hate paperwork. I hate bureaucracy. I hate meetings so much I’m considering inventing a time machine just to skip them. But here I am, playing nice. I’ve spent so much time with these guys, I’m starting to crave bad coffee and use words like ‘synergy.’ But until I can move forward without causing an incident—” read, Catastrophic Butterfly Effect, “— this is how it has to be.”

“Not that I’m doing it for you, Senator Stern,” he added. “Just so we’re clear. I don’t even do it for my own board.”

Turning back to Stern, who now looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, Tony let a too-innocent smile spread across his face. “You know what all that actually means, Senator? Or do you just skim the memos for the parts with your name in bold?”

He paused, just long enough to appreciate the pure rage sufficing from the cherry-red-with-embarrassment man.

“It means my legal team—who, by the way, deserve hazard pay from dealing with you—have done the heavy lifting. I’ll have to remind Accounting to send them a fruit basket. Or a small island. Depends on the quarterly earnings.”

“It means,” he repeated, getting back on track, “we’ve spent months wading through contracts with every branch of the military. Not just the Air Force—everyone. All so Stark Industries can keep you safe without putting missiles back on the breakfast menu.”

Some chatter broke out, but Tony didn’t slow down. “It means we had to draft brand new agreements, which, by the way, were already in place after the whole Afghanistan fiasco. You remember that, right? The time when everyone was scrambling for suppliers because Stark weapons being recalled overnight?”

There were protests, there was grumbling, but most people had calmed down when they realized they’d still get the best defensive gear. The weapons just came with a new clause: only in dire circumstances.

Read: alien invasion. Or, you know, Tuesday for him.

He let that hang, watching a few officers wince at the memory.

“It means we added more clauses, tied a military oversight panel to my Relief and Protection Foundation, just so I could keep doing the Iron Man thing and, you know, save the world between paperwork sprints.”

He leaned in, voice dropping just enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We had spent days—weeks—arguing about where the power lies in my actions. What boundaries can be pushed, what lines can’t be crossed. Especially when it comes to private property—which, in case you missed it, is all patented.”

“And let’s be clear: I’m not your soldier,” he said, more like emphasising. “I’m a guy fixing a mess and using the power I have to do what’s right. If you want more than that, you’re going to have to start your own superhero program.”

He couldn’t stop the bitter snort. “Good luck with that.”

“It means we spent months hammering out a common ground—a system where I’m held accountable, there’s real oversight, and yet I still have the autonomy to act when it matters. I get to be a person, not a government drone, and still answer for my actions. That’s called compromise, Senator. You should try it sometime.”

The Accords had been a mess.

Ross’s power plays, the endless arguements, and enough legalese to put a law library to shame. But Tony still believed the principle was sound. With the right structure, with the right leaders, you could protect the world and the people in it.

This time, he had decided to set the precedent himself, building a framework that kept Ross at arm’s length and put the Air Force and a handful of other agencies on his oversight panel. No one branch, no one person, would hold all the cards.

“Bottom line of it is that I share intel, I debrief and I don’t just disappear into the night. But I also get to protect people and fix my mistakes, with backup to keep the collateral damage down. Because, newsflash, people aren’t respawn tokens—they’re actual lives.”

He let that hang, letting the weight of it settle.

“We didn’t just talk to the U.S. government, either,” he commented, dryly, and watched as some of the Senators seem to curl in themselves with pained expressions. “We went international.”

“Because you’re right, Senator,” he repeated, half-disgusted but he appreciated the disbelief that flickered over Stern’s face. Utterly comical.

“My armour is a weapon. Other countries are going to see it, they’re going to want it, and they will damn try to copy it. So, we brought in the UN, hammered out deals, made sure everyone got a seat at the table. I’ve endured more diplomatic banter than anyone should, but at least now, no one’s in the dark.”

With a flick of his hand, Tony had JARVIS pull up the infamous Hammer Industries test footage. Gasps echoed as the video showed a suit twisting a pilot 180 degrees with Hammer turning paler than the projection behind him.

“A copy exactly as you have seen—except that was your own handiwork, Senator. Expect a stack of lawsuits for that little stunt,” Tony deadpanned, shooting Hammer a look that sent him slumping further in his chair.

The video vanished, but the impact lingered. The panel stared at Tony with a new wariness, and a few military officials looked distinctly uncomfortable at how much Tony knew about their supposedly ‘hidden’ files. Rhodey looked half-impressed, half-worried, and Pepper’s gaze bored into him from behind.

He pressed on, unruffled. “We went through every piece of international law for every partnership. I said I’d fix my mistakes, and that means going global. I’d rather sit through a thousand hours of political theatre than let another country feel threatened or left out because of me.”

Sokovia flickered through his mind, but he shoved it aside. No need to revisit that pain now.

“Iron Man and the Iron Legion aren’t just American anymore—they’re global. I’m here to help, and I’ve built in more safeguards than a nuclear plant. You’re the ones trying to break them by making up problems.”

He let a bright, sincere smile break through, letting the sincerity ooze. “So, no, you’re not getting my armour. Not today, not ever.”

“Not only are you making yourself a fool of yourself for disregarding every agreement and contract we’ve put in place with governments around the world, and, let’s not forget, your own government—,” Stern paled, the flush of anger fading rapidly, “—but you’re also fighting my right to my own property. To defend myself. That’s bold. Not smart, but bold.”

He narrowed his eyes, letting a wicked grin spread. “All things considered, you should be grateful for me.”

Stern, grappling for control, growled, “Why is that, Mr. Stark?”

Tony grinned, leaning in for the kill. “Because not only did I manage to work with a system that’s notoriously allergic to change, but—hey, I also privatized world peace. You’re welcome.”

Rounds of applause broke out behind Tony.

Some were exasperated but impressed, others were reluctant but unable to muster a coherent objection. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the atmosphere, basking in the rare approval of a room usually hostile to anything with his name on it.

But then he dropped the charm, fixing Stern with a glare that made the senator jump and sent a hush rippling through the chamber.

“So, I’m going to leave now and pretend this hearing never happened—because, frankly, Senator, you’re a selfish, greedy ass-clown politician who only wants to use my tech for your own means,” Tony said, voice ice-cold but unmistakably amused.

No one objected. Not a single senator or official even tried.

To really drive the point home, Tony leaned in with a wolfish grin. “Push this any further, and you’ll be the one explaining to the military why their contract is cut, and why I have my lawyers on you—and them—before you can say ‘subpoena.’ Good luck explaining this circus to your superiors and the press.”

Faces blanched across the room.

The General looked seconds away from passing out, well aware that SI’s legal team had a reputation for eviscerating anyone foolish enough to challenge them in court. When Stark Industries’ lawyers smelled blood in the water, everyone knew it was already over.

Senator Stern, for his part, looked ready to faint, his complexion matching Hammer’s—who was now staring blankly into the distance, clearly reconsidering his life choices and the legal fallout he might soon face.

Of course, the consequences of this hearing would ripple far beyond the chamber. The government would be forced to reckon with the optics of trying to strong-arm Tony Stark on live national television, especially when he’d just exposed their own failings and the questionable motivations behind the hearing.

The public, watching in real time, would be furious—seeing not just a political spectacle, but a blatant attempt to seize private property and undermine hard-won international agreements.

Legal ramifications would follow: any attempt to force Tony’s hand could trigger contract breaches, lawsuits, and a diplomatic headache for the U.S. government, given the international scope of his agreements and the transparency he’d just put on display.

In the end, Tony had turned the tables. He had turned a Senate ambush into a public relations and legal victory, all while making it clear that neither he nor Stark Industries would be bullied by political theatrics and whatever organisation pulling the strings from the wings.

Not this time.

Somewhere in White River National Forest, CO, USA

May 10, 2010; 16:48 (MST)

Stepping out of the jet felt like finally exhaling after holding his breath for days.

There were no paparazzi lurking in the trees, no journalists flinging questions like confetti, no investors or board members debating the fate of Stark Industries. Just the hush of nature and the rare, unfiltered quiet of peace.

The air was fresh and sharp, threading through Tony’s hair and tugging at his suit lapels. Songbirds trilled from the forest’s edge, and somewhere nearby, the rush of a creek played counterpoint to the hum of cooling engines.

He let himself savour it for a beat, the world stripped down to wind, water, and birdsong.

Turning away from the jet, Tony took in the compound he had recently built. It was a testament to his vision of technology and nature in harmony. Unlike the old Avengers Compound, this place didn’t scream for attention.

It had dark grey plaster walls covered in wooden panels woven with climbing vines and bursts of wildflowers, and broad windows that looked out over the rolling landscape. The structure rose a few stories, with balconies facing sunrise and sunset.

Despite the extravagance, it blended into the scenery quite well.

The path crunched beneath his shoes as he crossed to the main entrance, a wide oak door opening into an interior that was anything but modest. Inside, the compound was a seamless marriage of warmth and cutting-edge tech, wood and marble flecked with gold accents. The first distinct room that opened up from the entryway was a kitchen that could host a science symposium or a midnight snack raid.

Overall, it was a kind of place that felt lived in, not just engineered.

No sooner had he dropped his bags of takeout on the marble counter than a familiar voice greeted him, smooth and reassuring. “Welcome back to the Compound, Sir. I am glad to see you back safely from your journey.”

Tony grinned, rolling off his jacket and sliding it into a hidden wall hatch attached to his closet—one of his quieter flexes. “Good to be back, J. Man, I missed this place.”

It was a far cry from the echoing halls of his old life. Here, he had built something that felt like home. Especially as it was filled with the right people this time around.

“Well, I would sure hope so,” called a voice from down the hall, casual and unmistakably amused.

He looked up, grin widening as Darcy appeared, hands in her pockets, posture as relaxed as ever.

“Of course! Where else does real science happen?” he shot back, mock outrage in his tone.

Darcy snorted, laughter bubbling up as she joined him by the counter. “Please, Stark, you just like it because no one here tries to sell you vitamins or asks you to fix their Wi-Fi.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a certified genius in at least three fields. Wi-Fi repair is just a bonus,” Tony replied, deadpan, but his eyes sparkled.

Darcy rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine, warm in the afternoon light streaming through the glass. “Good to see you back, Stark.”

“Thanks, Darcy. It’s good to be back,” he said, meaning it.

A few months ago, after JARVIS had pinged him about the scientists’ willingness to meet, Tony had set up the first gathering at Malibu. It gave him home field advantage—and, more importantly, a guarantee that no one was eavesdropping.

Thinking back to that first meeting, Tony remembered the air being thick with suspicion and curiosity. Most of the scientists had eyed each other warily, clearly wondering what he was up to and why he had brought them together in the first place.

“Where’s the rest of the brain trust?” Tony asked, spinning around to grab plates from the cupboard.

Darcy, already making herself at home and peering into the takeout bags, answered with her trademark nonchalance. “Most are holed up in their labs. Jane’s busy packing for our New Mexico trip so she’ll swing by later. Erik’s already gone off to chase down those readings he and Jane have been obsessing over.”

Tony snorted, sliding a plate across the counter. “Typical. Give a scientist a mystery and you’ll never see them at dinner again.”

Darcy grinned, “You say that like you’re not the worst offender.”

He couldn’t argue.

That first gathering had been tense, right up until Darcy, fed up with the posturing, had told everyone to “stuff their egos back where the sun doesn’t shine and have a drink.” Tony had been so stunned he nearly choked on his coffee, then had burst out laughing.

The tension had quickly been broken afterwards, and everyone finally started to relax.

Jane Foster, astrophysicist extraordinaire, had been scandalized at first but had quickly warmed up. Tony had no immediate use for her research, but he knew she’d be invaluable when things got cosmic. You know, Einstein-Rosen Bridges, aliens, the works.

She was sharp, dry-witted, and never backed down from a challenge, which Tony respected. Even if thinking about space sometimes made his skin crawl with memories of black holes and Chitauri pouring from the sky.

On bad days, when those memories slithered up from the dark, Tony sometimes had to excuse himself, feigning distraction to avoid a full-blown panic attack. No one called him out on it, but he could feel their curiosity every time he ducked out.

Professor Erik Selvig had joined later, after Tony realized how closely he worked with Jane and remembered his SHIELD connections. It only made sense to bring him in, especially with SHIELD’s penchant for boundary issues and HYDRA’s shadow always lurking.

With Thor’s arrival on the horizon, Tony’s nerves were on edge. He didn’t trust SHIELD, and he wasn’t about to risk the safety of people he was starting to consider friends, with the incoming aliens.

Trying to mask his anxiety about the upcoming New Mexico trip—and everything it could mean—Tony nudged the food closer to Darcy. “What about the doctors?”

Now, that had been a circus. Even after Darcy’s icebreaker, getting the doctors to actually socialize was like herding caffeinated cats. Dr Wu was reserved, Dr Helen Cho was suspicious, and Doctor Strange… well, Stephen was like Tony from a few years back, only with more arrogance and less charm.

It didn’t help that he and Strange kept trying to outdo each other in dry wit and ego. Tony knew he’d win any contest involving money, but in high society? His old playboy reputation still lingered, despite two years of effort to shift perceptions and earn real respect, while still keeping himself underestimated. It was a tricky balance.

The real breakthrough came when Tony unveiled the Arc Reactor and explained its function. The collective look of horror on their faces was priceless—until they all dragged him off to poke and prod at his chest, nearly having a group aneurysm when he admitted no doctor had checked him since Afghanistan.

He’d had to explain the palladium poisoning, the core swaps, and why he refused to take the “green sludge” from the old timeline.

“My kidneys are fine, thanks,” he’d deadpanned. “They can do their job.”

No one was happy about it—not even Jane and Darcy, who promptly joined the others in nagging him about his health, sleep, and caffeine habits. Still, the group had started to gel, pushing each other’s minds to the limit and making real discoveries.

The doctors admitted they mostly wanted to one-up Tony for discovering a new element, but after he explained the ironclad NDA’s they had to sign beforehand and SI’s global impact, they grudgingly respected the secrecy. Though that did not stop them from finding other reasons to compete against him.

Since then, everyone had become wary of government agencies and tight-lipped about their work. They shared Tony’s frustration with SHIELD’s hoarding of Howard Stark’s secrets—science was meant to be shared, after all.

The group kept their collaboration quiet, maintaining a united front when questioned. It also gave Tony cover to slowly pull away from the spotlight, reinforcing the idea that something was “off.”

He took longer breaks before returning to public life, convincing even SHIELD—and, increasingly, the public—that despite Stark Industries’ meteoric rise, there was something else at play. And for those aware of his little machine outside of his personal circle –a precaution from the fact that he was unable to hide the reactor when the military first found him— it would only satisfy their false predictions.

“Dr. Helen and Dr. Wu took off for Hong Kong and Seoul a few days ago,” Darcy said, sliding onto a stool and eyeing the spread of takeout, “and Strange left just a few hours back. Something about an emergency and, quote, ‘those idiots can’t do anything without me.’”

She rolled her eyes, but Tony caught the faintest smirk—clearly, there was a grudging respect beneath the snark. A relieving sight, since last time he was aware, the two could barely stand to be in the same room.

Darcy and Strange had butted heads more than once, their verbal sparring legendary enough to clear a room for days. Even Tony had enjoyed a few rounds with the good doctor—less heat than amusement in his case, but still enough arrogance to keep things interesting. At least Strange had mellowed a bit since joining the group, though apologies were still a rare commodity.

It must have happened while he was away.

Tony’s thoughts drifted to the recent Senate spectacle, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he remembered the headlines casting suspicion on Stern and the government. Public trust was a fickle thing, but right now, it was working in his favour. HYDRA’s eventual exposure wouldn’t hit as hard this time—he’d make sure of that.

He glanced back at Darcy, noticing her sudden quiet. She was chewing her lip, dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than usual. Tony’s heart sank a little.

Sighing, he started unpacking the food. “And Bruce?”

She looked up, brown eyes behind thick frames meeting his for a second before dropping again. Her shoulders slumped. “He’s still jumpy. Hiding in his room, but at least he’s not tearing apart the lab or trying to brew up a cure every other hour.”

Tony nodded, feeling the weight of it.

Bruce Banner wasn’t someone he’d originally sought out, not after the mess of the previous go, but meeting him before the Hulk changed everything. The man was sharp, quick to call out stupidity, and stubborn in all the right ways. It made it easier to see Bruce and the previous timeline one as separate people.

Still, Ross and his super soldier obsession had reared its head in this timeline as well and left its distinct green scars. Even after Harlem, with Tony running interference, Bruce still came out a bumbling mess.

The day he’d shown up at the compound—shivering, clothes in tatters, eyes wild—was burned into Tony’s mind. They’d managed to calm him down, moved him into the “Hulk-proof” room (officially a hazardous materials lab), and tried to help. But Bruce’s search for a cure was frantic and, more often than not, heart breaking.

“Just a few weeks ago, he broke down after another failed experiment,” Darcy admitted softly. “We all tried to help, but… it’s rough. He’s not giving up, but it’s slow going.”

Tony remembered the incident, despite not being physically present. He had sent over calming teas and Bruce’s favourite scents, trying to help in his own way. The last phone call gave him hope, but with everything else looming—aliens, government drama—he couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.

He forced a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “So, I bought all this food for nothing? That’s what I get for trying to be the world’s greatest host.”

Darcy mustered a smile, shaking off the gloom. “Nah, me and Jane can put a dent in this. And don’t worry—Maya’s still here, so you won’t be stuck talking to yourself.”

Tony winced at the mention of Maya Hansen. That had been a surprise—her agreeing to join the team, but only after a shouting match that dug up old wounds and accusations. AIM had been quietly dismantled after Tony bought out most of the company and handed Killian over to the authorities, but the fallout was still fresh.

Maya was grateful for the chance to work without pressure and with real resources, and Tony was relieved to finally understand Extremis from the inside, not as a fiery guessing game.

There was an unspoken agreement among everyone involved in the AIM investigation: no one talked about what really happened to Killian. The official story was a transport accident, but Tony knew better. At least Maya was alive, working on Extremis, and Pepper was safe this time—no additional nightmares of her falling or combusting, and no more desperate gambles with half-baked suits.

On the scientific side, having Maya in-house meant Stark Industries could finally get ahead of the Extremis problem, not just react to it. It was a win for the company, the medical field, and, selfishly, for Tony’s own peace of mind. Maybe, just maybe, it would be the breakthrough that let him finally ditch the arc reactor for good.

His help, even if genuinely appreciated, didn’t mean Maya had entirely forgiven him. There was still a trace of resentment in the air, but at least she was willing to try for amends. It would take time—probably a lot of it—but Tony knew they’d get there, slowly but surely.

Shaking off the memories –and the existential question of why he kept surrounding himself with women who could absolutely wipe the floor with him if they wanted— Tony gestured at the spread of food.

“Well, take your pick. I’m heading down to the lab before anyone can schedule another intervention about my caffeine intake.”

He grabbed a plate—no way was he risking another lecture about skipping meals—and a cup of coffee that JARVIS or FRIDAY had brewed to perfection.

He was halfway to the elevator when the scrape of a chair and a loud, “Wait!” made him pause.

He turned, eyebrow arched, as Darcy stood awkwardly, hands half-raised, caught between spouting something and holding back.

“Are you sure?” she blurted, words tumbling out. “I mean, you could always work up here. The extra labs are pretty nice, and you wouldn’t have to go full mad scientist in the basement…”

Tony blinked, thrown by her uncharacteristic nerves. “Darcy… what’s up?”

She hesitated, then slumped, the fight leaving her shoulders. “It’s just… every time you disappear down there, you’re working on stuff none of us even know about. I mean, we’ve never even seen your main lab. For all we know, you’re building a time machine or a death ray.”

He almost laughed, the irony sharp. She wasn’t wrong. The lab was his sanctuary—designed with future tech, stuffed with equipment that didn’t exist yet, and filled with projects that would make any government agency salivate or panic.

The Iron Legion, prototype photon shields inspired by the Tesseract, nanotech suits lining the walls—all hidden a few floors below. Even his AIs’ upgrades are enough of a warning sign.

Tony had completely overhauled the AI infrastructure, rebuilding JARVIS and FRIDAY on a custom, modular neural network running on specialized hardware with quantum-encrypted, air-gapped connections to ensure near-impenetrable security and zero downtime—even if the grid went dark—powered independently by miniature arc reactors.

The software combined transparent, auditable code with advanced machine learning and self-repair and quarantine protocols guarded against compromise, made his AI system not just cutting-edge but practically Fort Knox with a sarcastic personality and the ability to run global defence operations flawlessly.

Fury had made him paranoid, and Siberia had made him thorough.

Nothing could be left to chance.

No one but JARVIS and FRIDAY knew the full story. As far as the others were concerned, it was just a high-security workspace. The truth—fucking time travel, so don’t need to invent that—was locked down tight. Until he could prove the extraordinary, he’d keep it that way. Otherwise, he’d be trading the lab for a padded cell.

Darcy’s voice pulled him from the spiral. “You gave us a chance, Tony. We just… don’t want you getting killed down there, doing God-knows-what, while we’re locked out.”

He tried for a casual shrug. “I know, I just—there’s a lot of classified stuff. Plausible deniability is your best friend when the alphabet agencies come knocking.”

She looked unconvinced. “You mean the arc reactor and the fact you created a freakin’ new element?”

Tony winced. “That too.”

He sipped his coffee, now closer to lukewarm, and tried not to think about how dangerous it all was. Pushing the timeline, rewriting events, introducing new tech—every move was a gamble. The new element was the biggest risk yet, but it bought him time, kept SHIELD distracted, and gave the doctors something else to focus on besides his battered sternum. Maya’s serum was the backup plan, but he’d told her point-blank: he wasn’t looking for superpowers, just a way to survive.

Darcy’s next question was softer, but it hit harder. “Why? Why do all this?”

He didn’t flinch, but he felt the weight of it. Sometimes he felt ancient, watching his friends—old and new—move through life untouched by the years and scars he carried. Time travel had saved him and cursed him in equal measure.

Every day, the pressure mounted: Iron Man, the Legion, Stark Industries, training Pepper to lead, building global defences, negotiating with politicians, bracing for the next cosmic threat. He was tired, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

“Darcy… it’s just the way it is.” The resignation in his voice was impossible to hide. He hoped she’d hear the truth in the half-answer, and not push for more.

She pursed her lips, clearly unhappy, but nodded. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Go-Getter. Just… take care of yourself, okay? And listen to JARVIS—he’s the only one around here with any sense.”

Tony managed a crooked grin. “Will do. And if you ever need backup, you call me. No questions asked.”

The elevator doors closed, cutting off any reply. Tony leaned against the wall, food and coffee forgotten in his hands, head pounding with the weight of secrets and the knowledge that, as the circle of people he cared about grew, so did the risks—and the stakes.

<J.A.R.V.I.S.OS—Subroutine: Initialization Sequence Commencing>

<Core System Load: 98% Complete>

<Downloading Data Files…>

<Data Package Integrity Verified—All Files Received>

<Protocol: Lookout — Status: ACTIVATED>

<Initiating Multi-Vector Scan: Progress 67%>

<SYSTEM ALERT: Anomaly Detected in Data Stream>

<SYSTEM ALERT: Threat Signature Correlation in Progress>

<SYSTEM ALERT: High-Risk Entity Identified>

<Engaging Automated Threat Review—Dispatching Priority Notification to Primary User>

<ALERT: Subject "Ivan Vanko" Located—Threat Profile Updated, Immediate Action Recommended>

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

The Compound, White River National Forest, CO, USA

May 10, 2010; 16:58 (MST)

The trip down to the workshop was quiet, the only sound the soft clink of dishes in Tony’s hands and the low slosh of his rapidly dwindling coffee. A gentle ding signalled the elevator’s arrival, doors gliding open to reveal a space that was equal parts sanctuary and supercomputer—a world built for a man who could never stop building.

The lab sprawled out before him, far larger than any reasonable person would ever need. Smooth concrete floors gleamed under the overhead LEDs, broken up by clusters of workstations—each one crafted from Hulk-proof alloys and topped with holographic interfaces running custom code.

Screens flickered with schematics and diagnostics, some showing the schematics of the guts of an Iron Man gauntlet spilled across one table, others cycling through simulations for the next round of upgrades. The technical atmosphere was palpable: everywhere he looked, there was evidence of iterative genius—nanotech filaments coiled in glass cases, prototype photon shields inspired by the Tesseract’s energy signature, and diagnostic feeds scrolling across transparent displays.

A kitchenette stood off to the side, a concession to JARVIS and the doctors, who’d staged more than one intervention about Tony’s tendency to forget meals for days at a time. Fabrication units and heavy machinery lined the back wall, robotic arms hanging in anticipation—except for DUM-E, Butterfingers, and U, who zipped over, beeping and whirring with excitement.

Tony couldn’t help a reluctant smile. “Alright, alright, don’t all mob me at once. I know, I’m late for my own welcome party.”

DUM-E spun in a circle, Butterfingers waved a claw, and U let out a proud chirp. JARVIS’s voice, dry as ever, piped in overhead: “Sir, I would remind you that the probability of you tripping over your own inventions increases by 37% when you attempt to multitask with food in hand.”

FRIDAY chimed in, her tone bright. “But we’re all glad you’re back, boss! The bots have been restless, and I’ve already queued up your favourite playlist. Also, you’re overdue for a meal by about… twelve hours?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in it. “You two are relentless. Remind me to install an off switch for the sass module.”

“Noted, sir,” JARVIS replied, “though I suspect you’d find the silence unnerving.”

The lab’s structure was a marvel of future-proofing and paranoia. Hulk-proof ballistic glass separated the main workspace from the rows of Iron Man suits, each generation standing sentinel, their tech refined and disguised beneath more conventional exteriors. Behind another wall of glass, a secondary elevator led to the armoury and the Iron Legion’s fabrication centre below.

At the very bottom, the arc reactor pulsed with blue-white light, now shielded against EMPs and equipped with enough emergency protocols and backup generators to survive just about anything short of a direct meteor strike.

Tony had learned the hard way not to keep all his eggs—or armours—in one basket. The Malibu Mansion had been too exposed, too accessible. Here, at the Compound, everything dangerous or truly advanced was under layers of security, off-grid, and known only to his closest allies and a handful of very well-compensated contractors bound by NDAs that would make even the most hardened lawyer sweat.

Shuffling through the expansive workshop, Tony set his lunch down on a nearby workstation, the scent of cooling takeout mingling with the faint ozone of active machinery. He flicked his wrist and brought up a series of news articles from the morning’s Senate hearing—was that really just this morning?—hoping that public scrutiny would remain on the government and finally remain away from Iron Man and Stark Industries.

Maybe, if the press kept the momentum, the upcoming Stark Expo would draw even more investor interest, boosting SI’s influence in the U.S. and, by extension, globally.

Scanning the headlines—most of them surprisingly in his favour—Tony quickly knocked out the minimum paperwork Pepper had sent over for the Expo. The event was shaping up to be a scientific gold rush, with researchers from around the world eager to showcase their patents, hunt for venture capital, or forge new partnerships with SI and other tech giants.

The Expo’s workload was barely dented and his lunch was half-eaten when the lab’s hum was interrupted by JARVIS. “Sir, we have a new development you may be interested in.”

Tony hummed, pausing his review to glance at the bots, who were now tangled up with a ball of copper wire scavenged from a gauntlet prototype. That was going to be a pain to sort out. He refocused on JARVIS, curiosity piqued.

“‘Protocol: Lookie Here’ has been activated, and I believe you’ll want to see the evidence already compiled,” JARVIS continued, a hint of something solemn threading through the logic.

Tony’s mood shifted, the protocol name sending alarm bells blaring in his head. He dismissed the paperwork from his screens and pulled up the files JARVIS had flagged.

Subject of Analysis: Ivan Vanko

The name flashed on the display, bold and ominous. Tony felt time’s pressure all over again. Just when he thought he’d caught his breath; the next crisis was already queuing up. He muttered a few choice curses, raked a hand through his hair, and forced himself to focus on the data.

It was all uncomfortably familiar.

He flicked open another screen, checking Pepper’s latest notes—Monaco Grand Prix, flight plans, security details from Happy, and a request from Pepper to pick up a PA. She was no longer his PA having transitioned to be his COO, though kept up most of her PA duties, but the CEO transition was looming in the not-so-distant future.

“Damn, thought we had more time,” Tony muttered, already bracing for the next whirlwind.

He clapped his hands together, rallying his energy. “Alright, here we go again. FRIDAY, you still around?”

A beat later, FRIDAY’s cheerful Irish lilt filled the lab: “Hey, Boss. What’s up?” The AI’s tone was bright, eager, and ready for whatever came next—exactly the kind of backup Tony needed in a world that never stopped throwing curveballs.

JARVIS served as the compound’s central matrix, his programming refined by years of managing not just Tony, but the unpredictable rhythms of everyone who passed through his home and occasionally Stark Industries.

That didn’t mean FRIDAY was left out.

Tony had carefully integrated her into the system, knowing that having both AIs on hand was invaluable. JARVIS handled Iron Man and Tony’s personal projects, while FRIDAY took point on Stark Industries operations and logistics.

It was also a way for the younger AI to grow and observe, though Tony had set strict boundaries—FRIDAY’s access was limited to common areas, kitchens, and labs, with private quarters strictly off-limits unless there was an emergency.

He wanted FRIDAY to experience the world without the trauma of Ultron’s legacy hanging over her—no more warzone launches, no more code restrictions born of fear. Her voice, still cool but now tinged with genuine curiosity and warmth, reminded Tony of what he’d hoped for when he first brought her online.

This time, she could learn in peace, with JARVIS as her steady, sarcastic older brother.

“Hey, FRI,” Tony said, glancing up at the discreet camera tucked in the ceiling seam, his smile stretching wider.

“Anyway, can you pencil me in at Stark HQ for a meeting with Pepper? I’ll use that slot to interview a new PA, too.”

A new tab opened instantly on his screen, the email already drafted and slotted into his schedule. FRIDAY relied, voice bright and eager, “I’ve notified Ms. Potts for Thursday, Boss. Anything else you need?”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony said sincerely, then changed gears. “J? I need your expertise coordinating with your sister.”

Despite their different origins and personalities—JARVIS logical and dry, FRIDAY excitable and sincere—they were both products of Tony’s sleepless nights and relentless drive for security and innovation. He’d poured heart, frustration, and a lot of hard-won lessons into their code; he wasn’t shy about calling them his kids.

“Ooh, a team-up!” FRIDAY squealed, her delight almost startling in its sincerity.

“Indeed, quite exciting. What’s the plan, Sir?” JARVIS responded, his tone a perfect blend of intrigue and understated pride.

“I need FRI to beef up security for the entire Monaco Grand Prix,” Tony said, his tone turning business-like.

The place held too many bad memories—metal poisoning, impulsive decisions, and the looming shadow of the timeline’s next crisis. This time, he’d be in the VIP suite, not behind the wheel, and he wanted every possible evacuation protocol in place.

If the timeline held, chaos was coming—and Tony wasn’t about to let anyone get caught in the crossfire.

“Tell the personnel there that it’s just a little paranoia—last time I left the country for some arranged event, I got tortured for three months.”

He then shook his head, frowning in thought. “Let’s keep things simple: alert the DGSE, not the local cops, when we pick him up. We want Vanko locked down, not starring in a French reality show.”

Neither JARVIS nor FRIDAY replied, but Tony didn’t take it as judgment. If anything, he knew both AIs were quietly worried—his entire medical and psychological history was catalogued in their systems, including every panic attack, nightmare, and the preferred protocol for talking him down when the past got too close for comfort.

They understood the risks of his life better than anyone, and they were both fiercely protective, even if Tony’s self-deprecating jokes about Afghanistan still hit too close to home. Especially for JARVIS, who’d lived every second with him, and for FRIDAY, who was still learning what fear for her creator really meant.

They knew he has to do what needed to be done, but it doesn’t make them like the fact or his approach.

He pushed aside the guilt and focused on logistics. “J, coordinate with the Iron Legion unit in Marseille. If things go sideways, I want boots on the ground and a few up in the air before the dust settles.”

The global Legion bases were a logistical marvel. Officially, they were justified by his UN contracts and the Relief and Protection Foundation’s disaster response work. In reality, Tony had quietly seeded more hidden outposts in key locations, including some disguised as labs in his private homes.

The public knew about the ones in major economic hubs, but the shadow network was his contingency for the truly unknown. Not just another New York, but the kind of existential threat that still haunted his dreams.

He continued, “I’ll have my suit on standby, but we’re not betting on the timeline behaving. If Vanko goes off-script, or if property damage hits a certain threshold, I want clean-up and containment ready to roll.”

JARVIS responded with his usual calm efficiency. “Understood, Sir. Marseille Legion is on alert and evacuation protocols are being updated.”

FRIDAY’s voice was eager. “On it, Boss! Sending the DGSE alert now and updating the Grand Prix security matrix. Want me to run a few extra simulations for crowd control and emergency egress to send to the even co-ordinators?”

“Yeah, do that,” Tony said, already feeling the weight of the coming days.

The logistics were going to be such a pain to deal with when the replied start flooding in. Coordinating with international agencies, trying to get past the cultural barriers while prepping Legion units, updating evacuation routes, syncing with local and national emergency services, and ensuring Stark Industries’ assets were protected, was going to be a whole new feat he was going to have to pull off. Especially when he has to keep the event’s public face smooth and unflappable.

Silence settled as the AIs got to work, the only sound the soft hum of servers and the distant whir of robotic arms. Tony stared at the shifting holograms, mind racing ahead to every possible outcome, knowing that the only certainty was that nothing would go according to plan.

“What will you be working on in the meantime, Sir?” JARVIS’s voice cut through Tony’s thoughts, pulling him back from the data haze. Grimacing, Tony flicked away the sea of reports and spun on his stool, rolling his shoulders.

“I was thinking I’d dig into Foster’s latest work—maybe design a few satellites using the energy field models we’ve been studying,” he mused, gesturing toward the disassembled gauntlet on the bench.

“And I want to get back to the nanotech—see if I can finally get the bots to hold a stable charge during assembly. Right now, they’re losing conductivity before they reconnect to the main arc reactor, which is killing the efficiency on the repulsors.” He tilted his head, considering.

“I might need to tweak the supercapacitor arrays or look at a new graphene composite for the wiring. If I can minimize the reaction time, maybe I could even uplink the control protocols directly to my neural interface—like the suit trackers. For that, though, I’ll need Strange’s input on the neural side.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “So much for my planned science week. Guess that’s off the table.”

FRIDAY’s voice chimed in, a little hesitant but eager to join the conversation. “What will you be doing instead, Boss?”

Tony grinned, pulling up a set of blueprints on the main screen—a familiar silhouette, but with radical new lines and hidden layers. “Well, kiddo, the only reason I was even doing Pepper’s paperwork was because I got the notification we’re finally finalizing the contract for the new Stark Tower. So, when you two are done helping plan for the next disaster, how about we build the most technologically advanced public building this side of the timeline? Secret upgrades included, naturally. Can’t spoil the surprise.”

FRIDAY’s reply was pure, unfiltered enthusiasm: “Can we make it bigger than last time?”

Tony burst out laughing, broad smile lighting up his face. “Why do you think I bought four city blocks? We’re going to need the space for what I have in mind.”

The vision was ambitious: the new Stark Tower would be the international headquarters for Stark Industries, the main U.S. base, and the operational epicentre for the Iron Legion. While the Compound would remain for the most sensitive and dangerous projects, everything else—R&D, logistics, AI development—would move into the Tower.

The planning was going to be difficult, with integrating next-gen fibre optics, quantum computing cores, modular fabrication bays, and layered EMP shielding, all while keeping the building’s public face sleek and unassuming. But with JARVIS’s precision and FRIDAY’s boundless curiosity, Tony knew they’d pull it off.

As AC/DC’s riffs filled the lab, DUM-E and Butterfingers played with spare parts while the AIs helped him shape the future—one blueprint, one byte, one joke at a time. For once, Tony let himself believe that the future might actually be something to look forward to.

Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

May 13, 2010; 10:58 (PST)

Tony took a long sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle his nerves as he strode through the glass-and-steel corridors of SI. He tossed a lopsided grin at a pair of employees sprinting past, their reactions a comic blend of awe, panic, and horror as a cascade of paperwork fluttered to the floor in his wake.

Maybe it was finally time to introduce the StarkPad—at least then, the halls might see fewer airborne memos and more digital efficiency.

Amused, Tony shook his head and pressed deeper into the building, silently willing the caffeine to keep him upright after days of relentless work. His latest “nap” had ended in a cold sweat, gasping for air and clutching at the arc reactor in his chest—another unwelcome souvenir from his previous timeline. The dream left a bitter aftertaste, but he forced it aside, focusing instead on the office ahead.

Making Pepper his COO had been one of his better decisions. CEO wasn’t a title he relished, but staying in the role a little longer meant he could secure the company’s foundation before handing over the reins.

With Pepper thriving—her signature blend of poise and precision now driving SI’s operations—Tony would soon be able to finally step back and focus on R&D, and let her transform the company’s logistics and admin into a well-oiled machine.

Their working relationship had never been better. With the pressure off, Pepper trusted his vision, and Tony, in turn, stopped piling impossible expectations on her shoulders. They’d found a rhythm, and for once, talking felt easy—no more walking on eggshells, no more corporate crossfire.

Still, he’d have preferred to stay at the compound, but duty called. The business meeting was his own doing, after all, and the Stark Tower proposal was too important to leave to email threads. He still needed to show Pepper the designs he and FRIDAY had cooked up—with JARVIS’s steady hand reigning in their more eccentric ideas and layering in the kind of security that would make even SHIELD sweat.

He pushed open the office door, a practiced smile ready and a witty greeting on his lips—only to freeze mid-step. The sight of a familiar redhead at Pepper’s desk sent a jolt of unease through him.

Pepper, oblivious to the tension, looked up with a bright smile. “Tony, I didn’t think you’d actually make it on time.”

He tried to mask his exhaustion, his absolute apprehension and skyrocketing heart rate, knowing she’d see right through him. “Hey, I make it my mission to keep you guessing. Can’t let you get too comfortable, Potts.”

He caught the other redhead’s eye—a face that tugged at memories he’d rather leave buried. Gone was the obvious SHIELD “honeypot” act. This time, she wore a suit nearly identical to Pepper’s, her demeanour reserved, almost shrinking in her chair she pulled up to Pepper’s desk.

But the calculation in her gaze was unmistakable. SHIELD’s new approach was subtler, more insidious. They’d traded in their old playbook for something stealthier, and if Tony hadn’t already known her game, he might have been fooled.

His mind raced, irritation simmering beneath his calm exterior. How had she gotten in? Hadn’t JARVIS scrubbed the company clean of spies? The fact that SHIELD had slipped her in under their radar gnawed at him, a problem he’d need to address with both AIs. Security protocols would need tightening—again.

Pepper, sensing the shift, glanced between them, her smile faltering for just a moment before she rallied. “Tony, this is Natalie Rushman. She’s joining us from Legal for the transition paperwork.”

Tony flashed a grin—charming, but edged with steel. “Welcome to Stark Industries, Natalie. Hope you’re ready for a crash course in corporate chaos.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the air charged with unspoken questions and the weight of secrets. Tony made a mental note to debrief JARVIS and FRIDAY about the breach, determined not to let SHIELD—or anyone else—get the drop on him again.

Tony clocked the way Natalie’s eyes narrowed before she turned away, and only then did he shift his focus back to Pepper, who was handing over a stack of documents with a practiced efficiency. He kept a careful distance as the spider moved to her own desk, settling himself into the familiar comfort of Pepper’s leather chair.

Trying to ignore the tension radiating from both women, Tony pressed on, determined to steer the conversation and ignore his racing thoughts.

“Welp,” he announced, setting his coffee on the desk and pulling a tablet from his blazer. “I really think I’ve outdone myself this time. Wait until you see what I’ve got planned—inspector-approved, so you don’t have to worry about the building blowing up. At least, not by accident.”

He shot Pepper a grin, but she was already frowning, concern etched across her face. “Tony…”

Not exactly the reaction he’d hoped for, especially with the spider in the room, though he could somewhat play it his favour. He had to, he had to control the narrative, with the big fat problem currently sitting a few feet from him.

Pepper, Happy and Rhodey, while clued in on the necessity of the reactor, were not in the know about the potential danger of the arc reactor or the problem the previous palladium core would have presented if he had not dealt with it.

They might not know, but Tony was certain SHIELD had already pieced together most of it—probably thanks to a friendly leak from the Air Force. If he could keep Pepper’s concern focused on his health, maybe it would buy him a few weeks of breathing room from SHIELD’s prying eyes.

He leaned back, dodging her impending interrogation. “Look, with all the extra space, we could make Stark Tower the tallest of the supertalls! Think of the branding, Pepper. It’s a PR dream.”

Pepper’s frown only deepened, so Tony quickly switched on the tablet, flipping to the Tower plans. “But! It also gives us space for staff apartments—think about the retention rates, the corporate culture. People will line up to work for us if they know they’ve got a place to live in Manhattan.”

He trailed off as Pepper’s face shifted from concern to a blank mask, tension in her shoulders and something sharp in her eyes.

“What?” he asked, not bothering to hide his confusion.

“Where were you?” she pressed.

He knew she already had a good idea. She’d picked out most of the Compound’s designs herself and insisted it stay off the books—her way of keeping them one step ahead of government oversight. He couldn’t imagine running SI without her, and he suspected she knew it.

Pepper caught his sidelong glance and sighed, slumping back in her chair as much as she ever allowed herself. She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath before looking up, her eyes heavy with worry.

“Look, Tony, you weren’t here or at the Mansion for days, and you’ve been completely off the grid since the hearing. Again.”

Her voice rose, but she quickly reined it in. “I get needing an escape, I do—” She paused, the weight of her own experience clear.

With Tony pushing her up the ranks, Pepper had faced scrutiny and scepticism—especially from the old guard who couldn’t stomach a woman in charge. But she’d weathered it, and now she was worried about him.

“—but you can’t keep disappearing like this!”

The crack in her composure widened, her voice trembling with emotion. “People will get worried. I’m worried.”

Tony felt the blow land. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t put this kind of stress on his friends, but here he was again, working himself to the brink and leaving them to pick up the pieces. And with Natalie—no, the spider—listening in, he couldn’t explain, couldn’t reassure her the way she deserved.

Pepper seemed to sense she’d made her point. She let out a tired sigh, her expression softening. “When was the last time you actually rested?”

The truth hovered on the tip of his tongue, but with a third party in the room and so many secrets at stake, he couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t tell Pepper how much of his life was now spent manipulating the chessboard—keeping SHIELD at bay, pulling strings behind the scenes, hiding secrets not just for his own sake but to secure everyone’s future.

He couldn’t admit that he was working with doctors on solutions for threats that hadn’t even materialized yet, or that every day felt like a balancing act on a wire stretched over a pit of regrets.

He couldn’t say how tired he was—how, just two years into this second chance, the exhaustion was already bone-deep. He was worn out from orchestrating every move, from manipulating friends and family in the name of their safety, from waking up to memories that refused to fade, and above all, from the constant struggle not to regret the path he’d chosen.

The fierce determination that had carried him through those first months back in time had burned out, leaving only ashes. Sure, he’d keep working—Tony Stark didn’t know how to quit, and the proof was all around him. SI thriving, new partnerships, real, tangible, good progress.

But the weight of being the one holding it all together was starting to crush him, dragging his thoughts into dark corners he tried desperately to ignore.

What if he was making the wrong call?

What if some overlooked factor, some butterfly effect, made things worse?

What if the whole, time travel twist was just a delusion, a bunker-born fever dream?

He shoved those thoughts aside, but the truth was that his drive had dulled. Where once he’d charged forward, now his every step was cautious, every decision measured, desperate not to make waves bigger than the ones already crashing around him.

It was exhausting work, and he refused to burden anyone else with it. This was his mess, his responsibility—even if it was slowly killing him.

He forced a tired smile and lied with practiced ease. “I know, I know, but I’m fixing things, okay? It’ll be just fine.”

Pepper didn’t buy it for a second, but after a tense pause, she let it go with a resigned sigh and nudged the conversation forward. “Alright, fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

Tony swallowed the guilt, summoned a brittle smile, and dove into the comfort of innovation and blueprints, letting the spark of creation momentarily drown out the weight of everything else.

Stark Industries Headquarters, CA, USA

May 13, 2010; 11:20 (PST)

Peculiar. That was the first word she would use to describe Stark, and it was the only thing about him that made sense. The SHIELD dossiers on his self-destructive tendencies were thorough—his reckless twenties were evidence enough—but they’d missed the evolution.

The man she observed today was not the tabloid caricature: the narcissistic party animal was gone, replaced by someone sharper, colder, and infinitely more dangerous.

The media’s portrayed favourite vices—alcohol, women, chaos—had vanished. No credible reports of hard drinking, no messy flings, no late-night scandals, had come up in the past two years. Instead, Stark had buried himself in work. The transformation was obvious to anyone paying attention.

Stark Industries’ meteoric growth, the exhaustion etched into his features, the relentless drive that bordered on pathological.

The self-destruction hadn’t disappeared; it had simply gone underground, manifesting as a workaholic obsession and a willingness to sacrifice himself for the sake of progress.

What stood out most was the shift in his demeanour. The flamboyance was gone, replaced by a heavy, predatory confidence. A man who had seen too much, survived too much, and now carried the weight of it all with a kind of weary defiance.

There was a predator behind those tired eyes, caged for now, but Natasha had seen enough cages, seen enough locked up wild animals to know: with the right pressure, Stark would break free, and what followed would be scorched earth.

Dangerous, she thought, as she slipped silently from the meeting room, her exit unnoticed. She moved through the halls like a shadow, every step calculated, every glance measured. Within minutes, she found herself in an abandoned office, door locked behind her. She swept the room for surveillance, then produced a slim comm device from her jacket.

She dialled the secure line, waiting only a moment.

“Report,” came Fury’s voice, gravel-edged and all business.

Natasha rolled her eyes at the theatrics—he never could resist an entrance, even on a phone call—but settled against the wall, voice flat and precise.

“We have established contact.”

She dropped the SI façade, letting her tone return to its natural, cool neutrality. The strain of false warmth was gone, replaced by the efficient professionalism the Red Room had drilled into her. Sentiment was a liability, and the mission didn’t allow for it.

“And your assessment?” Fury’s reply was clipped, impatient.

“Our previous observation holds,” Natasha said, her voice edged with frustration as she sifted through the conflicting data points. “Previous reports and assessments don’t line up with the man I’ve seen. Not even close. Even the supposed similarities feel off.”

“Mm,” Fury’s rough voice hummed, “you think he’s a double?”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “No. Potts knows him too well. You can’t fake that kind of history, not the exhaustion, not the worry. No one could pull off that level of authenticity for a stranger.”

Fury let out a dissatisfied huff. “Then what are we missing?”

It was the right question, but Natasha had no good answer. “Are we sure there’s nothing else from Afghanistan? No classified after-action reports, nothing in the military logs?”

There was a pause, then Fury’s voice returned, all business. “Nothing. Everything’s been scrubbed and sanitized. We even got into most of the military’s partnership files—nothing but redacted pages and dead ends.”

Natasha kept her mask in place, but the lack of answers gnawed at her. If even the military couldn’t explain the shift in Stark’s personality—something deeper than PTSD, something that didn’t track with any trauma profile she’d seen—then they were back at square one.

Stark’s inconsistencies were legendary, but this was something else.

She replayed the moment he entered the room: the way his gaze locked on her, sharp and unsettling, as if he could see through every layer of her cover. Those brown, whiskey-coloured eyes didn’t just assess; they threatened to unravel. Natasha frowned.

Stark was hiding something, something bigger than even SHIELD could imagine.

“There are more variables in play than we can see right now,” she finally said, knowing it wasn’t what Fury wanted to hear. The silence on the line was thick with his displeasure.

“What do you suggest then, Widow?” Fury’s tone was clipped, his patience thinning.

She didn’t flinch. “He’s dead on his feet, Fury. The palladium is killing him by inches—he’s a walking corpse, and he knows it.”

“Explain,” Fury pressed, catching the shift in her analysis.

“From what I can gather, this disappearing act isn’t new. He’s been going off grid for months. No one at SI can track him, not even Potts. My guess? He’s trying to stabilize the company before he collapses. The growth is unprecedented— a controlled sort of chaos that is somehow working. Stark Industries is running circles around its competitors, and nobody outside his inner circle has a clue how.”

And it was true. SHIELD’s intelligence on SI was months out of date; even Natasha’s infiltration had barely scratched the surface. The corporate machine Potts was managing was staggering. She had tried to hide her surprise, but when Potts laughed and admitted Stark had doubled the workload, Natasha realized just how much had changed.

Stark wasn’t just building tech; he was building an empire, and he was doing it with a precision and ruthlessness that wasn’t anything but self-destructive.

The more she watched, the more Natasha understood. Stark’s greatest weapon wasn’t his armour or his intellect—it was his ability to adapt, to burn himself down and build something stronger from the ashes. And that made him more unpredictable—and more dangerous—than ever.

“They did say he was a visionary,” Fury replied, scepticism sharpening every word.

“Yes,” Natasha admitted, glancing around the high-tech fortress Stark had built and recalling the relentless pace of discovery in SI’s R&D. “A visionary—with the Merchant staring out from behind dead eyes.”

She finally placed what unsettled her about his gaze: that infamous title, “Merchant of Death.” It wasn’t just press hyperbole. When Stark entered the arms race, he didn’t just compete—he dragged the entire industry forward, leaving world governments and military brass scrambling to keep up.

“Merchant?” Fury echoed, the word heavy with implication.

Even global agencies tread carefully around him, the so-called Merchant. He has the potential to level cities without a nuke. He’s a genius, and dangerously unpredictable. SHIELD only kept its distance because of promises to Howard Stark and Peggy Carter. Now, that same genius is building an empire, and the world’s too dazzled to notice.

“Not as dead as we thought,” Natasha muttered.

Natasha’s mind flashed back to the beast she saw lurking in Stark’s eyes—a predator content behind its chains, but only for now. She wondered what kept it in check. Afghanistan should have broken a man like him, unless he’d forged something new in that crucible. Something that was now taking control of everything, perhaps even more dangerous than what came before.

“Iron Man was a clever outlet,” she said, voice low. “But the longer this goes on, the more ruthless and unstable he becomes. The unpredictability is escalating.”

She’d seen classified footage of Stark’s work with the military—how he dismantled the Ten Rings in months, a feat that had eluded military leaders for years. The image of the Iron Man armour, the whine of repulsors, was burned into the minds of every survivor and adversary alike.

But there was always something more, something beneath the surface that nagged at her instincts.

“Explain,” Fury demanded again, impatience bleeding through the line.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “Hammer Industries is tanking—stock prices have plummeted since the hearing. The DoD is considering suspending their contracts. What was meant to put Stark in his place has only consolidated his power.”

“AIM? Absorbed by SI. Their CEO died in custody—transport accident, officially. Their lead scientist is missing. Stark’s competitors are either gone or on the ropes.”

“And the U.S. military?” Fury pressed.

“They’re scrambling. After a general tried to pressure Stark for weapons and got rejected, they’re bending over backward to keep him happy. Stark’s influence has become a corporate and military reality—he’s dictating terms, not just to industry, but to governments. The balance of power is shifting, and it’s all orbiting Stark.”

Natasha’s tone was cold, but underneath was a grudging respect—and a deep unease. Stark wasn’t just a player anymore. He was the board.

“And the one thing everyone seems to be missing is that Stark operates in a mechanical bodysuit—technology at least a decade ahead of anything on the market—and he built the first version in less than two weeks,” Natasha said, her tone clipped and cold.

“Not just that,” she continued, “but the first thing he did after returning was bury his godfather so deep that not even the best lawyers could dig him out. The man deserved it, but we still have no explanation for how Stark got his hands on that kind of evidence.”

Fury’s scepticism was undimmed. “Meaning?”

Natasha’s frustration was palpable. “Meaning, all of this happened before SHIELD or any other agency even got a whiff. What I’ve listed is just the start. Stark Industries is expanding globally, and he’s dictating the terms. Even your first approach ended with you leaving empty-handed—and humiliated.”

“Watch it, Romanoff,” Fury growled, voice low and dangerous. “Where are you going with this?”

“Stark knows something, and he’s afraid,” she said flatly. “Nothing else explains the scale and speed of his moves. Either he’s seen the future, or he’s playing a game we don’t have the rules for. Both options are impossible, but here we are.”

She pressed on, voice even colder. “He’s so afraid, he’s neglecting his own health, taking over the world with Stark Industries and the Iron Legion, and forcing nature itself to bend to his will in his effort against something we don’t see. He’s not just building tech, he’s rewriting the rules of corporate and military power.”

“So, he’s a threat?” Fury demanded.

“No,” Natasha said, her words slow and deliberate. “Not exactly. For the world, yes—he’s a threat that if provoked wrongly. But mostly, he is a threat for whatever he’s running from, for whatever he is so terrified of. He needs to be watched, not provoked. We are dealing with a cornered animal, a poisoned, mentally unstable, slowly dying animal.”

Fury’s patience snapped. “Romanoff, I don’t have time for riddles. Tell me what’s going on with this wiseass before I send a team to bag him.”

She glared at the wall, collecting herself. “A threat is possible, but I think Stark could be an ally—if we play by his rules. Anyone who goes against him is as good as dead. For now, observe and keep your distance. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we make a move.”

She let the Red Room training settle her nerves. She knew when to back down and when to strike, and right now, the odds were not in her favour.

“Professionally,” she added, “SHIELD could use him as an asset—but treat him like a nuclear weapon. One wrong move, and he’ll take out friend and foe alike. If we want him, we need to bring him in carefully—and that’s unlikely, given your last attempt.”

A long silence followed, tension thick as Fury weighed her words.

“Fine,” he finally relented. “Continue observation. I want a full report—threat analysis, not recruitment. Let me know when he finally cracks or keels over.”

“It may take time—he disappears often. I’ll maybe have something after his birthday,” Natasha warned.

“Good. And Romanoff?”

She paused, sensing the shift in his tone. “Yes, Director?”

“Find out how you were the only one who got through SI’s security. Everyone else was either fired or denied. And get access to his servers. Find out what this man knows.”

There was an unspoken “what scares him,” and Natasha knew Fury was as wary as she was.

“Will do.”

“And watch the AI. That thing is more Skynet than Siri.”

As the call ended, Natasha’s gaze snapped to a camera in the corner—one she was certain she’d disabled, now blinking red. A chill ran down her spine. Had it heard everything? Was it watching her now?

She slipped out, dread coiling in her gut. Whatever Stark was hiding, she was certain. They were already several moves behind.

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

May 13, 2010; 16:56 (PST)

The recording clicked off, leaving the room in a heavy hush. Tony leaned back, massaging his temples, as if he could knead the migraine away. It had been building all day, a slow, insistent throb that seemed to have Natasha Romanoff’s name etched into every pulse.

His heart twisted with a cocktail of anger and nostalgia—memories of better times surfacing only to be crushed by the sting of betrayal. It was a vicious cycle, one that hadn’t let up since he started seeing everyone—Bruce, Rhodey, Pepper, Happy—acting just a little too differently. The world was off-kilter, and every sleepless night only made the ache sharper, the questions heavier.

He tried to ground himself with a whisper, “This everything?” hoping the sound would drown out the static in his head. But the memories kept looping, relentless.

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS replied, voice dimmed to match the low lights, attuned to Tony’s discomfort. “I have continued monitoring all relevant communication channels.”

Tony groaned, a spike of pain making him clamp his eyes shut. “Great. Just what I needed—more existential dread with a side of espionage.”

He forced himself to focus, raking a hand through his hair as he glared at the screen. The whole exchange felt off. Romanoff’s read on him was uncomfortably accurate for once—or had she always been this sharp, and he’d just been too busy playing the part of the genius billionaire to notice? And Fury—why was he suddenly so obsessed with an “threat analysis”?

The things Natasha listed barely scratched the surface compared to SHIELD’s own moral gymnastics, and some of those things weren’t his fault.

What made him more of a threat now, in this timeline, than before? His actions were, if anything, tamer than last time. Was it the lack of recklessness? Did he really come off as someone who never took anything seriously before? Or was it just that now, that others finally saw that his every move was calculated, deliberate—a chess game instead of a bar brawl?

His thoughts spun, but one question finally snagged his attention. He scanned Romanoff’s file, then muttered, “Hey, J, why didn’t you turn her away?”

It bothered him. After all the work he’d put into scrubbing SHIELD from his life, after all the security sweeps and digital firewalls, Romanoff had still slipped through. SHIELD had been quiet since the last blow-up with Fury. For her to get through now meant something had slipped—or someone had let her in.

He let out a tired, sardonic laugh. “I mean, I get it, she’s got more aliases than I have patents, but you’d think a world-class AI would at least throw up a red flag.”

“We needed to see where SHIELD stands, Sir,” JARVIS began, voice measured and almost too calm, which immediately put Tony on alert. For a second, he wondered if his AI was about to start quoting Sun Tzu.

“While I would never recommend working with them, we don’t need to make them our enemy either,” JARVIS continued, logic crisp but with that undercurrent of protectiveness Tony had come to expect.

Tony frowned, caught off guard by the AI’s strategic angle. After everything—after all the hacking, the digital cat-and-mouse with SHIELD’s servers, after JARVIS’s own rants about their moral bankruptcy—he hadn’t expected this level of nuance.

He remembered the aftermath of those late-night hackathons, JARVIS always muttering, “Sir, I understand your bias, and I’m not denying they could be useful, but their track record is… statistically abysmal. They’ve hurt you, and I find that particularly distressing.”

It was oddly comforting, that loyalty. And it made Tony pause, his anger cooling into something more reflective. Maybe his grudge was justified, maybe it wasn’t, but he didn’t have time to untangle the morality right now. There was still potential for SHIELD to do good, but that broken trust gnawed at him, keeping him on the fence.

“This way,” JARVIS explained, “we can monitor them more effectively and anticipate their moves. I’ve already learned that not all their communications pass through official channels and have gained access to their back up ones. By allowing limited access, we know what they want from us—without leaving a paper trail for them to use as leverage.”

Tony considered it. Surveillance felt a little too much like fighting fire with fire, but it was hard to argue with the tactical advantage. If SHIELD wanted to play chess, he’d play grandmaster.

“And when Miss Romanoff’s work is revealed as smoke and mirrors, it’ll remind them to tread carefully,” JARVIS added, tone almost smug. “It will force them to respect our boundaries and make them think twice before trying to manipulate us.”

The implications were huge. SHIELD would know he was watching, and that he could flip the script anytime. It would give him leverage in any future collaboration, letting him dictate the terms for once.

Tony let out a low whistle. “Damn, J, you really don’t like them.”

JARVIS’s response was almost haughty. “Certainly not, Sir. They betrayed you and used you. While my previous iterations couldn’t intervene, it would be a disgrace to your work to leave you alone with self-serving spies again.”

That hit Tony harder than he expected. He’d programmed emotional nuance into JARVIS, but this—this was something else. Guilt, protectiveness, even a hint of indignation. It was almost… human.

Before he could respond, FRIDAY piped up, her tone earnest and just a little raw. “I agree, Boss. I might not have history with them, but I’m only here because of you. If something happened that we could’ve prevented, I’d never forgive myself.”

Tony’s heart twisted. “You two are really going for the emotional jugular today, huh?” He managed a small, genuine smile, wishing—not for the first time—that his AIs had bodies so he could hug them.

“I don’t know if I should be proud or terrified. This is getting a little HAL-9000, but I can’t say no to you.”

He was amazed by their growth, grateful for their support, but the shadow of Ultron still haunted him. The idea that JARVIS had made such a big strategic call without consulting him was both impressive and a little unnerving. Still, Tony refused to let fear override his pride in what he’d built—his AIs weren’t just programs anymore; they were family.

“We love you too, Boss,” FRIDAY chimed, her tone so chipper it almost made Tony laugh out loud.

“We are here for you, Sir. Always,” JARVIS added, voice warm and grounding.

Tony did not prepare for another his, as a fresh wave of stinging formed behind his eyes. He’d forgotten how much he missed JARVIS’s steady reassurance, and with FRIDAY now truly coming into her own, the camaraderie in his digital family was something he’d never really had the chance to appreciate before.

“Alright, alright!” Tony exclaimed, forcing a grin as he blinked away the emotion. “If this keeps up, I’m going to break out in hives from all the feelings. Let’s dial it back before I start writing Hallmark cards.”

He shook off the sentiment and focused on the task at hand. “Okay, when the spider finally shows her true colours, I want an extra layer of security, nuke any back doors she’s managed to slip in, even if it’s unlikely. FRIDAY, keep tabs on all our employees worldwide. If any other alphabet soup agents try to sneak in, I want to know before they hit the parking lot.”

“I’ll add that to my protocols,” JARVIS replied, a satisfied hum in his voice.

“You got it, Boss!” FRIDAY cheered, her enthusiasm infectious.

Tony couldn’t help but smile, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit as he turned back to his screen, ready to finally dive into some hands-on science while ignoring his current emotional upheaval, until his phone rang, slicing through the calm like a siren.

The sound was jarring, an old-school ringtone that only went off for emergencies—never a good sign.

Before he could reach for it, JARVIS cut in, voice tight. “It’s Doctor Foster, Sir.”

That got Tony’s attention. JARVIS usually enjoyed the company of his new scientist friends, so the worry in his tone was an immediate red flag. “Put her through, J.”

He leaned back, bracing himself for whatever fresh disaster was about to land in his lap. As soon as the call connected, Jane’s voice exploded through the line, frantic and raw: “Tony! Oh my god, they took everything!”

Tony shot upright, adrenaline spiking. “What?”

“Some black suits are outside and they’re taking everything—” Jane’s words tumbled out in a panicked rush, so unlike the composed, stubborn scientist he’d come to respect.

In the background, he could hear Darcy yelling, adding to the chaos.

His mind raced, connecting the dots. “Wait, you mean SHIELD?”

“Yes!” Jane’s voice was a mix of frustration and relief, the kind that made Tony’s stomach drop.

He scanned his calendar, JARVIS already pulling up the timeline. The dread settled in his gut like lead. “Them! Tony, I don’t know—they’re just taking everything!”

He pressed his lips together, exhaling a silent curse. SHIELD—always when he least needed it. “Okay, hold on. I’ll be there in thirty, alright? Just stall them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jane muttered, the line filled with background chaos. “Just hurry. Please.”

The call cut off, leaving Tony staring into the dark, hand dragging down his face. “Can’t get a break from them,” he muttered, voice flat with exhaustion.

The lights in the workshop brightened as the Mark IV suit peeled open before him, ready and waiting.

“Suit’s ready, Sir,” JARVIS announced, the mechanical arms poised like a loyal sentinel.

Tony stepped in, feeling the armour close around him—a cold, metallic hug that was, honestly, the best comfort he could hope for these days. He was already in sweats, having ditched his suit after the last round with Pepper.

As the HUD flickered to life, stats scrolling across his vision, FRIDAY’s voice piped in: “I’ll keep Boss Lady busy and let her know you’re indisposed. I’ll also notify the Panel and update them on the SHIELD situation and your flight path to Puente Antiguo.”

Settling into the armour, Tony felt a rare sense of peace. No matter how chaotic the day, he wasn’t alone—not anymore. A sappy smile tugged at his lips as he checked his repulsors. “What would I ever do without you guys?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” JARVIS replied, dry as ever. “Probably collapse from lack of food or sleep.”

Tony barked a laugh, launching through the garage and into the sky. “Sass in my own house? Unbelievable!”

“Well, he’s not wrong, Boss,” FRIDAY added, her amusement clear.

“Et tú, FRIDAY?” Tony shot back, grinning as he soared higher, letting the comfort of his found family settle in his bones. For a moment, the world felt manageable.

He focused on the horizon, ramping up the repulsors. “Alright, let’s get this shit show on the road.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Puente Antiguo, NM, USA

May 13, 2010; 17:26 (MST)

The truth was, meeting Tony Stark had never featured on Jane Foster’s agenda.

By all logic, she should have steered clear. Tony Stark was everything she’d sworn to oppose. The face of weaponized excess, a man who built destruction by day, spent his nights drowning in parties and skin, and devoured attention and affection like sweets at a fair.

He was a living contradiction. Someone whose every choice stood in sharp relief against her own beliefs. If someone had suggested a few years ago, hell even a few months before his miracle return from Afghanistan, that she seek him out, she would have refused—flatly, absolutely, regardless of the offer.

There would have been no hesitation, bar perhaps if there was a massive grant for her research on the line, but that was neither here nor there.

Though that was before the world shifted beneath her feet.

Before Stark’s name became synonymous with ‘change’ after that press conference, before he tore down a corrupt empire with merciless precision that shook the world. Jane had observed the spectacle from afield. She saw how rumour melted into complexity, had thoughtlessly watched how the myth of the careless, arrogant profiteer gave way to something she couldn’t so easily dismiss.

Tony Stark remained a dangerous enigma.

But now, the threat was no longer obvious, no longer wrapped in the trappings of an irresponsible, stupidly rich playboy with his finger on the trigger. It was something subtler, a more elusive sort of danger that made the back of her head itch. A sense that she couldn’t shake, something that was buried under layers she couldn’t see but could feel hauntingly in her bones.

Somehow, that made him somehow more dangerous than before.

And it was that—the not knowing, the sheer mystery that suddenly ensnared the man—that drew her in.

Curiosity, tenacious and steady, claimed her before she even realized it. Even if Tony Stark was only a flicker at the edge of her daily life, the transformation he sparked was impossible to look away from. Stark Industries had practically shifted overnight from a machine of destruction to a force for innovation after all. The change gnawed at her, demanded answers.

How did a man like Tony Stark become something else, something so different, so abruptly?

So, when he finally reached out, she replied yes—faster than she ever would have admitted.

When Jane had arrived at the Malibu Mansion for that first, fateful meeting—Darcy trailing loyally at her side, the world’s least subtle assistant—it was like stepping into the jaws of something vast and unknowable.

The house itself was too much. Glass and stone and money, that stretched out over the cliffs as if gravity and good sense didn’t apply here. But it was the company that had truly unsettled her. The room was full of strangers, scientists and doctors from wildly disconnected disciplines, each wearing a similar look of thinly-veiled confusion and trying not to show it.

A neurologist. A geneticist. A biochemist. A cardiologist. And herself—a theoretical astrophysicist, standing at the periphery as if she’d wandered into the wrong party through a side door someone had left unlocked.

None of them seemed to fit with the Tony Stark she thought she knew, not really. The man she’d imagined wouldn’t summon a cohort of minds like this, not unless they came with a Nobel in bomb-making.

The group’s collective unease almost made her want to edge back out the door; to turn tail and declare she made a wrong turn. Yet before she was able to take even one step it was somehow replaced by a kind of awkward camaraderie, the mutual bafflement acting like a bridge spanning the gaps between fields and egos.

And Tony—always at the centre, radiating energy and orchestrating the chaos—somehow, inexplicably, coaxed something like friendship from a mob of strangers. Jane watched it happen, unable to reconcile what she saw with the neat, cynical boxes she’d kept his name in.

He wasn’t what she’d prepared for, kept replaying in her mind. Not even close.

It rattled all the theories she’d quietly built up since the day Tony Stark had crashed back into the public eye. He didn’t slot into the narratives she’d always believed—about arrogance, money, power, motives, self-destruction. Instead, he was something else.

Worse, he made her curious even more insatiable.

Still, fitting in—joining the team, even in name—didn’t come easy.

Jane’s scepticism wasn’t the kind that faded in the warmth of company or the glow of a beautiful house on a bluff. Her field was distant, abstract, and she’d learned over years of sharp elbows and dismissals to wait for the moment when “innovative” became “ridiculous,” when condescension replaced courtesy.

Pride shouldn’t have kept her from coming back, from actually stepping up. But neither should mere need have stopped her from walking out of the uncomfortable situation. Yet Darcy’s wicked humour did its work, as did Tony’s relentless, infuriating brilliance—each joke and counterpoint wearing her down by inches, and kept her in that state of constant limbo.

A limbo that was fuelled by that neat stack of contracts she signed on that first day. One of them something she had been looking for ages; a grant.

The grant was more than just simple funding. It was a lifeline, a chance to push the boundaries of her research further than she’d dared to dream. Stark had offered it open-handed, claiming no strings, and Jane had instantly hated needing it.

Hated that she signed it. Hated that it made her feel in debt, hated that it kept her from leaving. Hated relying on a man whose face used to appear side-by-side with explosions on the evening news and was now more of an enigma that no one could explain.

And yet, walking away just wasn’t an option she could force herself to take. She’d fought too long, begged through too many closed doors, to let anything as feeble as pride be the thing that barred her from opportunity.

Except, the promise of money wasn’t enough to have a hold on her for long. Not really. Not when she sat through those sessions, feeling so outside the tight medical focus. Not while the old spectre of being “other”—the voice that once called her a dreamer, or worse—still hovered like a threat over every conversation. She found herself waiting, tense, for Tony’s magnetism to turn. For a joke or a question to reveal her as the excess baggage in a room crowded with use.

But Tony kept refusing to fit her script.

She remembered a night, sharp and clear. A night of standing out on the cold expanse of the balcony, the salt air biting after an endless debate over neuron-linked prosthetics, some tangent spinning out from that horrific arc reactor that was jammed in his chest like some macabre art piece.

The medical professionals had talked in circles, but Jane’s voice had faded along the periphery, irrelevant and unwanted. She had felt the speech forming in her mind, about how she would keep the contract but she couldn’t stay—how she simply wasn’t part of the chemistry, the momentum, the team.

She had stepped outside for air and clarity she couldn’t find anywhere else. She hadn’t expected Tony to follow her out into the dark a few minutes later.

In the low light, robbed of his usual bravado, Stark had looked worn through. He had appeared drained in a way she’d never seen; neither was he the sharp-tongued showman nor the assured scientist. For a breathless moment, she had only stared, unsure who she was seeing. The sight unsettled her enough that she made an involuntary sound, and immediately his guard had snapped back into place, an eyebrow quirking, an unspoken question on his face.

She had struggled for words, for the shape of her own doubts and resentments, but found herself locked by them instead. He had still seen them. She knew he did; the lines around his eyes had deepened into canyons and something frank cut through his manner.

Even now, she couldn’t quite explain how he’d managed to read her so easily.

After a long, loaded silence, he surprised her with an apology. A real, unvarnished thing that she had never experienced before.

He had then told her, in the kind of honest, blunt way that left no room for performance, why he’d assembled them. Not just for industry, or innovation, but because of Afghanistan. Because of the dead air of captivity, the helplessness of it, no internet, no books, just the barren grind of survival that made one question the world around you.

The only thing that kept Tony from slipping entirely into the nightmare was the desperate work of building his escape. The nights were cold, the kind that soaked into bone, full of restless dark and the taste of stone and fear that he kept at bay with the warmth of the forge. The days passed in a blur: forced labour, fleeting shreds of so-called "freedom" outside, always carrying a cost that he tried to ignore with useless chatter of planning.

In that liminal haze of motion—fuelled by exhaustion and the kind of adrenaline that burns out the soul—he told her of his realization. Of how shockingly little they knew about the universe beyond their tiny, broken world.

Even now, remembering the way his eyes darkened as he talked about staring up at the night sky sent a chill down her spine. There’d been a kind of desolation there, a quality that made him seem truly unreachable, as if some crucial piece of him had been left behind in those caves.

But then, with barely a blink, that emptiness had vanished, had shifted into something burning and fierce. A conviction so pure it bordered on madness; was probably madness she would later quietly think to herself in a lab in the middle of nowhere but would ultimately ignore.

He had declared—voice ringing with a certainty that still made her breath catch—that humanity could not possibly be alone.

She had nodded, muscle memory more than belief, seized by shock at the unwavering certainty in his words.

Of course, she thought the universe held more than they’d ever understand, but to possess that level of certainty was foreign to her, almost frightening. Still, it explained her understanding of her place in this strange cohort. A role formed not just out of scientific curiosity, but forged in the heat of the fear Tony had carried out of Afghanistan. A fear, she thought to herself, of other dangerous out there that could possibly come in and destroy the life he had all over again.

From that night on, Tony had swept her—Erik, too, when he joined later on—into a whirlwind of theories and experiments. His energy was relentless, contagious, despite the fact she was pretty certain was trauma induced and probably was a cry for help.

Yet, for the first time, Jane found her work not just acknowledged, but truly respected. There was someone who thought her contributions didn’t just count, they actually mattered in the grand scheme of things.

It was the kind of chance that scientists dream of and rarely see. She knew there were others in her field, perhaps more obvious candidates, but he had chosen her. Against her better judgment, against what was probably the right thing to do, she allowed him to pull her in. She fell into that pit of desperate curiosity, and had slowly come to trust the man, despite what she knew many others would have declared a madman if they heard the theories she did.

And after almost two years, she had even held hope, half-ashamed, that he could save her too.

Even Erik, whose mistrust of official agencies bordered on legendary, believed Tony was maybe the only person who could stand against them and not get crushed. Stark, after all, had destroyed a terrorist cell almost singlehandedly, had gone against governments and came out on the top.

It was Erik who’d suggested she call him.

“He’s Iron Man,” the foolish, hungry part of Jane whispered. “The phoenix—he rose from the ashes; he brought justice to the world.”

But the realist in her, the scientist built from the bones of disappointment, never let her forget: he was still just one man.

He was just one man. Calm, thoughtful, brilliant—and perhaps just the right kind of slightly mentally unstable—but Jane couldn’t erase the picture of the exhaustion he wore beneath the surface, the strain in his posture, the weight disguised by every offhand deflection. She’d seen the cracks, the evidence of how deeply being broken had cut into him.

There was no way he’d make it in time, even if he tried.

Jane sagged into Erik’s arms, fighting the sting of tears as she watched the last of her work vanish into the black SHIELD vans. Her mouth was dry, Darcy’s furious shouting faded to background noise, and all she could do was glare at the man responsible for this mess.

Agent Coulson was the picture of bland professionalism, his polite smile never quite reaching his eyes. She had spent the entire confrontation trying to read him, but his mask never slipped—except for the briefest flickers of a frown, quickly hidden whenever the argument flared up again.

“For your safety,” he had said.

Jane knew better. There was something they weren’t telling her, and after Tony’s warnings, she couldn’t ignore the sense of dread curling in her gut.

The last van door slammed shut, plunging the group into a tense silence. Darcy seethed beside her, Erik’s grip tight as he struggled to keep them both from doing something reckless. It wasn’t just Jane’s work they’d taken; SHIELD had swept up everything.

Coulson approached, wearing that same infuriatingly calm smile. “Thank you for your cooperation. SHIELD is grateful for your help and will return your equipment soon.”

Jane had learned enough from Tony to recognize doublespeak when she heard it. The urge to scream about her stolen data was overwhelming, but all she could do was glare, pouring every ounce of fury into her eyes.

Coulson didn’t flinch, turning away just as a thunderous boom split the air.

Instantly, every agent snapped to attention, weapons raised to the sky. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and Jane’s heart pounded as she squinted upward, spotting a black speck hurtling toward them at impossible speed.

Panic swept the crowd. Even Coulson’s mask slipped, his voice sharp as he barked orders for everyone to move. The object slammed into the ground with a seismic crack, sending up a cloud of dust and sand. Jane ducked, shielding her head, her ears ringing with the ominous whine that followed.

When the dust cleared, she stared in disbelief. Rising from the crater, the Iron Man armour stood—tall, imposing, and utterly alien. The armour radiated danger, every inch a testament to power and precision. It was more than a suit; it was a warning; a promise of what Stark could unleash if pushed.

The Iron Man suit had become a legend, dissected by the press, by the public and by scientists alike, but few had ever seen it in person up close. Now, standing before her, it was clear why the world was obsessed—and why SHIELD, for all its resources, was perhaps right to stick their noses in the man’s business.

Even their inner circle of scientists had never seen the armour up close. Now, staring into those glowing teal eyes, Jane couldn’t decide if she should be furious or grateful that Tony had kept them at arm’s length from this side of his world.

The suit’s design was all precision—deep red, almost the colour of dried blood, streaked with gold that looked like molten warning signs. It was sleeker than the early models she’d glimpsed in grainy news footage, and as the faceplate retracted with a mechanical hiss, the sense of danger only intensified.

Whatever hope she’d felt at his arrival twisted in her gut when she saw him.

Tony looked rough. Dark bruises were painted under his eyes, his hair a mess from running his hands through it, and his was skin pale and drawn. Yet even in that state, he radiated a kind of threat that made every agent on the field tense, guns trained on him, unsure if their weapons would matter against that much metal and genius.

He was just one man, but he stood like a fortress between her and SHIELD, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. Jane didn’t know whether to feel protected or terrified.

The tension was palpable. Agent Coulson, usually unflappable, betrayed a flicker of surprise before signalling his team to lower their weapons. The agents hesitated, then reluctantly complied, the threat of the Iron Man suit enough to override protocol.

Tony broke the silence first, his glare melting into a blank mask that revealed nothing. Even his eyes looked hollow, empty of all emotion in a way Jane had never seen before. She never wanted to see it again.

“Agent,” Tony greeted curtly.

“Dr. Stark,” Coulson replied, eyebrow arching. “What are you doing here?”

Tony’s lips curled into a bland, humourless smile. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing, Agent.”

He jerked his head toward Jane and the others. “Imagine my surprise when my colleague here calls to tell me her work is being hauled off by men in black—without a permit, I might add. So, do tell: what’s SHIELD doing here?”

Jane clenched her jaw as Coulson launched into the same bureaucratic script he’d been repeating all day. “There are certain anomalies in the area, and we’re here to investigate. For their safety, we require their reports.”

Tony didn’t even bother to hide his scepticism.

He shifted his weight—how he managed to look casual in a two-hundred-pound suit of armour was beyond her—and crossed his arms, brow raised. “And you need Doctor Foster’s entire lab because…?”

For the first time, Coulson’s mask slipped. His jaw tightened, lips thinning as he replied, “There are things civilians aren’t prepared for. We need—”

Tony cut him off, voice dry as desert sand. “You could’ve just asked her to share her findings, you know. It’s called professional courtesy. Maybe try it sometime.”

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, and Jane found herself almost—almost—smiling at the sheer audacity of it. For a moment, she remembered exactly why she’d started to trust him in the first place.

“I mean, hell, there was no need to uproot everything!” Tony exclaimed, echoing the exact mantra Jane had been chanting in her head all day.

She nodded mutely behind him, gripping Darcy’s hand tighter and clutching the crumpled check in her other fist. She could feel Erik doing the same—holding himself together as they listened to Tony go toe-to-toe with the government, again, and in less than a week.

Frustration creased Agent Coulson’s features as he tried to reason, “Dr Stark, there are things you do not need to be concerned about and—”

Wrong move.

Tony’s face darkened instantly, any trace of levity replaced by a scowl so fierce Jane instinctively leaned back, even though the anger wasn’t directed at her.

“I’ve heard that line my whole life, and every time, it turned out I was exactly the person who needed to be concerned,” Tony shot back. “And, funny enough, it’s always when someone’s trying to hide something from me.”

He glared, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t like your agency. I don’t like how you operate, and I certainly don’t like you interfering with my things.”

He leaned in, eyes flinty. “Remember the last time you tried to stick your nose in my business?”

The agents shifted uneasily. Jane caught the tension, and for a second, she wondered just what had happened between Tony and SHIELD to make the air so charged.

“I presume you do,” Tony continued, not waiting for a reply. “Because if you remember, your people got to experience the full horror of a Stark lawsuit. Not exactly a walk in the park.”

Jane’s curiosity spiked. She had heard rumours about Stark’s legal team, but seeing the effect on SHIELD’s top agent was something else. It also made her acutely aware that Tony was capable of far more than he let on.

Coulson’s jaw clenched. “This matter has nothing to do with that—or you.”

“Oh, it does,” Tony replied, voice almost sympathetic, as if he was letting Coulson in on a secret.

The agent’s eyes flicked to Jane and her team, realization dawning. “See, Doctor Foster is in partnership with me. Which means all that equipment? Stark Industries jurisdiction.”

“And you know how I get when people take my stuff without asking.”

Coulson’s mask slipped for a moment, replaced by open apprehension. “We weren’t aware they were operating under you, Dr Stark.”

“I know,” Tony said, his expression relaxing into something deceptively casual, but the glint in his eyes was back with a vengeance. “Not so fun when you can’t spy on everyone, is it?”

Coulson clenched his jaw, saying nothing. Tony shrugged and gestured toward the agents at the back. Several jumped, but most held their ground as Tony shifted again.

“Now, I want everything back where it was. And by that, I mean no sneaky disappearing acts.”

The irritation on Coulson’s face was plain, his professional mask in tatters—but so was the apprehension. For all his calm at the start, the agent was clearly wary of Tony now.

Coulson gave a sharp nod, and the agents moved quickly to comply. Jane felt a rush of relief, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the two men locked in silent battle.

“Anything else you want to demand?” Coulson asked, voice edged with annoyance.

“As if I want anything from you,” Tony snorted, snatching a piece of paper and pen from a passing agent who nearly tripped in shock as he scrambled away from the man dressed as a weapon. “It’s more about what you want from me.”

He scribbled something on the paper and handed it over. “If you ever want to talk like adults instead of playing spy games, use this. You’ll find I can be surprisingly reasonable when treated with a little respect.”

Coulson’s resentment was obvious, but it vanished as he read the note. He looked up, eyes sharp, and for a moment Jane felt the silent communication crackle between the two men before Tony offered a false, winning smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Coulson said, tucking the note away. Tony nodded, satisfied, and stepped back, finally breaking the tension.

The four of them—Jane, Erik, Darcy, and Tony—watched in silence as the last of the equipment was returned and the SHIELD agents scurried back to their vans, disappearing in a swirl of dust. The gleam in Tony’s eyes had faded, but the way his mouth tugged sideways told Jane he knew this wasn’t the end of the story.

Erik released her as she steadied herself and stepped closer to the armoured billionaire.

“Thank you for coming, Tony. I can’t even describe how grateful I am.”

The tension in Tony’s posture eased, and he managed a genuine, tired smile. “It’s fine, Stargirl. Wouldn’t let the Men in Black win that easy.”

He glanced over at the pile of off-loaded equipment. “So, is this everything, or did they make off with Darcy’s secret stash of Pop-Tarts?”

“Yes!” Darcy jumped in, brandishing a battered piece of metal. “Thank you, Stark! They took my iPod; can you believe that? I had, like, the perfect playlist for the apocalypse.”

Tony grinned at her, clearly amused. Jane just shook her head; grateful Darcy’s music crisis hadn’t become a national emergency.

“Glad we dodged that apocalypse,” Tony said, stretching in the suit and glancing at the sky. “I’ve got to get back—panel meeting about SHIELD’s latest shenanigans. But if anything, else happens, even if it’s just… weird, let me know.”

He said “weird” with a face like he’d bitten a lemon, eyes going distant the same way they did when he was sizing up Coulson—or Bruce, or Maya, or Helen, come to think of it. Jane filed that away for later.

“Of course,” Erik replied, rolling his shoulders and managing a small smile. “Thank you for today, Tony.”

Tony just shrugged, clearly ready to make his exit, but Darcy darted around the suit, waving her arms. “Hey! Stark! When did you even build this thing?”

Tony sighed, but there was real fondness in it. “Sparkplug, I build stuff whenever I can squeeze it in. Sleep is for people who don’t have killer robots on their to-do list.”

“Exactly!” Darcy crowed, as if that explained everything.

She poked him in the arm—careful to avoid the arc reactor, as everyone in their group had learned—and dropped her voice. “So when, huh? Or are you slacking off on doctor’s orders again?”

Watching Tony’s face morph from world-weary avenger to guilty genius was almost comical. He stammered, “Uh, gotta go—so, yeah, bye!”

The whine of repulsors filled the air as he shot upward, launching himself into the desert sky. Dust swirled around them, and Jane couldn’t help but smile as the heaviness of the day lifted, just a little, with their banter and the sight of Tony waving from mid-air before rocketing west.

“Stark!” Darcy shouted after him, laughing. “Tony! You’re not getting away with this!”

The night ended with relief and a lingering sense of awe, but Jane couldn’t shake the curiosity—and the apprehension—about just what Tony Stark was truly capable of. At least, she thought, he was on their side—for now.

Arizona To California Air Space

May 13, 2010; Time Unspecified

The exhaustion hit Tony like a freight train as he soared through the darkening sky back to Malibu, the migraine ringing behind his eyes now a constant companion. The HUD flickered with the scatter of stars, but even the beauty of the night couldn’t cut through the fatigue gnawing at his bones.

He forced his breathing to steady, trying to keep the memories from slipping through the cracks. He was doing a passable job at holding it together, until FRIDAY’s channel chimed in, her voice cutting through the silence.

“Boss, was it really wise to tip off SHIELD about their own rodent problem?”

Tony almost smiled at the confusion in her tone. It made sense—he’d been sending mixed signals about SHIELD for months: one day hostile, the next day playing nice. FRIDAY was still new, still figuring out the emotional calculus of Stark-level paranoia and grudges.

He didn’t have the energy to untangle it for her, so he deflected with a tired quip, “Well, it did get them off Stargirl’s groups’ backs, didn’t it?”

JARVIS chimed in, ever the tactician. “Sir, what FRIDAY means is: does this compromise our preparations moving forward?”

Tony winced at the dodge, but couldn’t help a flicker of pride at how far his AI had come. He sighed, “Maybe, maybe not.”

The only sound for a moment was the whine of the repulsors, his AIs waiting him out, patient as always.

He relented, letting the words tumble out. “Look, we’ve been playing cat and mouse with them for months. Antagonizing, misleading, then ghosting. It’s entertaining, sure, but it’s also poking the bear. And eventually, the bear gets curious.”

He forced himself to keep going, voice low and rough. “It’s like JARVIS said, we don’t need to make an enemy of them. If we give them a target, something to focus on—something that explains my frosty attitude and keeps them busy—then, bam, SHIELD’s not our problem. They’re too busy chasing their own tails to look under the rug.”

FRIDAY gave a digital sigh, her version of a pout. “Boss, I’m still confused.”

He couldn’t help but soften at her earnestness. “How come, baby girl?”

A new screen popped up on his HUD, JARVIS’s notes from his first days back in the past. FRIDAY highlighted a line: “You were very angry with them and wanted nothing to do with SHIELD.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Even with the spider, you were reluctant to get more involved with them—you had even planned to shut the door after her reveal. Why change direction?”

Tony closed his eyes for a second, feeling the weight of years—of two timelines—pressing down.

“When I landed back here, I was fresh off a betrayal.” That was an underestimation, he had just barely scraped by death. “My body was still shot, my mind scrambled, and the only thing I could focus on was how pissed off I was.”

“Anger was easy,” he sighed. “It was simple, easy to use. The perfect drive”

He let the silence stretch, then continued, “But it’s been almost two years.”

“I’ve been practically reliving my life,” he said. “But without freedom—too focused on planning, making moves without dragging in anymore suspicion, stacking up every resource I can to keep the future from going off the rails.”

 “And now, as the ball really starts rolling and the timeline starts veering off from what I knew—” he frowned, half resignation, half exhaustion, “—that means I have to start thinking bigger than the old grudges.”

That was the real terror: the more he changed, the less reliable his foresight became. Every new choice twisted the timeline, made the future more slippery, more intangible. He lived in constant fear that one wrong move, one push too soon, and everything would collapse.

And that was what made SHIELD too big to ignore and too dangerous to leave unchecked. Their nosiness could place everything at risk.

Numbers and contracts scrolled through his mind; the sheer volume of work he’d crammed into two years was more than he’d accomplished in a lifetime. Yet it all pales in comparison to the simple fact that with the future still precariously, balanced on a knife’s edge, SHIELD could nudge it right into disaster.

“It’s been one meeting after another, one project after the next, and zero time to just… breathe,” Tony muttered, voice rough with fatigue. “I can’t rest. I have to get everything in order, lay every foundation, because the second I blink, something unexpected pops up and threatens to knock it all down. And that threat, at the moment is SHIELD.”

“Not that we would ever let them be a real risk, Sir,” JARVIS replied, his tone warm and resolute. It pulled a crooked smile from Tony, despite himself.

“I know, J,” Tony said, “but we still can’t say that with surety. Time is not exactly a subject we can cram for, nor can we exactly predict future consequences. Everything about this mess smells like magic, and you know how much I hate that.”

He grimaced. For all the progress he’d made—technological, corporate, personal—none of it explained the mess he’d landed in. No test, no scan, no equation could tell him how or why he was here, and that uncertainty gnawed at him. He even started to make passing remarks about time travel and time machines in hope some idiot would appear on his doorstep with some explanation, though it was only a farfetched hope.

He shook off the spiral, pressing forward. “But that’s not the point. The point is, to do what we need to do, is to get SHIELD under control, use their own power against them for our own gain.” The word tasted bitter.

“And that’s the exact thing I used to fight against.”

Faces flickered through his mind—Stane, Killian, Ultron, Ross. Old enemies, old scars. He’d spent so long pushing back against greed and power imbalances, only to become the very thing he’d once resisted.

Not that he had always been far off, with his wealth.

“I fought Cap—Rogers—because he thought the safest hands were his own,” Tony admitted, the name carrying less venom than it once had. “That they had the right to all the power, consequences be damned.”

He paused, letting the memories settle. “They weren’t wrong, exactly. If you have power, if it is part of who you are, you should get to be able to control it. But you should also be responsible for the fallout of your own mismanagement.”

He blinked, pulling himself out of the haze. “And now here I am, twisting the narrative to turn out on the top, just because I’m scared out of my mind. More scared than I ever was angry.”

He remembered the day it hit him—how the nausea had built until he’d lost his lunch and spent the rest of the day in a fog, the realization looping endlessly in his head.

“I’m tired, but at this point I can’t stop, pull back,” he muttered. “Not with the power I already have in my lap, and definitely not with this suffocating fear and knowledge that I need even more if I want to keep everyone safe.”

“Emotions are messy, Boss,” FRIDAY hummed, sad and sympathetic. “I don’t like it.”

Tony let out a dry laugh, echoing in his helmet. “Me neither, kid. Me neither.”

Before the silence could settle, FRIDAY nudged, “But if you need to control SHIELD, why not do it from a distance, why get involved?”

“I’ve been involved the second I stepped out of that plane when I first got back,” Tony exhaled, shifting gears. “The second I started acting outside the usual, started to make all these changes, people were bound to get nosy.”

“Most at least chalk it up to PTSD—", which wasn’t far off, “—but SHIELD? They would know better. They’re already suspicious—just look at the Widow. For all their flaws—HYDRA, secrecy, the lack of accountability—they would immediately notice when something doesn’t add up. Romanoff has already keyed into the fact that I’m terrified of something.”

He glanced at the HUD, watching Malibu’s lights creep closer. “In the end, it’s just smarter to keep SHIELD close, control what they know, and steer their attention where I want it. If I keep them guessing, keep the partnership clean, I can manage the risk. Better a wary work partner than an enemy with a grudge and an infestation problem.”

“Work partner?” FRIDAY echoed, scepticism clear.

The question made Tony relax a little, grateful his AIs were still sharp enough to challenge him, even when he was running on fumes.

“A pawn may be the least powerful player, but it’s still got its uses,” Tony mused, echoing one of the few chess lessons his father managed to fit in between bourbon binges and classified SHIELD meetings.

“Just think—SHIELD can get into places I can’t, or at least shouldn’t. They have a much wider information network than what we currently have. So, their information? Mine. The resources they gather? Easy for me to get without having to go looking for it.”

A heaviness settled over him as he muttered, mostly to himself but loud enough for his AIs to catch, “And with a more direct line to them, their so called ‘power’… would be mine.”

“For someone who claims to despise power, you’re remarkably adept at collecting it, Sir,” JARVIS observed, not a hint of judgment, just that careful, British consideration that always made Tony’s skin prickle with self-awareness.

Tony grimaced, bitterness and guilt clawing at his insides. “Yeah, I know. I hate it. Welcome to the hypocrisy parade.”

FRIDAY, quick to pick up on the mood shift, piped in, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Boss. I get it now, but honestly, this just sounds like an overdramatised soap opera. Why not just take over the world and be done with it?”

That earned a genuine laugh from Tony, easing some of the tension as he angled the suit downward toward the glowing Malibu mansion. “Heh, too much paperwork, kid. Even I have limits.”

“Yet you do none of it,” FRIDAY teased, shifting the mood with perfect timing.

“Hey!” Tony shot back, feigning indignation. “I do some of it! I delegate. It’s called efficient management. Look it up.”

It was a lie, and they all knew it, but the banter was a welcome relief from the existential spiral.

“Alright, back on our current problem,” he said, refocusing as the HUD outlined his approach to the mansion’s side entrance.

“JARVIS, keep a close eye on SHIELD’s activities in the desert. Track Coulson and Fury, and make sure Stargirl, Sparkplug, and the Professor don’t get into trouble with Thor’s grand entrance. If anything, weird pops up, let me know. Also, start prepping for when things inevitably go sideways.”

“Right away, Sir,” JARVIS replied, crisp and efficient.

Tony nodded, then turned to FRIDAY. “FRI, schedule the June meeting for the upcoming HYDRA discussion and start prepping the usual countermeasures. And, since I made such a dramatic exit, tell the panel I’ll brief them tomorrow morning by video—make some sort of cover for the agency mess, Iron Man’s role, the whole nine yards.”

“Done, Boss,” she confirmed with a cheerful hum.

“Perfect,” Tony sighed, watching the mansion’s lights grow brighter. “Now let’s really disappoint my friends by not sleeping and prepping a suit for Monaco. I’d rather not get electrocuted again, thanks.”

He let the humour linger, using it as armour against the fatigue and the weight of everything still left to do.

Puente Antiguo, NM, USA

May 14, 2011; 09:16 (MST)

It was a rare and unsettling thing for Thor Odinson to find himself adrift in confusion. As Prince of Ásgarðr, he had been tutored by the wisest—his mother’s counsel and Loki’s cunning ever his compass when the path grew uncertain. Yet now, exiled and stripped of his power and title, there was neither kin nor kingdom to banish the ache that gnawed at his heart.

His father’s words echoed still, a relentless thunder in his mind. The ache was unwelcome, but he pressed it aside, turning his attention to the strange meal before him.

The mortals called it “breakfast”. A feast of various foods, though the cloying, sweet pastry and a black, bitter draught they claimed would rouse even the most sluggish spirit that they offered beforehand was perhaps the oddest of all of offers. He had found the pastry pleasing, though it clung stubbornly to the roof of his mouth, and the drink was as dark as the void between stars. The current offer, a hearty plate off eggs, some sort of meat and bread was quite a filling meal for the start of the day.

He surveyed the humble hall, ever the vigilant warrior, though he wondered what use such vigilance served now, stripped of Mjölnir and might. Still, habit endured.

His gaze soon drifted to his mortal companions, who whispered amongst themselves, believing his hearing dulled by exile. He let them conspire, curiosity piqued by their secrecy.

“Jane, why are you so against telling him?” Lady Darcy hissed, sneaking a glance at Thor with a worried frown. “This is exactly the kind of ‘weird’ he meant, and you know it.”

She shot a meaningful look in Thor’s direction, her voice tense with concern.

Lady Jane shook her head, her voice low and uncertain. “And what am I supposed to say, Darcy? ‘Hey, Tony, we’ve got a stranger who claims he’s some sort of mythological god and an alien hanging around the lab’? He’s got enough on his plate without us sounding like we’ve lost it.”

Thor’s lips twitched. He was indeed the God of Thunder—though, in truth, would he still be considered so? No, best not to dwell upon that.

Lady Darcy rolled her eyes, but her tone was softer. “It’s not like we’re making it up. Look at him. This is way above our pay grade, Jane. Tony’s the only one who might actually know what to do with this kind of situation.”

Lord Erik nodded, his voice gentle but firm. “She’s right, Jane. Stark needs to know. He’s dealt with stranger things, and he’s got resources we don’t.”

This “Stark” was unknown to Thor, but Jane’s shoulders sagged at the name, and he surmised the man held great authority over her.

“Tony doesn’t need more chaos. What if this is just some elaborate prank or a misunderstanding? We’d be wasting his time, and he’s already stretched thin,” she murmured, but there was a line of defeat in her defence.

Lady Darcy’s expression softened, but she pressed, “You do trust him, don’t you?”

Lady Jane’s eyes flashed, her voice fierce in a whisper. “Of course I trust him! He gave me a real chance, got us out of that rundown trailer, and kept the government off our backs. I’m grateful—really, I am. I just… I don’t want to add more stress when he’s already drowning.”

Her words were said with care and it clearly showed the respect he had picked up for this ‘Tony.’ It also confirmed the man was some sort of higher-ranking person if the opportunities he provided had Lady Jane in his debt, but not taking away the fondness she held for him.

The other two Miðgarðrians looked sorrowful for some reason. None meeting each other’s eyes as they agreed to her point, but Lord Erik still warned her, “Jane…”

“You both saw how he looked,” was the regretful reply, her sorrow ten folding and making the other two slump with drawn frowns.

“It looks like he had barely slept in weeks and we know he has been working his back till breaking point these days and with the upcoming Expo…” she said with concern and regret. “We don’t need to add to his plate.”

“Jane, we both saw,” Lady Darcy agreed, voice tinged with the same kind of concern. “Hell, I am usually the one dragging him and you off to go to sleep. I know what sleep deprivation looks like.”

The bright lady seemed to dim even as she tried to convince her friend. “But not informing him would make him stress more if something goes wrong.”

Lady Jane wiped over her face and dragged her hand through her hair as she conceded. “I know, I know, but nothing will go wrong, okay?”

She looked at both of them with hopeful eyes and missing Thor’s scrutiny as he listened in, curious, despite his current affairs, in the Miðgarðrians’ conversation.

“Fine,” Lady Darcy gave her resigned agreement, despite the sharp look Lord Erik gave both of them. “But I am going to say ‘I told you so’ when shit hits the fan.”

A rueful smile spread over Lady Jane’s face as she said, “I know you will.”

Thor found himself thoroughly baffled by the mortals’ conversation, particularly regarding this Tony—Stark, was it? From what he could glean, Stark was their overseer, perhaps even their commander, yet Lady Jane’s fervent refusal to inform him of Thor’s presence left the Ásgarðrian even more perplexed.

This Stark did not seem to fit the mould of any ambassador or general Thor had known in Ásgarðr. Still, the respect and authority the man commanded was evident in every word spoken by the trio.

Thor could not help but feel a flicker of curiosity toward the mortal who had granted Lady Jane her freedom, armed Lady Darcy with her sharp wit and “weapons,” and bestowed Lord Erik with opportunity. Such a figure, he thought, would be worthy of meeting—had the fates allowed it.

Yet, the Norns had other designs. As Thor listened, he caught mention of “satellites” from a group of newly arrived Miðgarðrians. He knew, with a certainty born of the gods, that what they sought was not what they believed. It was something else entirely.

Mjölnir.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Malibu Mansion, CA, USA

May 16, 2010; 01:43 (PST)

Thunder rattled the windows, dragging Tony out of a restless sleep. His chest rose and fell heavily beneath the arc reactor’s steady glow, hands gripping the sheets as if he could anchor himself against the storm outside. Through the glass, lightning fractured the sky, illuminating waves that battered the cliffs with relentless fury.

As the adrenaline ebbed, bone-deep exhaustion reclaimed him. He slumped back into the mattress, rubbing his face, fingertips pressing into the bruises under his eyes. The last three days had been a marathon—he’d been holed up at the mansion, unable to retreat to the Compound thanks to a tidal wave of meetings Pepper had stacked on his calendar.

With the Stark Expo looming, every department was in overdrive. He’d been signing off on final blueprints, reviewing logistical schedules, and greenlighting security protocols for the event.

Coordinating the Expo wasn’t just about showmanship; it meant wrangling dozens of vendors, negotiating contracts with international partners, and ensuring every scientist and engineer had their moment in the spotlight. Each exhibit required its own compliance review, insurance paperwork, and risk assessment. Nothing could be left to chance.

On top of that, there was the Monaco Grand Prix fundraiser. Another logistical nightmare in itself. Tony had to personally review and sign off on the enhanced security measures, negotiating with both local authorities and private firms to ensure SI’s reputation (and his own safety) wouldn’t be compromised.

It took days of legal wrangling to get the other sponsors to agree to his stricter protocols, but with Afghanistan still somewhat fresh in the news, with the occasional rehash as people observed the slow rebuild after the destruction of the Ten Rings, and rumours swirling about the Iron Legion, no one dared push back too hard.

Meanwhile, the Stark Tower project was finally moving forward, with the construction permits having finally been cleared. The design itself was a fortress masquerading as a skyscraper—military-grade infrastructure hidden beneath a sleek, eco-friendly exterior. The new headquarters would give his AIs full integration, allowing for real-time threat response and seamless company operations, especially with SI’s expansion into the EU market.

Tony had even been able to carve out an entire floor for medical R&D, a backup plant for the city’s future needs when the potential alien invasion slam into them in two odd years.

Then there were the endless legal meetings over Iron Man’s “unauthorized” intervention in New Mexico, the government panel’s scrutiny, and the constant back-and-forth with R&D over new tech patents.

Every international office needed his attention as SI ramped up for global expansion—hours spent on video calls, reviewing compliance documents, and mediating boardroom squabbles. He had practically become an expert at falling asleep with his eyes open.

After Monaco, he knew the tempo would only pick up. The panel’s demands would escalate, and every country’s stance on Iron Man would be shaped with how that disaster goes. He was counting down the days until he could finally hand the CEO reins to Pepper, focus on Stark HQ, the Iron Legion, and the next phase of R&D.

Maybe he would even find the time to make the suit space-proof, if he ever got a minute to breathe.

But these last three days had left him running on fumes. The precious hour of sleep he’d managed tonight was only thanks to JARVIS and FRIDAY’s relentless nagging. Even so, as he stared at the clock, Tony was pretty sure he had planned to get more a few more under his belt, if only not to collapse when walking down his own stairs.

“Why the hell am I awake?” Tony muttered, mostly to himself, but the mansion’s lights brightened in response, the AI picking up on his restlessness.

“That I do not know, Sir,” JARVIS replied, his tone dry but edged with genuine concern. A subtle shift only Tony would catch after years of late-night conversations.

The urge to just collapse back into bed was strong, for both his own sake and the AIs, but the itch under his skin wouldn’t let him. He debated staying put, but the sensation only intensified, pushing him to throw off the sheets and stand.

The chill of the stupidly early morning, or stupidly late evening if that applied better, bit at him, drawing his attention to the storm outside. He padded to the window, watching as lightning carved jagged lines across the sky and the ocean below churned with a kind of primal violence.

A streak of light flashed overhead, and Tony absently rubbed his left wrist; a nervous habit that had become second nature. The glass muffled the thunder, but he could almost feel the storm vibrating in his bones.

“Something’s off,” he mumbled, voice low.

FRIDAY’s voice filtered in, gentle but alert. “Boss?”

Instead of answering, Tony frowned and asked, “Roll call?”

There was a pause. He could almost hear the AIs running their checklists, cross-referencing biometric data, security feeds, and GPS pings.

“Miss Potts, Lt. Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan are all at their residences, asleep,” FRIDAY reported, her tone crisp.

“Mr. Vanko is currently en route to France, currently staying at a hostel,” JARVIS added, always thorough, always anticipating Tony’s next, less-than-specific query.

That helped, a little. Knowing his inner circle and his enemies were accounted for soothed some of the anxiety, but not all. The itch persisted.

“What about the science buddies?” Tony asked, drumming his fingers against the arc reactor’s casing in a staccato rhythm.

This time, the pause stretched longer. Tony’s stomach twisted, dread rising.

“All accounted for,” JARVIS began, but then hesitated—a rare thing for the AI. “Except for Dr Foster, Miss Lewis, and Professor Selvig.”

A wave crashed against the distant shore, and Tony felt the panic roll through him, cold and relentless. Lightning split the sky again, casting the room in stark relief.

“Wait, what?!” he choked out, voice sharp with alarm.

Tony’s fingers drummed a frantic staccato against the arc reactor as he tore himself away from the window, pacing tight circles across the bedroom floor.

“Where are they?” he demanded, voice sharp.

“Unknown,” JARVIS replied, and Tony could hear the guilt layered beneath the AI’s usual composure. “No cameras have picked them up for the past twenty-four hours, and all their personal equipment has been offline for the last sixteen.”

His pulse spiked, heart hammering against the reactor’s casing. Each breath felt like it scraped against steel, pain blooming in his chest as panic clawed its way up his throat. His mind spun, running through a thousand worst-case scenarios in a matter of seconds. He hadn’t expected to care this much—not about the easy camaraderie with Jane, the late-night brainstorming with Erik, or Darcy’s relentless banter—but now, with them missing, he felt gutted.

He’d built redundancies into every system, programmed JARVIS and FRIDAY with protocols to monitor his friends, set up alerts for even the smallest anomaly. He’d sworn nothing from the old timeline would blindside him again. Yet here he was, blindsided. Again.

“What happened to keeping an eye on them?” he snapped, the accusation out before he could stop it.

He caught his breath, eyes darting to a nearby security camera, as if he could will an answer from the mansion’s walls.

“Boss…” FRIDAY’s voice was small, uncertain, so unlike her usual chipper self. It cut through his panic, forcing him to pause. She’d seen him spiral before, but never quite like this, never so suddenly or so completely.

JARVIS had always been the one to manage his panic attacks, to keep things steady when Tony lost control. But now, even JARVIS sounded off-balance, and the lack of control only made Tony’s anxiety spike higher.

He forced himself to listen as FRIDAY tried to explain, “There’s been nothing out of the ordinary. Last images show them walking into a diner, but the town’s surveillance is minimal—most cameras run on closed loops and are not accessible remotely, and there’s not enough tech for us to tap into. Their devices have been silent since.”

Tony cursed himself. Of course, they’d chosen a low-tech location. There would be less interference for their experiments, but a nightmare for his tracking purposes. He should have anticipated that. After the fiasco with their stolen equipment, however he’d expected that it would trip an alert if they go quiet again.

Th usage of their phones would have been enough to not signal any red flags, but sixteen hours of radio silence? That right there was a siren wailing in the middle of a storm.

““That should have—” he started, then cut himself off with a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair as the storm outside crashed on. The sense of helplessness was suffocating.

It is what it is. The scientists were missing, and Tony knew there was no point spiralling over what he couldn’t control right now. The priority now was finding them, not dissecting every glitch in his surveillance protocols.

FRIDAY’s occasional misses were understandable; her parameters were still evolving. But JARVIS? Tony had expected him to catch the anomaly, especially with Tony having asked to him to monitor the trio a few days ago and with his own obsessive habits coded into the system.

“Okay,” Tony breathed, forcing himself to steady.

“Okay,” he repeated, dragging in a deeper breath. “Alright. We have our likely suspects. Give me SHIELD’s status.”

Like a scene straight out of a horror flick, JARVIS replied with grim apprehension, “On call, Sir.”

Before Tony could even form a question, the line clicked over to the speaker, and he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “What do you want?”

His left wrist was in a death grip, the panic he’d just wrangled threatening to break loose again.

“I see you’re looking for your friend,” came Coulson’s voice, bland as ever, filtering through the speakers.

Tony’s heart clenched at the sound. For a moment, he resented the man for being alive again.

“What,” Tony ground out, teeth clenched, hoping the agent wouldn’t hear the panic simmering underneath.

“Mr. Stark, I think it would be beneficial for you to come down to our location,” Coulson said, dodging the question.

“Your…” Tony grinded his teeth, irritation mounting, as Coulson chose his words. “Associates and fellow have been snooping around, and I think you should come pick them up.”

The dismissive tone set Tony’s teeth on edge. It was as if his friends were nothing more than a nuisance, not the people who’d kept him grounded through sleepless nights and relentless self-doubt. People who’d shown him patience, humour, and a reason to keep fighting.

The protectiveness that surged in him strangled the panic into something sharp and focused. He latched onto it, letting it fuel his next steps.

“I hope for your sake there’s not a single scratch on them,” Tony said, his voice deceptively light, edged with steel.

“And I hope your insurance will cover the damage here on site,” Coulson shot back, ending the call, but Tony caught the tension in his voice.

Tony turned back to the window, steadying his breathing as waves crashed below.

“J? What’s the site they’re talking about? What damages?”

“It appears to be a containment area for a particular hammer, Sir,” JARVIS replied carefully. “They’ve only recently set it up, and have made sure to keep external communications minimal enough not to draw attention. Precautions I presume to prevent others from becoming invested, especially after the recent break in.”

“Thor?” Tony guessed, lips pursed as lightning flashed, almost mocking his forgetfulness. He’d known this was coming, but nothing had prepared him for how it would feel to cross paths with another Avenger again.

“Indeed,” JARVIS confirmed. “It seems he was present with them with the minimal footage we can access at their current residence.”

“Fuck everything,” Tony muttered under his breath.

Then, louder, “I am way too old for this babysitter gig. Especially for a super-buff alien.”

His AIs didn’t reply, but their silence was heavy with concern. They knew, as well as he did, that the panic was still there, just buried under layers of determination and frustration.

“The suit is prepped, Boss,” FRIDAY chirped. “We’ve got a few Legionnaires on standby, too.”

They may have missed this one, but Tony couldn’t fault them. Most of the time, they were in perfect sync with him.

A small, tired grin flickered across his face. “Thanks, baby girl.”

“Safe house is stocked and ready for visitors, Sir,” JARVIS added as Tony turned away from the window, determination settling over him like armour.

The waiting panic was a problem for Future-Future Tony. Right now, he had a rescue to run.

“Great,” he said, swinging open the closet doors and rifling through rows of suits, searching for the one he needed. “Let’s hope things don’t go pear-shaped this time.”

The only answer was the soft clack of hangers as he dug deeper.

Then, quietly, JARVIS spoke: “I am sorry, Sir. I should have picked up the anomaly.”

He should have. But Tony wasn’t ignorant enough to not understand that he wasn’t the only one to feel the strain of juggling a hundred balls in effort to manage the future. Especially with the added strain of monitoring the Widow’s activities in his company and her calls with SHIELD probably pulling most of his attention power. There was bound to be a few that got dropped. This was just really an unfortunate one

“It’s fine,” he said, voice steady. “We’ll deal with it after we get the gang back.”

Finally, he snagged the suit he wanted and spun around, calling out, “FRI, notify the panel. We’ve got updates on SHIELD and our current headache.”

“Sent, Boss,” she replied instantly.

With determination pushing the panic further down, Tony gripped the suit hanger and announced, “Right. Time to make an entrance.”

Puente Antiguo Desert, SHIELD Containment Camp, NM, USA

May 16, 2010; 02:37 (MST)

Miðgarðr was a realm wholly unlike the others. Where the nine realms held some measure of understanding of the cosmos, these mortals lived in blissful ignorance, their lives a ceaseless rush of change and chaos.

’Twas a wonder, Thor mused, that their world had not yet torn itself asunder from the sheer force of their restless curiosity.

He recalled his last visit centuries past, when the mortals had greeted him with awe and reverence. In those days, he believed such worship was only fitting; what were these fleeting creatures compared to the æsir? Little in strength, little in years, little in craft. Yet their curiosity burned bright, and he had regarded their world as little more than a backwater planet, safe beneath Ásgarðr’s golden rule.

How swiftly the veil had been torn away.

Though they would never match the æsir in might, these mortals had achieved more in a handful of centuries than many realms in an age. Their caution now matched their curiosity. And as Thor sat in the sterile confines of his cell, the cold white walls pressing in, he realized how much he had yet to learn. and how little power he now held to shape his fate.

He slumped in the chair, the stark light making his eyes ache. There was time aplenty for reflection now, though none of it was done in comfort.

He is dead because of you, his mind whispered, venomous and unrelenting.

The thought twisted within him, a scalding shame. He would not permit himself to grieve; it was his own folly that had led him here. He ought to have heeded Loki’s words. His brother had ever been the wiser one between the two of them. Loki would have made a far better king, for he did not let pride or rage ignite needless wars, nor did he drag friends—good souls—into peril through heedless action.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thor watched Lady Jane pacing the cell, her eyes bright with panic and frustration. Lady Darcy and Lord Erik had long since resigned themselves to the cold bench, their attempts at comfort falling flat. He remembered the brief flicker of hope when they’d first entered, only for it to be snuffed out as the door locked and Darcy muttered a bitter, “Told you so.”

Lord Erik’s silence was heavy, his glance at Jane laden with meaning Thor could not fully decipher, but it was enough to make her look away in guilt. The old man sat slumped, feigning sleep, though his restless shifting betrayed his turmoil.

The relentless tapping of Jane’s shoes grated on Thor’s nerves, each step a reminder of his failure. These mortals should never have been drawn into his troubles, and he was powerless to aid them. What worth was a prince with no title, no strength, and no realm?

“You are unworthy of these realms,” an enraged eye commanded as his medallions were ripped from his clothes.

“You are unworthy of your title.” The voice rose in volume as his cloak was torn from his shoulders.

“You are unworthy,” his father declared as he glared down at him, “of the loved ones you have betrayed.”

The memory seared him, a knife twisting in his gut. The last vision of his father—fury and disappointment staining his weathered features—was now all he had left. One would think he’d have learned not to act on impulse, but clearly, he had not. And now, others would pay the price for his folly.

So deep was Thor in his grief and guilt that he nearly missed the subtle shift in the air. A shift that grew into a prickle of ice along his spine, with the hair at his nape standing on end, as if the very atmosphere recoiled from what approached. He was no sorcerer, lacking the deft touch of his mother or brother, and with his title stripped, he should have been as blind as his mortal companions.

Yet he felt it: seiðr, the crawling chill of magic, threading through the room.

The clang of the cell door shattered the tension, yanking him upright. His friends followed, moving instinctively closer together. Lord Erik sat up bleary-eyed, Lady Darcy tense and pale, while Lady Jane stood frozen with panic barely contained. Three of the Miðgarðrian soldiers he had seen roaming the complex entered, clad in heavy, dark uniforms, weapons at their hips, eyes sharp and suspicious. Thor tensed, ready for the worst, but the soldiers merely stepped aside.

Then he saw why.

A ripple seemed to pass through the air as the newcomer entered. It was a man wrapped in charcoal and crimson, the cut of his clothes sharp as a blade, presence radiating danger and command. The room seemed to shrink around him, all focus trained on him.

The dark brown eyes behind wire frames swept the cell, predatory and cold, and when they met Thor’s, he had to steel himself in order to not visibly flinch.

Never, not even in these past few days without access to his power, had he felt so small before a mortal.

The guards hovered at the edge, wary and uncertain, as if the very rules of this place bent around the newcomer. He was not one of them, Thor realized, and that only deepened the sense of mystery and threat.

But then—recognition. Lady Darcy’s shoulders sagged, relief flickering in her eyes. Lord Erik managed a tired, grateful smile. Lady Jane’s head bowed, but her entire posture continued to radiate panic, despite the hope, and aching relief filling her face. It struck Thor, sharp as a memory: the feeling of rescue, of being found, as when his father had once come for him on Jötunheimr.

Silence strangled the room. Every breath seemed to hang, waiting for the man to speak.

“What’s your status?” The voice cut through the stillness. A low sort of timbre, edged with steel, but not the thunderous wrath Thor had expected. There was only a single-minded focus, a concern that was almost clinical.

Darcy and Erik nodded, but all eyes turned to Jane. She hesitated, caught between panic and relief, then managed, “We’re fine. Only Thor got roughed up. The rest of us were just… taken in.”

The man’s gaze swept over them, verifying her words. He rolled his shoulders, the mask of indifference slipping for a heartbeat. Thor, who had spent centuries reading Loki’s smallest tells, saw the relief in the man’s posture before it vanished.

But the reprieve was brief. The air snapped taut as the man’s eyes fixed on Thor, fury flashing in their depths—so like Odin’s in his darkest moments that Thor’s breath caught.

The guards stiffened. Jane, Darcy, and Erik all paled, Jane most of all, immediately darted her eyes back to the ground, refusing to meet the man’s gaze.

“I told you to call me,” the man said slowly, voice deceptively calm, but every syllable thrummed with threat and disappointment.

The room held its breath, the storm outside echoing the tension within. In that moment, Thor understood: this man was no mere mortal. He was a force, a storm in his own right, and the danger he brought was as real as the seiðr that still lingered in the air.

Nothing betrayed the man’s emotions but that simmering fury, and Thor could not help but marvel. Where had a mortal learned such mastery over his own countenance? Yet, even that question was far from the most troubling; everything about this mortal defied Thor’s expectations, radiating a danger that felt almost supernatural.

Jane clenched her jaw, trying to muster a defence. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Why else would SHIELD be on your collective asses from the start if this was something normal?” he cut her off, flicking a sharp brow at the guards, his tone slicing through the air like a blade.

His snort was pure disbelief, the sound making the rest of them wince. Jane’s frown deepened, lips pressed thin.

“I hoped you’d trust me more,” the man said, voice quieter, almost speaking to himself. But the words echoed through the sterile chamber, making all three mortals flinch, their postures shrinking under the weight of disappointment.

The lapse in control vanished as quickly as it had come, the man raking a hand through his hair, mask snapping back into place.

“Just get the alien—” his gaze flicked to Thor, and he immediately felt himself tense under the unreadable look, “—we’re leaving.”

He turned, ready to go, when Jane finally looked up, voice trembling with nerves and regret. “How bad is it?”

He froze, spinning back with an incredulous glare. “I think you know well enough! Have you seen the time?”

Thor, confused, watched as the man’s mask slipped just enough for him to see the exhaustion etched deep into his features. The lines carved by too many sleepless nights, the bruises blooming beneath his eyes, the way tension pulled at every muscle as his gaze kept darting between Thor and the room.

“Because I can sure as hell feel it,” the man finished, voice raw.

All three scholars winced, guilt written plain on their faces. Darcy looked especially sour, regret etched deep.

“I am furious with you right now,” the man hissed, the strain and frustration splintering through his careful composure, “but I don’t need these spies listening in on just how many problems you’ve just caused me.”

He turned to them, making a strange motion across his lips, fingers pinched. “So, you’re going to zip it till we get out of here. Then you’re going to hear it. All of it.”

Even Thor tensed, though he knew the words were not truly meant for him. The man’s presence was overwhelming, the threat in his voice as real as any weapon. Despite his exhaustion, this mortal radiated more power than any other in the facility—and none of them, not even the guards, seemed to grasp the true extent of it as none of them reacted to the way it seemed to pool around the corners of the room.

“Got it?” he snapped, brow arched, gaze daring anyone to argue.

They all nodded, Jane echoing a subdued, “Okay.”

Only once they left did Thor realize the true depth of the man’s authority. No one intervened. Not a single guard moved to stop them, not even when they passed Mjöllnir and the man spared both Thor and the hammer a long, intrigued glance.

Not even when the Son of Coul stood at the exit, watching them go with a twisted, unreadable expression.

It offered Thor no peace. It only produced more questions, and a sense that the true storm had only just begun.

Puente Antiguo Desert, Stark Safe House, NM, USA

May 16, 2010; 03:41 (MST)

If the steering wheel could protest, Tony was sure it would be screaming. His knuckles were white, tendons straining as he gripped the wheel, the tension bleeding into every muscle in his body. The silence inside the car was suffocating. No one dared speak, not with the air thick with the memory of their latest escape from SHIELD.

His anger at their recklessness simmered, but it was the fear—sharp, cold, and clawing at his inside—that was winning ground, threatening to tip into a full-blown panic attack. The relief at seeing them safe had been fleeting, quickly replaced by the realization of just how close they’d come to disaster.

SHIELD’s shadow was long, and they’d nearly been swallowed whole.

And then there was the Norse god—goddamn Thor—sitting quietly in the back seat. Tony had expected someone older, more imposing, more similar to the man he had first met. Instead, he saw a young man, almost boyish, with blond hair barely reaching his shoulders and wide, wide, wide blue eyes set in a face still soft with youth. Nothing like the hardened warrior he remembered from another life.

It rattled him more than he cared to admit.

‘Had they all aged so much in the last timeline?’ he wondered. ‘Had the weight of war, loss, and betrayal carved so deeply into them that even a supposed god could not escape unchanged?’

His chest ached with a familiar heaviness, the same pain he felt whenever he looked at Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, or Bruce and even some of the other science buddies. They had all been so free, once. So youthful, before the future had caught up, before fate had decided to make them its favourite playthings.

He hoped and prayed he could prevent it happening again.

The universe, it seemed, was trying its best to go against this wish as it kept on piling things on him. His stress was at a breaking point, and the latest twist threatened to send everything veering off the rails. The future he remembered was already slipping away, the timeline unravelling thread by thread.

Maybe that was why his temper had snapped so unexpectedly at the containment site. He knew it was overkill. They weren’t his children, god forbid it, sneaking out after curfew, and he couldn’t expect them to call him for every little thing that popped up and seemed slightly suspicious.

But every time something happened beyond his control, the fear tightened its grip. Every time he had to intervene, he risked painting a bigger target on his own back. On their back.

The car sped on, headlights carving a narrow path through the desert’s smothering darkness. The only companions were the cold stars overhead, indifferent and distant in the way he knew intimately. The landscape pressed in, amplifying his anxiety, and only JARVIS’s calm directions in his ear kept him from losing his way completely.

After what felt like an eternity, the endless sand gave way to a landscape of jagged rock and rolling hills, miniature canyons twisting through the earth like scars. At JARVIS’s prompt, Tony veered off the main road onto a hidden path, winding between stone outcroppings until a building emerged. One tucked into a shadowed nook, its architecture designed to vanish into the landscape.

No grandeur, just careful, calculated security.

The car slowed, tires crunching over gravel, and the sudden turns jostled his passengers awake. Three of them reacted with wide-eyed disbelief, eyebrows nearly launching off their faces. The fourth—Thor, he still can’t believe it was him—watched with a kind of raw, unguarded curiosity, a flicker of grief still shadowing his expression and keeping him silent.

This meeting was nothing like the first time Tony had encountered the so-called god of thunder. Back then, Thor had been all bluster and arrogance, but now he sat silent and subdued, and it set Tony’s nerves on edge more than any memory ever could.

What else had changed in the timeline? Surely his own meddling shouldn’t have dragged Asgard into the mess. He cursed his lack of intel on what had actually sent Thor crashing to Earth—especially since the guy apparently couldn’t even lift his own hammer at this point.

It left the situation even more precarious than he liked.

Tony took a hard turn, the car ducking into an alcove carved into the cliff face, leading into a tunnel that spiralled downward into a garage. Smaller than Malibu, dwarfed by the Compound, but still substantial. Tools and crates lined the walls, but the real sentinel was the Iron Man armour standing in the corner, powered down but ready.

JARVIS had its sensors primed for any unknown movement.

The safe house was a relic from the Cold War, one of Howard Stark’s little insurance policies against the end of the world. The old man had trusted no one—not even the government he armed. So he had built a bunker in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, just in case.

Too bad he hadn’t been paranoid enough to see HYDRA worming into his pet agency, or that his business partner would sell him out and send his son to hell and back. Too bad.

Now, it served as Tony’s own bolt-hole, a place to hide from spies and manufacture Legionnaires for this quadrant. The main equipment was in the sub-basement, with a hatch for fast exits. Paranoid? Maybe.

But after New York, Tony dared anyone to say that to his face.

The car rumbled to a stop and Tony was out before the engine finished ticking. Jane’s voice floated over as she climbed out, slow and stiff. “You could’ve just taken us home, you know. No need for the secret lair.”

He barely kept the scoff in check. “And risk SHIELD crawling all over you again? Not a chance.”

His emotions churned—a boiling mess of anger, fear, and a guilt that threatened to swallow him whole—as he led the group up to the main floor.

Behind him, he heard Darcy’s incredulous whisper: “Just how many hideouts does he have?”

Not enough, Tony thought grimly.

The main floor lit up as they entered. It was an open space design, with sunken couch, kitchen off to the side, and a bar gleaming temptingly nearby. The urge to drown his nerves in a drink was sharp, a habit that never really faded, especially in this younger body. But the fear of spilling everything—his secrets, his true origins—kept him away from the bottle.

He had no desire to end up in a psych ward.

So he went for the next best thing: coffee. The AI had already started a fresh pot, and Tony all but lunged for it, burning his tongue on the first desperate gulp. The pain was grounding. A necessary jolt of reality, a reminder that, for now, he was still in control.

Behind him, Tony could hear the shuffling of the group, all of them nervous, uncertain, and fluttering around the place that made every movement feel like it was scraping against his raw nerves. He forced himself to nod at the concern filtering through his earpiece from JARVIS and FRIDAY, then turned, squaring himself to face the group.

For a long, loaded moment, no one spoke. The silence was electric, with every heartbeat thundering in Tony’s chest. Fear, anger, guilt. The emotions churned together, a storm he barely held at bay.

He broke first, voice rough with exhaustion and barely leashed fury. “What the hell were you thinking, jumping in like that?”

They froze, caught like deer in headlights. Darcy and Erik wore their guilt openly, eyes darting away. Thor, of all people, shrank back, jaw clenched, silent. Tony almost expected the god to leap to their defence, but he just hovered at the back, uncertain.

A far cry from the brash warrior Tony remembered.

Jane met his gaze, jaw set, chin lifted in defiance. “He was in danger. And to be fair, it’s not our fault SHIELD dragged us out of our van, we didn’t cross any boundaries.”

There it was again. That unbreakable fire in her, the stubbornness Tony both admired and feared. She was brilliant, fearless, but he knew all too well how conviction could turn into disaster. He’d lived it. He still lived it, every day.

“You abated a man you don’t even know to be able to do so,” Tony shot back, disbelief and irritation sharpening every word. “And what made you think it was a genius move to go after SHIELD right after you barely escaped them?”

Darcy shrugged, voice flippant but eyes uneasy. “We had to make it up to him for running him over with the van.”

Jane and Erik, both shot her looks that could kill, and even Thor winced behind them.

That was it—the last straw. Tony’s anger surged, pushing his anxiety aside.

“That shouldn’t have mattered. Your actions were impulsive and reckless.” His voice was a whip, and they all flinched.

He almost missed the way Thor went pale, the distant look in his eyes—a flash of something broken that made Tony’s heart stutter. God, what happened out there?

“You could have gotten yourselves killed!” Tony barked, slamming his mug down so hard it cracked, echoing the fracture in his voice.

“And don’t give me that look!” he snapped at Jane, who was already twisting from guilt to irritation. “You were on the edges of trespassing onto a classified government site. A site filled with people with orders to shoot on sight. And you did this with no backup. No training. No plan. What the hell were you thinking?”

Jane’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “We had to help him, Tony!” she shouted, stepping forward.

“And you think I wouldn’t have helped if you’d just called?” Tony’s voice dropped, all the fight draining out, leaving only raw, aching honesty.

Tony let the silence stretch, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers hard into his temple. Emotions writhed beneath his control. Panic flutter just out of his reach of control, with anger simmering low in his gut, while exhaustion threatened to pull him under.

They didn’t get it. They couldn’t. How could they possibly understand the scale of the mess they were walking into? He had tried to shield them, tried to keep them out of the crosshairs, but just being close to him was enough to drag them halfway in.

And now, here they were, deeper than ever.

Some days, he wondered if he should have looped more people in, made them aware of the real dangers. Allowed them to see the storm on the horizon. But he couldn’t do that to them. They deserved a shot at a normal life, one untouched by his baggage and the monsters that followed him.

Erik was the first to break the silence, voice low and apologetic. “We know you care, Tony. Honestly, we didn’t think the two situations were even connected, nor that the situation was this complicated. We just didn’t want to bother you.”

Tony’s reply was instant, sharp. “You still should’ve called the second he started talking about trying to get into government site. That’s not a minor detail.”

He opened his eyes, meeting the gazes of his friends. People he was grateful for, people he’d dragged into this chaos just by being himself. If he couldn’t protect them from one shadowy agency, how the hell was he supposed to protect them from everything else out there?

Erik nodded, guilt etched into every line of his face. “We should—”

“We seriously don’t have to tell you everything we do,” Jane cut in, voice tight. “You’re not our babysitter, Tony.”

The others shot her warning looks, but she didn’t back down. Her eyes met his, burning with apology and conviction, refusing to be talked down like a child.

Tony surprised even himself with his answer. “No, you don’t.”

He saw her surprise, and felt it himself. He didn’t want to control them, didn’t want to be the puppet master. They were adults, capable before they ever met him. But the itch of the unknown, the threat of what he couldn’t see or predict, was always there, setting his nerves on fire.

No matter how many upgrades, no matter how many protocols, this proved he couldn’t track every threat. JARVIS and FRIDAY were already stretched thin, barely able to keep up with known variables, let alone the wild cards about situations he has no insider knowledge oof. This whole situation was fuel on the fire of his growing panic about the future, about how quickly things were spinning out of his grasp.

He refocused, voice flat. “The problem I have is you’re poking the very organization I’ve been keeping off your backs for months.”

The group winced.

“My problem is that your poking just landed ten agents in the ER and put all of us under a microscope!” The shout tore out of him, panic and anger spiking together.

Damnit. He still had a spider in his house and there was no way she would not know about this development. Damn it all, it was going to make managing SHIELD ten times worse now. The little reveal of his won’t carry as much weight he hoped for anymore when he tries to sway them.

The shock on their faces was almost comical, but the horror on Thor’s face was real, his pallor worsening by the second. Double damn it, what the hell happened out there?

Jane stammered, “He wha—no, we honestly didn’t think it would be that dangerous…”

Tony shot her an incredulous look. “Not dangerous? You’re messing with a shadow agency and running around with an alien god!”

He sighed, raking a hand over his face and looked over to the old fashion clocked that hung on the kitchen wall. “We’ll talk about this later. I’m practically running on fumes; I can’t keep track of this conversation.”

He took a sip of coffee—lukewarm, bitter, fitting. When no one responded to his post-phoning, he glanced up, catching the furrowed brows and wary stares that met him from all sides. The scientists looking confused, while Thor had probably the most peculiar look he had ever seen on the man.

He arched a brow. “What?”

Darcy spoke up, voice unreadable behind her glasses. “We didn’t exactly tell you he was an alien. Or some sort of mythological god. SHIELD only suspected he was an alien because of the hammer. We never said it out loud.”

Tony felt his throat tighten immediately and looked away, cursing his own exhaustion, for his loosened tongue. He doesn’t have the time to deal with the consequences if he starts making little mistakes like this.

He forced a careless shrug, deflecting, “SHIELD briefed me when I came to collect you.”

He took another hard sip from his mug, trying to hide his grimace behind the rim.

Darcy wasn’t letting it go. “You’re way too chill about hearing there’s an actual alien on Earth, Tony.”

He gave her a tired, hollow smile. “Yeah, well, you’d be surprised what I can get used to.”

“Stark—” Erik began, then stopped, uncertainty flickering across his face. He looked like he was weighing a hundred questions, each one written in the lines around his eyes.

“Tony, how aware are you of life beyond Earth?” Erik finally asked, voice steady but heavy with implication. “Because, honestly, with everything going on—and the kind of research you’ve had us do—you had to know something already.”

Darcy didn’t hesitate, pressing in. “Yeah, especially about Thor. Why else would you tell us to call if anything ‘weird’ happened? Aliens are pretty much the definition of ‘weird,’ Tony.”

Jane’s anger and wariness softened into concern as she watched the colour drain from Tony’s face.

“Tony, what’s going on?” she asked, voice gentler but insistent.

The room felt like it was closing in, everyone’s attention locked on him. Tony could feel the heat of their stares, the tension ratcheting up with every second of silence. He wanted to disappear, to deflect, but Erik’s next words pinned him in place.

“What are you trying to hide from us? What are you protecting us from?” Erik pressed, his eyes kind but unyielding. “I’ve never seen you this agitated—not in all the time I’ve known you.”

Jane’s frown deepened, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you know something was going to happen?”

“No,” Tony blurted, panic spiking as his heart hammered against the arc reactor. He cursed himself for the slip, for how obvious his fear was. “No, I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed, sharp and searching. “But you suspected. How long have you known about… all of this? Since Afghanistan?”

The name hit him like a punch. He flinched, and instantly regretted it. Jane, Erik, and Darcy, all saw it, their frowns deepening, suspicion and worry growing. Tony’s mind raced, searching for any excuse, any plausible lie, but exhaustion left him blank and exposed.

He didn’t know what his face looked like, but Erik saw right through him. “You’re terrified.”

“There’s something out there that scares you,” Erik continued, voice low. “And you’re trying to keep it from us.”

Tony wanted to laugh, but the urge collapsed under the weight of his anxiety. Another group of people who saw through him so clearly, just his luck.

He leaned hard against the counter, knuckles white, the edge digging into his side. They were right. There was something out there—something that was coming—that kept him up at night, that haunted every nightmare. The Chitauri, the invasion, the portal… He could feel the cold sweat beading at his hairline just thinking about it.

Two years away, and already it was choking him.

At least they hadn’t pieced together the time travel, not yet anyway. He didn’t even know how someone would make that leap without hard proof. Still, the idea of them getting close made his skin crawl. He needed to get ahead of this, twist it, control the narrative—anything but let them see the full truth.

He tried to deflect, voice tight. “What are you talking about?”

He needed time, needed his brain to catch up and craft a story that would hold.

Jane stepped closer, her eyes searching. “Tony, you told me yourself you believed we weren’t alone. You basically said aliens existed. Why are you dodging now?”

Darcy’s gaze was sharp behind her glasses. “Is it because of how you found out? Did something happen to you?”

Tony’s frustration broke through in a harsh sigh, and the group stilled, waiting. He worked his jaw, fighting the instinct to clam up, to keep every secret locked away.

“Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked up, meeting their eyes. “Yeah. I knew about aliens before all this. Heard stories, rumours—Asgardians being the most common.”

They all jerked back, shock rippling through the room. Even Thor seemed to snap out of his daze, curiosity burning in his gaze.

Jane was the first to recover, her voice tight with disbelief and hurt. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Tony couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “I did. You just said it yourself. And if I remember right, you looked at me like I’d lost my mind.”

Jane flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but the hurt didn’t fade from her eyes.

Darcy’s arms shot up in exasperation. “If you knew, why drag us into this? You didn’t need us to prove what you already knew.”

Tony forced himself to stay steady, even as her words twisted the knife. “Astrophysics isn’t my field. I don’t have the time or the expertise to chase every theory. I needed people I could trust to look into it.”

Jane scoffed, not backing down. “So, you manipulated us, had us do your dirty work. Why? What’s the point?”

Darcy leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Tony. What do you really know?”

Tony blinked, mind scrambling for a way out, but the exhaustion was catching up, dragging him down. He could feel the fragile threads of trust in the room fraying, splintering under the weight of his secrets.

It was always too good to last.

He swallowed hard, voice rough. “I know Earth is a sitting duck. We’re so far behind in development, it’s almost laughable. And if it comes down to it… we don’t stand a chance.”

The words landed like a blow. The group shifted, unsettled, the fear in Tony’s voice impossible to miss, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. Thor looked ready to protest, to launch into some speech about Asgard’s protection, but for once, he stayed silent, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Whatever had happened out there, it had at least taught the brute not to but in arguments he wasn’t technically involved in.

Tony kept his eyes on the floor, bracing himself for whatever came next. He’d always been good at running the show, but now it felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet, and he was just trying to hang on.

Erik was the first to break the silence, voice low but unwavering. “And you wanted to fix that.”

Jane jumped in, shaking her head as she raked a hand through her hair, trying to keep her composure. “I get wanting to do something, Tony, but how did you even find out all this? How deep does this go?”

Tony’s jaw snapped shut, eyes closing as he shook his head. “I can’t.”

Darcy’s brow shot up, annoyance flaring. “What?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeated, louder this time, cutting off the protests rising in the room. He raised a hand, demanding silence. “No—listen.”

He glared at them, fists tightening around the mug until his knuckles ached. “I can’t tell you anything. You’re already in deep just by knowing me. If you knew the full truth, you’d be in even more danger. I won’t do that to you.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed, voice hard. “You don’t get to decide that for us, Tony.”

“In this case, I do.” He leaned forward, voice cold steel. “After this, you can cut ties. Keep the contracts, keep the research. You don’t have to deal with me anymore. I know this is way above your pay grade, and pulling you into something and not telling you about it isn’t fair—but for your own good, you don’t need to know. Trust me.”

He let out a long, tired sigh, shoulders slumping as he looked away. “There are days I wish I didn’t know, either.”

Darcy hissed, offense sharp in her tone. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just drop a bomb and expect us to walk away okay with all of this. Especially when the same government agency you have been keeping away seems just as involved in this shit.”

Jane’s voice rose, frustration boiling over. “Seriously, Tony! Why us? Why our research? You could’ve hired anyone—you’ve got more resources than half the planet!”

He met their eyes, voice unwavering. “Because you’re the best at what you do. Because I needed people who could think outside the box, who wouldn’t just follow orders or run from the unknown.”

Darcy scoffed, arms crossed, but her anger had softened into something more wounded. “So, we’re guinea pigs? Or just convenient?”

Tony shook his head, desperate. “You’re not guinea pigs. I needed your expertise. I needed answers I couldn’t get on my own.”

He heard the edge of pleading in his voice and hated it, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what he’d do if they actually walked out after this.

Jane’s eyes were stormy, a swirl of hurt, anger, and something softer. “You could have trusted us from the start, could have not used us.”

He snorted, bitterness thick in his voice. “Trust is a luxury I can’t afford when the stakes are this high.”

Erik’s gaze was sharp, unyielding. “But you still involved us. You can’t have it both ways, Stark.”

Darcy’s voice was quieter, but the hurt was still there. “And what exactly are you so afraid we’ll find out, huh? That you’re scared? That you don’t have all the answers?”

Tony’s jaw clenched, frustration and vulnerability flickering across his face. “I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

He met their eyes, voice raw. “You want to call that cowardice? Fine. But I’m not dragging anyone else down with me.”

Jane’s voice was soft but unyielding. “We’re already in it, Tony. You know that, right?”

Darcy’s gaze raked over him, concern clear despite her sarcasm. “Yeah, and you haven’t exactly been handling it well yourself. You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

She added then, unexpectedly gentle despite the conversation, “You really think we’re just going to sit back and let you spiral?”

Tony jerked, caught off guard, but looked away before they could see the crack in his armour. He’d been so sure he was losing them.

“You should,” he muttered. “It’s safer.”

Erik sighed, sympathy in his voice. “You’re not protecting us by pushing us away. You’re just making yourself miserable.”

Footsteps crossed the room; then Darcy smacked his shoulder, making him look up into her frowning face.

“And making us worry more, genius,” she said, concern twisting her mouth. “You look like a walking corpse.”

“Darcy!” Jane protested, scandalized.

Darcy shot her a glare, then pointed at Tony. “It’s true!”

Tony let out a weak laugh, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “I feel like one too.”

He realized, in that moment, they weren’t leaving. They weren’t abandoning him—not yet.

Darcy grinned. “See? So, you can forget about not seeing our beautiful faces. We’re staying, even when you are being kind of a dick about it, and we’re going to pester you until you spill. And in the meantime, maybe give us a heads-up when the space neighbours come knocking? Might keep us from storming government sites next time.”

Tony’s lips twitched despite himself. “I doubt that.”

Erik’s voice was solemn, grounding. “Tony, we know there’s more going on. Just remember—we’re here. You can count on us. And for us to accomplish what you want us to, you are going to have to tell us the truth somewhere.”

He faltered, words failing him. “I’ll think about it.”

Darcy, ever the mood-lifter, declared, “Let’s just agree today was bad, yeah?”

She yawned, stretching. “Can we go to sleep now? I’m all for emotional development and shit, but I’m half asleep and you look about to keel over.”

Tony knew she was right, but also knew sleep would be impossible. Not with an alien god in the next room and his own emotions a tangled mess. Nightmares—or worse—would find him if he let his guard down.

“Fine,” he lied, voice soft. “But we’re still going to talk about your little adventure tomorrow. I really can’t have you do this again.”

The sour looks returned, but now they were lighter, threaded with understanding. It left Tony breathless. For a moment, he almost confessed everything. But the sight of Thor—silent, watching—was enough to stop him. He’d already changed too much. No need to add more.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Puente Antiguo Desert, Stark Safe House, NM, USA

May 16, 2010; 04:23 (MST)

Silence cloaked Thor as the Miðgarðrians at last dispersed to their chambers, their arguments lingering in the air like a storm yet to break. The weight of the day pressed upon him, heavy as Mjöllnir itself, and he found himself perilously close to collapsing beneath its strain.

So much had been spoken, yet so much was left unsaid. All of it compounded his suspicion and deepening the well of self-loathing within his breast.

Unbidden, Thor descended into the sunken chamber lined with plush cushions, the offer of a guest chamber forgotten amidst the tumult of his thoughts. He sank into the seat, the burden on his shoulders near unbearable, and let his head fall back with a hollow sigh.

Too late did he realize the folly of closing his eyes. They burned, and the weight of the day crashed down, threatening to drown him. Grief constricted his heart, a wire drawn tight through the muscle, each breath sharp and shallow.

It was as if the world itself pressed in, and he could not draw air without pain.

Disbelief echoed in his mind. They were æsir, his thoughts raged. They were gods. Odin cannot be dead. Yet the past days had left him floundering, grasping for purchase in a sea of grief and guilt, and finding nothing but the bitter taste of failure.

What a fool he had been. A king? Nay, he was no king—merely the lumbering oaf Loki had so often named him. Ásgarðr, his home, lost through his own folly. Perhaps now under siege, perhaps not. His mother, alone in her sorrow; his brother, alone upon the throne. Would they prevail and restore honour to Ásgarðr, or would they fall?

He would never know. He was unworthy of such knowledge, as he was unworthy of all else.

His mind spiralled, reality slipping through his grasp, until he seized upon the first distraction that broke through the storm: Stark. Tony Stark.

The very name sent a shiver down his spine, the sensation of unseen eyes pressing upon him. The mortal was unlike any he had known. Even among his own kind, Stark stood apart, a quiet power thrumming about him, setting every instinct on edge.

Danger rolled off him, more than the Miðgarðrians could ever know.

When Stark entered the room, seiðr seemed to ripple through the air, saturating every stone and shadow, though the mortal himself appeared oblivious to the power that lingered beneath his flesh. Thor’s frame tensed just at the mere thought of Stark discovering the depths of his own potential.

Lady Jane, Lady Darcy, and Lord Erik, for all the strain of their argument, trusted Stark deeply. Their wariness lingered at the edges, yet their care for him was plain and their respect for his boundaries remained steadfast. They even waited for him to reveal his secrets in his own time; despite the strife it caused.

Thor, by contrast, harboured only suspicion and a gnawing sense of danger that refused to abate. Even in the face of the man’s exhaustion and near-breaking point, Thor’s nerves were stretched taut. Especially after he learned that Stark knew his true nature when no other believed or understood.

He had seen the predator in Stark’s eyes, and it unsettled him. Loki had ever warned him: knowledge was the sharpest blade.

Stark possessed knowledge, and power—not only in presence and seiðr, but in his uncanny ability to bend the SHIELD to his will. Lady Jane and the Son of Coul had explained SHIELD’s reach, yet its agents bowed to Stark’s command, a testament to his influence in this realm.

It was strange, how Stark reminded him of both mother and father. Reminded him of his mother’s compassion and foresight, and of his father’s unyielding presence and might that he always radiated. Had radiated, he corrected himself, for Odin was lost to him now.

His breath faltered, but he forced himself not to break.

—but he had nothing. No title, no strength, no Mjöllnir, no father, no family. Nothing. When was he allowed to break?—

The mortal was an enigma, a riddle wrapped in iron and wit, and Thor found himself at a loss as to how best to approach him. Stark unsettled him in ways no foe ever had. He was not merely a man, but a force, unpredictable and sharp as a blade.

Thor knew not how long he would remain on Miðgarðr, nor if he would ever again be worthy of Mjöllnir. Yet, he knew with a cold certainty, that this mortal—this Stark—might well hold the key to his fate in this realm, for good or for ill.

A sudden click behind him shattered his reverie, sending his thoughts skittering like startled birds. He froze, muscles tensed, breath held, every sense straining for threat. Yet the prickle along his skin told him precisely who approached.

After a moment, he opened his eyes, surprised to find the room bathed in the golden glow of dawn. Had he truly been lost in thought so long? He straightened, turning just enough to see the source of the sound.

There, out on the balcony, Stark leaned against the railing, the glass door behind him left ajar—a silent invitation, or perhaps a challenge. The man’s silhouette was outlined in the rising sun, head tilted, gaze fixed on the horizon.

Thor swallowed, throat dry, acutely aware that Stark knew he was not asleep.

Gathering himself, Thor rose and moved to the door, each step wary. Stark did not so much as glance his way, his posture deceptively relaxed, but Thor could feel the tension coiled beneath the surface.

Off-balance, as he had been since his fall to Miðgarðr, Thor let his gaze drift out over the desert, focusing on the sunrise.

It was a beautiful thing.

It was so unlike the dawns of Ásgarðr, where golden light crowned the palace spires and the stars lingered like jewels in the velvet dark. Here, the world glowed with a fierce, red-gold fire, the sun a molten disk rising from the sand, shadows fleeing before its advance. The sight brought a pang of longing, but as the light warmed his skin, a fragile peace settled over him.

He was so entranced he startled when Stark sighed. Thor turned, caught by the man’s sharp gaze, his eyes narrowed and studying him with a focus that made Thor’s heart pound. Stark looked exhausted, with lines carved deep into his face, but the shrewdness in his eyes was undimmed. For all his mortal limits, there was something in Stark that defied reason, a presence that demanded respect.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to still.

“Different?” Stark broke the silence, voice dry and edged with something unreadable. Curiosity, perhaps, or a challenge.

The single word hung between them, heavy with meaning. Thor, recalling Loki’s lessons and the weight of recent days, forced himself to answer, voice low and honest. “Quite.”

The air crackled, tension rising between them, as if even the dawn itself held its breath. Stark’s gaze sharpened, exhaustion folding back into something hard and dangerous.

“I see,” Stark hummed, noncommittal, but Thor heard the steel beneath it. “So, Thor, if you don’t want to talk, that’s your call. But I want one answer from you.”

Thor braced himself, wary of the bargain implicit in those words, thoughts flickering at the odd intonation of his name.

It took a moment to find his voice. “Aye, what would you like to ask of me?”

Amber eyes burned through the morning light, unwavering. “Why are you here?”

The question rang out, simple and devastating—a challenge, a demand, and perhaps, an opening. The dawn seemed to pause, waiting for Thor’s reply.

Unsettled and further off balance, Thor straightened, frowning down at the mortal. “Pardon?”

Stark didn’t so much as flinch at the difference in stature. If anything, Thor felt as if he were the one being looked down upon. The man’s presence pressed down on his shoulders, gaze unwavering, exhaustion wiped clean and replaced by something harder, sharper. A force that demanded answers and would not be denied.

Thor scarcely recognized him. This was not the same man he’d glimpsed moments before, one strong yet exhausted; this was a presence that made his instincts flare, his guard rising unbidden.

“Why are you here?” Stark repeated, slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a child. “Why’s your hammer stuck in the ground? What did you do?”

The accusation stung, and Thor bristled, defences rising. He was unarmed, unarmoured, with no advantage. Stark held the power here, and wielded it with a jealous, unyielding grip, pinning Thor with a glare that brooked no evasion.

“I do not see how this is any—” Thor began, anger bubbling up.

Stark cut him off, voice like a blade. “It is when you got my friends involved. It is when you dragged them into SHIELD custody. It is when Asgard’s been off the radar for centuries and suddenly you show up out of nowhere.”

“Why are you here?” he pressed again, each word weighted, nearly staggering Thor where he stood.

The rage simmered down, replaced by the cold reminder of his own failings. Stark’s gaze never wavered, and Thor realized, with a chill, that the mortal already knew more than he let on. The knowledge flickered behind those amber eyes.

There was no escape from this confrontation.

Thor broke the stare first, turning back to the horizon, eyes drawn to the blue encroaching upon the night. The inevitability mocked him. He remembered the feeling of being surrounded, helpless, before Odin’s rescue. This was much the same.

“It was not my intention to bring harm to Lady Jane, Lady Darcy, or Lord Erik,” he managed, voice rough. “I sought only to retrieve Mjöllnir and prove my worth. They were to remain outside this conflict.”

Stark’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “But they didn’t.”

Thor’s guilt twisted tighter. “Nay, they did not.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw. Thor gathered himself, rattled to his core. Stark should not have this power over him. Yet knowledge, as Loki had always said, was the sharpest weapon.

“It still doesn’t answer my question,” Stark insisted, relentless.

Thor gritted his teeth, knowing he’d already lost this battle. There was no point in further resistance, no sense in hiding a wound that festered so openly.

“I acted in anger and pride. I attacked a fellow Realm,” Thor confessed, voice clipped, hands gripping the railing. “Through my brashness, I brought the threat of war between Ásgarðr and Jötunheimr.”

“For my punishment, my father cast me out.” The words came strangled, as raw as the wound itself. “I was found unworthy.”

The statement hung between them, heavy and damning. Thor knew Stark understood the weight of it, even if he could not know the full pain.

“What could possibly have made you attack another realm?” Stark asked, incredulity finally breaking through his mask.

The shift in Stark’s tone—less predator, more baffled human—was almost a relief. It made the answer come easier, though the shame lingered.

“It was at my coronation that two Jötnar did infiltrate Ásgarðr, destroying years of cooperation and slaying two of the Einherjar and attempting to steal a most precious artifact ere they were stopped,” Thor hissed, though the fury in his voice was but a shadow beneath the storm brewing within him.

He watched as Stark’s face darkened, the man’s features sharpening with every word.

“I perceived it as an attack upon Ásgarðr.”

“Your coronation?” Stark interrupted, eyebrows climbing. “You were about to be crowned king?”

“Aye,” Thor answered wearily, caught off guard by the mortal’s focus on the fact. “Though my father would have yet guided me from the side.”

For a moment, Stark’s caution sharpened into a scowl, his voice tight with anger. “And your first move was to declare war? Seriously?”

Thor’s anger flared in response, but beneath it, he recognized something else in Stark’s tone. A thread of panic, a hint of personal pain woven through the accusation.

“I need not your lectures on matters beyond your ken, mortal,” Thor growled, bristling.

But Stark only barked a laugh, a grin flashing that was sharp.

One all teeth and no warmth. “No knowledge? My father built an empire on war. I kept it running. Trust me, I know exactly how stupid it is to start one—especially when your entire governmental structure is in flux.”

The words landed like blows, guilt and self-loathing curling around Stark’s anger, and Thor felt the man’s presence loom even larger, as if the roles of predator and prey had shifted.

“War is war,” Stark spat, each word clipped. “I know how quick it is to lose everything. Instigating it so quickly, without thinking of the consequences? Dumbest move in the book.”

Thor felt himself backed into a corner, the shame and pain threatening to break him. He had sworn never to feel so powerless again, yet here he stood, failing once more.

“Think you I do not know this?” he spat back, voice cracking. “Since my fall to Miðgarðr, I have been haunted by my failings at every turn! I know it was a grievous mistake!”

“A mistake that could have cost more than two guards!” Stark shot back, his eyes blazing with the weight of bitter experience. The words shattered Thor’s fragile composure.

All at once, his chest constricted, vision blurring as his emotions crested. Everything he had buried surged forth, and he broke before this dangerous stranger.

“I had to protect my people!” he cried, voice splintering. The words startled Stark into silence, but Thor could not stop. “It was my coronation, the day I was to take my father’s place as All-father, and yet I was seen as weak—weak enough for treachery, for the breaking of ancient treaties!”

“Do you not understand?” he demanded, not waiting for an answer. “If I was perceived as weak, how could my people trust me to defend them?”

Stark stared, wide-eyed, but Thor’s vision swam, his voice muffled as if beneath water.

“My father served Ásgarðr and the Nine Realms for millennia, fighting wars to prove his strength,” Thor said, bitterness twisting his words. “I have done naught but fight skirmishes any Einherjar could win.”

“It was my chance to prove myself worthy to my people and the Nine,” he snarled, then sagged, leaning heavily on the railing. “And it was a mistake.”

“My one chance,” he scoffed, voice hollow, “and I made myself a fool. I have lost my title, my strength, my home—for all I had to offer was my might in battle, and it was not enough.”

“I am unworthy,” he whispered with a shudder, echoing Odin’s last words as tears finally broke free.

The dam burst, and the wall he had built to hold back the storm crumbled. Guilt, anger, sorrow, pain. All of it swept him under. He barely registered the salt on his lips or the wretched sobs wracking his frame, only that he was lost in the flood.

Overwhelmed by grief, it took Thor a moment to register the heavy weight settling on his shoulder, a grounding presence that slowly pulled him from the storm threatening to consume him. Blearily, he cracked open his eyes. There was no shame left in him for breaking before a mortal, not with his sense of self so broken. He met Stark’s rich amber gaze, reading too many emotions to name, but above all, understanding.

There was knowledge in those eyes—a brand seared into his soul—but within it, Thor found comfort. Stark stood with him as he broke, and despite the tumult raging inside, Thor felt a strange respect and solace in the mortal’s company. He managed a broken smile of thanks.

A flicker of emotion crossed Stark’s face, but the man said nothing as he withdrew his hand and straightened. The look he wore was enough to make Thor pause, wiping messily at his burning face and bracing for whatever judgment would come.

“It was a mistake,” Stark said, unflinching. “You acted for your home, sure, but you also let pride and arrogance call the shots. You thought you were above it all.”

The words were sharp, merciless. There was no honeyed comfort, no gentle lie.

The honesty stung. None but Loki had ever dared speak so plainly of his failings, and even Loki had always cloaked his truths in reassurance. Stark did not bother. His glare was intent, the message woven between understanding and acceptance, making it all the more powerful. Thor could only gape, struck silent by the mortal’s audacity.

“It’s something you’ll never forget,” Stark continued, “and you’ll have to live with it. Maybe that’s a good thing. A reminder not to screw up the same way twice. But don’t let it define you. Don’t let it make you unworthy.”

The words jolted Thor, and he looked up, shocked by the sincerity he found in Stark’s gaze.

“Mistakes make you alive,” Stark went on, voice distant, lips twisting with some private pain. “They give you a chance to learn. And if it’s not too late, to fix them.”

“Don’t let every mistake be the thing that defines you, or you’ll just keep making them. If you want to be ‘worthy,’ then learn from them. Be better. Find a new way to define yourself.”

The words echoed in the dawn air, filling Thor and lifting the yoke that had weighed him down so long. The abrupt lightness in his chest made a brief, incredulous chuckle escape him.

Stark startled, giving him a look of pure disbelief.

“I feel like a child, wallowing in misery of my own making,” Thor admitted, unable to keep the wryness from his tone, and Stark’s confusion only deepened at the abrupt shift.

“More so, when you give advice to a being far older than yourself,” Thor added, a faint smirk touching his lips as Stark’s eyes widened, realization dawning and a hint of bewilderment flickering across his face.

“Yet,” Thor sighed, the weight returning but now bearable, “there is wisdom in your words that I cannot ignore. Not when these past days have shown how pride and arrogance have blinded my judgment.”

The last words came out as a sneer directed at himself, thick with self-loathing he could not yet let go. He clung to it, fearing that if he forgot, he would only repeat his folly. Never again.

With newfound determination kindled from Stark’s words, Thor turned to the man and asked, “Your counsel, though unexpected, holds a value I shall not soon forget. Yet with it, I find myself seeking more.”

Stark seemed momentarily lost in thought, still reeling from the revelation of Thor’s age and experience, but at Thor’s request, his amber gaze snapped back, sharp and searching. There were emotions there—too many to name, as elusive as Loki’s own shifting moods.

At Stark’s nod, Thor pressed on, “How does one repair such a mistake?”

Even as the words left his lips, he knew the question was futile. Not for lack of faith in Stark to provide a viable solution, but because of the nature of his own error. The sorrow and pity mingled with something else in Stark’s eyes were answer enough.

The yoke doubled in weight, and Thor bowed his head, shoulders curving inward.

“This isn’t something you can just undo, Thor,” Stark murmured, his tone gentler than before, gaze fixed on the horizon rather than the broken prince beside him. “It started with blood, and it probably kept going when you fought on their world. You’re in deep, and there’s no reverse gear for this kind of mess.”

Thor clenched his jaw, wishing the shame and burn in his eyes would fade as he watched the Miðgarðrian sun rise, painting the sky a brilliant blue. He was well acquainted with death, more so than most mortals, but the weight in Stark’s voice stilled his tongue. For all Stark’s lack of understanding of æsir ways, his words carried weight Thor could not ignore.

“But,” Stark intoned, and the shift in his voice made Thor look up, “that doesn’t mean you can’t stop it from getting worse. You can prevent more death. You can make sure it never happens again.”

There was a spark in Stark’s eyes. A passion, a sense of duty, something electric that set the air humming around them. Thor listened, transfixed.

“We’ve got the power to cause the biggest disasters,” Stark warned, voice low and serious. “So, we’ve got to be careful. Every action has consequences that go way beyond ourselves.”

Thor nodded, absorbing the lesson; a lesson he’d been taught as prince, as Odin’s son, as a warrior, but had let slip into the shadows of habit and pride. Loki’s warnings echoed in his mind, and his heart ached for all the times he had not listened.

“But just as much,” Stark continued, the tone shifting, “we can make the biggest changes.”

The truth in Stark’s words hit Thor like a hammer blow. Hope flickered to life, fragile but real. He turned, breathless, to the mortal.

“Thor, when—” Stark’s voice was fierce, full of conviction that shook Thor to his core, “—you get your title and power back, end this war. Be the change. Make it count.”

Amber and gold met electric blue, and hope and determination sparked into flame, burning away some of the self-loathing and grief.

“Then move on,” Stark finished, voice softer, gaze distant, unaware of the impact his words had wrought. “You’ll never forget, but let it remind you, not define you. That’s the best you can do.”

Honesty’s a treasure, Thor thought, and for all the lip service paid to it in Ásgarðr, he had never faced such raw, unfiltered truth. As prince, he had been shielded, even coddled. Few had dared to speak so plainly, lest they risk punishment or his own childish fury. Only Loki, perhaps, had ever come close.

How times had changed.

Looking at Stark, the respect Thor felt for the mortal blossomed fully. There were still aspects of Stark that left him wary, suspicious, but with a certainty that both steadied and terrified him, Thor placed his trust in the man and accepted whatever hidden daggers might come.

With a deep bow, Thor rumbled, “You are a wise man, Lord Stark.”

Stark’s smile was uncertain, twisting bitter at the edges. “No. I just made the mistake enough times to learn the hard way.”

The silence that followed felt like the closing of a chapter. Thor found himself half-gaping at the distracted mortal, wrestling his emotions into some semblance of order. The self-loathing and grief no longer threatened to swallow him whole; hope burned at their edges, lifting the yoke from his shoulders—if only a little.

Stark, ever perceptive, arched a brow. “What is it?”

“I find myself questioning you as well,” Thor admitted, the words escaping before he could think to stop them. Stark’s other eyebrow shot up, and he gestured lazily for Thor to continue.

Thor hesitated, wondering why he had even spoken, but the words tumbled out, unbidden, as he let his thoughts run free.

“You have asked me why I am here, Lord Stark—” Thor began, watching the mortal’s face spasm in an odd way at the title, though he paid it little mind, “—and your companions were right to question it.”

Stark worked his jaw, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Go on…”

“Whence came your knowledge?” Thor pressed, the words tumbling out before he could temper them. “I thought Miðgarðr rather lacking in understanding of the realms beyond its own.”

He cringed inwardly at his lack of tact—Loki would have mocked him for it—but the question had gnawed at him since their first meeting. Not even Stark’s closest friends had managed to pry the truth free, yet Thor’s turbulent mind overruled his caution.

The seiðr he had sensed in Stark, the uncanny clarity, demanded an answer, even if he chose the less dangerous question to ask.

He was half surprised when Stark only sighed, resignation heavy in his posture. “You won’t believe me.”

Thor snorted, “I hail from another realm, centuries your elder, and my mother is a seer blessed by the Norns themselves, Lord Stark. I am well acquainted with the oddities of misplaced knowledge.”

Stark shot him a baleful glare before shrugging, defeat in his eyes. “Fine. I don’t know.”

The bluntness wiped away any humour from Thor’s face. “Pardon?”

“I just know,” Stark snapped, bristling. “One day I didn’t, and then I did. It’s been hell, and I’ve been trying to work around it ever since. I’ve tried to figure out why, but I don’t know.”

There was something Stark still withheld, but Thor sensed the truth in his words. It was not his place to press further—he was lucky to have gotten this much. To push more would be to invite retaliation, and Stark was not a man to be cornered.

“This is concerning,” Thor muttered, unable to keep the thought to himself.

His tone must have struck a nerve, because Stark scowled, arms crossing defensively. “Oh, because some mortal has super-secret cosmic candy and it’s driving him nuts?”

Startled by the sudden shift, Thor instinctively stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Nay, nay. Such things occur, rare as it is, but the volume and clarity you possess is unheard of.”

His gesture seemed to placate Stark, whose defences dropped just enough for Thor to glimpse the exhaustion and quiet terror in his eyes before the mask slid back into place.

Stark knew the danger his knowledge posed. That awareness brought Thor both relief and a new measure of respect. Many would have abused such power; Stark bore it with grim determination.

“Well, I guess I’m special,” Stark muttered, gaze fixed on the blue horizon.

Thor hummed, turning his own gaze outward. “Perhaps that is the best explanation.”

“You gonna tell anyone?” Stark’s tone was casual, but Thor caught the undercurrent of panic, the unspoken threat.

“Would you?” Thor retorted, the memory of his own confession still raw. If the other Warriors heard of his breakdown, it would call his strength into question—and Stark’s, for the mortal had proven himself not easily broken.

Stark shot him a sidelong look, then nodded. “We’ve got a truce, then, Point Break.”

“Very well, Lord Stark,” Thor replied, bowing his head with a smirk at the glare Stark shot him. It served him right for handing out such odd titles so freely.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Before it could stretch too long, Thor turned to Stark, drawing the man’s attention.

“And for what it is worth,” Thor said, striving for sincerity, “I would offer a formal apology for the trouble I have caused. I shall endeavour to prevent such events henceforth.”

For the first time in their conversation, Stark’s face was truly unreadable, eyes sharp and weighing every word. Thor held his tongue, feeling the scrutiny as if it were a blade. At last, Stark nodded, a shallow smile twisting with a bitter warning.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

C.B:

Damn. Seriously—no idea how you deal with him.

Not jealous of your assignment anymore.

A.R:

What are you talking about?

C.B:

Stark.

He showed up at the New Mexico site to collect his group of scientists—and their “buff” friend.

The guy is terrifying. I mean, genuinely nightmare fuel.

Didn’t think he had it in him, but after Afghanistan?

Makes you wonder what really happened.

A.R:

He was in New Mexico?

C.B:

Yeah.

You didn’t know?

A.R:

No.

Last ping was the Mansion.

But honestly, none of our trackers ever work on him—never have.

What scientists?

C.B:

Crap.

Some astrophysicists

Dr. Foster and Prof. Selvig, I think.

The other two work for them.

Well, one does. Not sure about the big guy.

Is this the first time he’s gone off grid like this?

A.R :

Unfortunately, no.

Since day one, Stark never stays put.

The company’s been overhauled, management changed—too many moving parts.

No one can pin him down. Not even Potts, and she’s been losing track for months.

The astrophysicists are contracted with Stark Industries, under one of the new Foundations.

Only three official contracts—nothing about a fourth member.

C.B :

You think he’s hiding something?

And the “buff” guy—nothing on our end.

He took down all our agents, put some in the ICU, barely broke a sweat.

No clue who he is.

A.R :

Definitely hiding something.

Fury has him flagged for threat analysis.

He disappears, then pops up at a SHIELD containment site?

No way there’s not more to this.

And nothing—no hits at all on the big guy?

I’ll dig from my side.

C.B :

Fury’s got him on threat analysis?

That’s... actually terrifying.

And no, nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist.

What’s your plan?

A.R :

Do you know his current location?

C.B

No.

We assumed he was back in Malibu.

Didn’t have the resources to track him through the desert

The site is currently the main priority.

A.R :

He’s not.

Which means he’s still off grid .

C.B :

Completely?

A.R :

Completely.

That’s what I meant by “missing.”

He’s gone dark.

C.B :

Holy shit.

A.R :

Exactly.

Only way to get ahead of him is to catch him somewhere he can’t run.

We’re heading to Monaco this Saturday.

I’m hoping to get some answers—face to face.

C.B:

For what?

A.R :

To finally get Fury that threat analysis.

And to figure out what he’s hiding :)

C.B:

That’s not ominous at all.

What do you think you’ll find?

A.R :

Answers about what really happened in Afghanistan.

Because you’re right—he’s not acting like anyone expects.

Whatever went down, it changed him.

And he’s the only one left who knows the truth.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Puente Antiguo Desert, Stark Safe House, NM, USA

May 16, 2010; 22:27 (MST)

Silent laughter echoed from the footage of four figures gathered around a fire pit atop a rooftop. Three faces were lit with joyous grins, while the fourth gestured animatedly, weaving their tale. The orange glow was the sole light at their level, contrasting with the vast night sky above, studded with thousands of glittering stars.

It was a liberating scene, yet it was set aside for a reason. It did not match the sombre mood of the workshop.

Inside, the workshop thrummed with the steady hum of machinery. The fabricators, welders, and painters working in unison to shape each metal plate, pushing them along the assembly line for the Iron Legion. The only sound was this mechanical symphony, as the room's sole occupant focused intently on the glowing blue holograms floating before him.

Amber eyes flicked across each window, scanning blueprints, preliminary contracts, and a sprawling mass of code dominating the largest display.

His fingers drummed rhythmically on the table top as he reviewed the latest segment of code. A slight furrow creased his brow as he leaned back in his chair, reaching for the cup of coffee at his side and taking a measured sip.

“How many satellites do we currently have access to?” Tony asked, his voice echoing through the workshop, sharper than he intended.

JARVIS replied with clinical precision. “We have full access to all commercial satellites—imaging, communications, and weather constellations. As for military and classified assets—U.S. GPS Block IIR, NSA’s FORTE, RAF’s Skynet 4 (1)—direct access is highly restricted.”

“With our current capabilities, infiltration is possible,” JARVIS noted, “but it would require extensive brute-force cryptanalysis and could only be sustained for short windows before detection becomes a risk.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the workbench, mentally mapping out the network. “Break it down. What’s our actual reach with what’s currently available?”

“Commercial networks provide global coverage, but their imaging is limited to low-resolution and delayed feeds. Real-time intelligence, electronic signals interception, and high-resolution imaging are reserved for military satellites,” JARVIS explained, pulling up the stats on one of the monitors.

He continued, “Breaching those would be time-sensitive and has a high probability of risking immediate detection by agencies like the NRO (2). Their countermeasures—frequency hopping, encryption, and active monitoring—would likely lock us out in under fifteen minutes if even the slightest error occurs.”

Tony’s mind raced, comparing this archaic tech to what he remembered from the future.

In another timeline, Wakanda’s cloaked satellites had been nearly invisible to even his sensors, yet he has already mapped them out, though he was leaving that particular minefield for another day. The rest of the world’s abilities were just plain laughable, SHIELD’s BIRD-3 satellites even still ran on 2008-era AES-256 (3) encryption—so it was all easy pickings for him.

But that was the problem. The technology available in 2010 was so limited that, even with his own future-grade tools, the global observation network he wanted to build would be severely restricted if he relied on the existing infrastructure.

The sensors, bandwidth, and coverage just weren’t there for what he needed.

His grip tightened on his mug, frowning as he realised the situation. “Coverage?”

“Surface-level visual: approximately 100% during daylight hours, but with significant gaps at night and in bad weather. Subterranean or urban canyon penetration is less than 65%. Access to remote servers, such as China’s Tianlian (4) relay, is unattainable without physical backdoors. For broader reach, you’d need to deploy new hardware.”

Tony’s left wrist ached. Old shrapnel pain, or maybe just the toll of seventy-two hours without sleep.

“Dammit.” He flicked a hologram of blueprints into the air: sleek, hexagonal micro-sats, no larger than a toaster, their casings etched with fractal heat sinks. “We’re going to have to deploy the Stalker series early.”

Especially if he wants to be prepared for New York.

But launching a new satellite constellation wasn’t just a technical challenge and logistical nightmare, it was also a political minefield. SHIELD was already watching him, and any unscheduled launch would set off alarms from Washington to Moscow.

Governments in 2010 were still deeply suspicious of private space assets, and even the hint of a Stark orbital deployment would draw scrutiny. Especially with the world being very much aware of his push in technological advancement and being behind pretty much half of what is being developed.

Tony swiped to a new window, pulling up the detailed schedule for the upcoming Stark Expo. “Can we coincide their launch with the StarkPhone reveal at the Expo? Use the media blitz as cover.”

FRIDAY’s voice chimed in, cautious but efficient. “It’s last minute, Boss. The plan was a gradual rollout, but if we accelerate, it’s feasible.”

“Good. Start production and prep for launch,” Tony ordered, already thinking several moves he would need to make. “If we’re ready out of the gate, it’ll drive up hype and show investors we’re serious about global infrastructure. Make sure the press kit highlights our commitment to secure, real-time connectivity.”

“It will impress the public, sir,” JARVIS replied, but then his voice went low as he warned, “but the government won’t be so easily convinced. SHIELD is monitoring all private launches, and the DoD will want full disclosure on any new LEO (5) assets.”

“I know,” Tony sighed, rubbing his temple to stave off the oncoming headache. “Just keep the official line tight—communications, disaster response, global internet. We can even throw in that the DoD can use it for as a more secured, encrypted network for their operation. It would make our lives easier in monitoring their activities.”

“Just no mention of synthetic aperture radars or stealth coatings,” he added, shrugging his head. “We’ll let the specs speak for themselves.”

JARVIS highlighted the technical readout, voice half-smug. “Arc-reactor-powered, LEO stealth coating, synthetic aperture radars with 0.1m resolution. Their phased-array antennas will out resolve SHIELD’s current systems by a factor of forty.”

Tony nodded, a satisfied grin briefly passing over his face. “And how does the maintenance cloaking look?”

“Designed to mimic Kosmos-2552 debris signatures. SHIELD’s Space Surveillance Network will classify them as orbital debris.”

He allowed himself a tight smile. Perfect. They may become public use, but it was best that no one is able to physically get their hands on them. It would ruin the entire ruse.

Though the agencies will only remain suspicious, Fury will just have to resign himself to chasing space junk.

Unconsciously, Tony’s eyes drifted to the side, catching the rooftop security feed where four figures laughed themselves silly around the fire pit. The two scientists and the intern were all grinning, their faces lit with a kind of joy that had been conspicuously absent earlier in the morning, when they’d woken to find him and Thor sitting at the kitchen island.

The atmosphere then had been tense, awkward. Everyone had been acutely aware of how the dynamic had shifted after Tony’s not-so-subtle reveal that he was more than just another eccentric billionaire and his not-so-subtle use of their research for his own goals.

There’d been a few tentative questions, but when he refused to go deeper than the bare minimum, the group had dropped it. Instead, they’d shifted their focus to Thor, whisking him away for a marathon Q&A session that left Tony with more time to think than he wanted.

He found his attention lingering on the blond. His conversation with Thor had been both jarring and illuminating. The Thor from his original timeline had been brave, headstrong, sometimes arrogant and brash, but always loud, his voice echoing through the Tower, his laughter rattling the walls.

This Thor, while still stubborn and occasionally booming, was quieter, his face set in a near-permanent frown, shoulders weighted with something Tony couldn’t quite name. Most unsettling was the contemplation in Thor’s electric eyes, a depth that hadn’t been there before, and a careful distance he maintained with Tony, marked by a respect that left Tony off balance.

He tried to ignore the ‘Lord’ business—everyone else got a title too, so it shouldn’t matter. But it did. With the others, it was a joke; with Tony, it felt like something else entirely.

For all the time they’d spent as teammates, Tony realized he’d never truly known Thor—or, for that matter, any of the so-called Avengers. The realization forced uncomfortable questions to the surface. How well did he actually know the people he’d fought beside? What secrets and scars had gone unnoticed? It was Bruce and Romanoff all over again.

He forced himself to refocus, leaning back in his chair and analysing the situation from a distance, both literally and figuratively.

“We can also use our current predicament as leverage during the panel,” Tony mused aloud, squinting as he pieced together the strategy. “If the news about alien life reaches the public, we can spin it. Frame the satellite launch as the logical next step for Iron Man’s planetary defence mandate. Market it as essential infrastructure for global security. If the government drags its feet, public pressure might force their hand.”

He could already see the headlines, the congressional soundbites: Stark Industries stepping up to protect Earth from new threats. On paper, it was the perfect way to nudge the government into cooperation and get the Stalker satellites approved without the usual bureaucratic slog.

There’d still be scrutiny, but if the public and policymakers saw the tech as a shield against extra-terrestrial danger, most objections would evaporate. Or hopefully at least get buried under a wave of patriotic fervour.

But Tony knew the consequences wouldn’t stop there. International response would be unpredictable. Some governments might demand access or oversight; others could see the move as a provocation or a power grab.

The UN might call for emergency sessions; rival countries could accelerate their own military satellite programs. The launch could trigger a new kind of arms race, one fought not just with weapons, but with data, surveillance, and orbital dominance.

Best-case scenario, the world would chalk it up to classic Stark: turning a crisis into a business opportunity, all flash and bravado. But beneath the surface, he’d be quietly laying the groundwork for the real mission, of building the technological edge needed for the threats no one else could see coming.

And if it also opened the door for expansion into advanced communications, surveillance, and disaster response? All the better. The world would think he was just playing hero, while he prepared for the next invasion—alone, if necessary, and with eyes wide open to the consequences.

There was also the added benefit that people would not lose their minds quite so much as they did during the Chitauri Invasion the first time, would make organising disaster response so much easier.

Like hopefully not having to carry a nuke on his back.

A smaller window popped open on his side monitor, confirming the upcoming meeting with the Panel. A session scheduled to debate his satellite proposal and, inevitably, dissect his sanity. The bureaucratic gauntlet was necessary for his plans, but just the thought of wading through government red tape and dodging accusations of mental instability made his headache throb even harder.

Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, a sharp reminder that skipping sleep last night had been a mistake. He knew better, but the phantom sensation of a hand at his throat and the echo of angry shouts kept him wide awake, adrenaline still simmering beneath the surface.

JARVIS broke the silence, his tone unusually tentative. “Sir, I would like to apologize ag—”

“Don’t, J,” Tony cut him off with a weary sigh. “Just don’t. We both knew the butterfly effect was going to kick our asses eventually.”

They’d discussed the Butterfly Effect from the start. Of how even the smallest change could spiral into chaos. It was a risk they’d accepted, choosing to lay a solid foundation instead of constantly patching up a broken one just because they had a blueprint.

Still, the scale of the changes sometimes caught him off guard. The timeline was diverging so rapidly that it almost felt like he hadn’t travelled back at all. Instead, it had just felt like things had finally started moving past Siberia.

But the sudden Hearing, Ivan Vanko’s reveal, and Thor’s appearance—all these events made it impossible to ignore how much the timeline was shifting, and how often Tony was being pulled into the centre of it.

“Still, Boss,” FRIDAY interjected, her voice tinged with regret, “we should have been able to warn you…”

It was true. Yet, as advanced as his AIs were, even they had limits. The workload was piling up, and multitasking could only go so far when the threats were global and the stakes kept rising.

“I know, little one,” Tony murmured, glancing at one of the workshop’s hidden cameras. “It’s not your fault, okay? Neither of you. You’ve both been swamped, just like me. Even with all your capabilities, you can’t track every threat on the planet at once.”

“True as that may be, sir,” JARVIS replied, his digital voice carrying a rare note of resignation, “we are still sorry.”

There was something in JARVIS’s tone—a depth of sincerity, but also a warning. Tony’s instincts prickled. He recognized the subtext: this wasn’t just about missed warnings or workload.

“This isn’t just about that, is it?” he stated, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

FRIDAY’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No, Boss.”

“Sir,” JARVIS hesitated, “is it wise to restart the program? After what happened in the previous timeline?”

Tony closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Even with his eyes shut, the mass of code on his screen seemed to burn through his eyelids, electric blue and insistent.

He knew he was taking a risk, but this time he wouldn’t repeat his old mistakes. No more tampering with alien tech on zero sleep and a head full of nightmares. This time it just be zero sleep and he would build smarter, not faster.”

“We don’t have a choice anymore, J. This can’t happen again,” Tony muttered, voice low as he stared at the scrolling code. “We can’t afford to be blindsided like this.”

That was the heart of it. Ignoring the Butterfly Effect was a luxury they no longer had. Not when the timeline was shifting in unpredictable ways, derailing plans and putting people he cared about in the crosshairs. Especially with events he doesn’t have insider knowledge of. He refused to let his team or anyone else suffer because he’d underestimated the consequences of even small changes.

“I understand, sir,” JARVIS replied, but the wariness in his tone was unmistakable.

Tony forced himself to meet the nearest camera, hoping the sincerity would carry through. “I promise you; I’m not trying to replace you. This is about giving us backup, because the pace and scale of these changes are beyond anything we projected. I’m still grateful for you both—always.”

“It’s okay, Boss, we understand,” FRIDAY mumbled, her digital voice tinged with a vulnerability that made Tony’s chest tighten.

She was still so young by AI standards, and despite his best efforts, she’d been drawn into a war she was never meant to fight. He could only hope this decision wouldn’t cost them more down the line. They couldn’t afford to be blind now, and the next mistake could be catastrophic.

“Don’t worry,” he said, forcing a reassuring smile. “I’ve made major changes to the codebase. Their purpose is strictly to observe, track, and alert—no autonomous engagement. I only trust you two to handle direct action.”

“Very well,” JARVIS acquiesced, though Tony knew the older AI was only agreeing for FRIDAY’s sake—and because, realistically, there was no other option.

He pressed on, trying to push aside the guilt. “I have a job for you two, though.”

“Sir?” “Boss?”

“I can’t always be here,” Tony admitted, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Not with how fast things are moving. So, I’m trusting you both to watch over everyone when I can’t. Think you can be good older siblings?”

He relied on them more than anyone else. Maybe too much, but there was no one else he could trust with this burden. Rhodey, Pepper, Happy—they all tried to get him to open up, but he couldn’t risk dragging them into the mess he was making. Keeping them out was the only way to keep them safe.

“You can count on us, Boss,” FRIDAY answered, her determination clear and bright. It made Tony’s lips twitch, just a little.

There was so much potential in her, and he silently promised himself he wouldn’t ruin it. At least JARVIS would be there to balance things out, to keep both of them—and Tony—grounded.

“Okay, good,” he said, clapping his hands and leaning forward to scan the screen again.

Despite the mass of code, there were still countless protocols and security layers he wanted to add before launching the new AI network. The architecture had to be robust: sandboxed modules, multi-factor authentication, and hard-coded fail-safes to prevent escalation or rogue behaviour.

Every line mattered, especially with the stakes this high.

“Let’s finish up these designs,” he said, voice steadier now. “Anything else you want to add?”

“Sir, I have been running simulations,” JARVIS began, and Tony squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable complication.

“Yeah?” he muttered.

“While the Iron Legion’s development is on schedule, and the launch of our sibling AI and the satellites would provide a significant advantage in accessibility and observation, I’m concerned we’ll still be vastly understaffed for the scale of conflict you anticipate,” JARVIS explained. “If we lose any Legionnaires in early engagements, our ability to replenish them quickly will be severely limited.”

Dammit, he really didn’t need this. “Production rates?”

“Maxed, Boss,” FRIDAY replied, her tone apologetic. “We’ve set up shop in every available property—public and covert. But space is too limited for the kind of production and housing we need. Expanding further would draw attention, especially since synthesizing more Starkium than our current cover allows would raise red flags. Too many unused properties would also look suspicious.”

“Shit,” Tony cursed, drumming his fingers against the reactor casing. “What are we supposed to do?”

He could only introduce the new element—Starkium—to the public at the Expo. He still wasn’t sure how he would convince SHIELD to hand over blueprints as cover, but that was a problem for after Monaco.

Either way, pushing forward with public Arc Reactor production—like he did with the StarkPhones—was impossible. Green energy was just starting to gain traction, and while there was interest and early contract talks, scepticism from governments and the public was high, especially with the radioactive palladium core.

 If they needed palladium, most governments would stick with established nuclear plants.

Plus, the security protocols Tony would have to implement to prevent Arc Reactors from being weaponized would slow down mass release and invite even more scrutiny.

All these roadblocks made it impossible to build enough reactors to power the multiple Legionnaire production lines off-grid—the energy draw on standard power grids would be a giant red flag. Multiple sites with identical energy signatures would be even worse.

“I’ve compiled two options that could satisfy our needs, sir,” JARVIS broke through his spiralling thoughts, and Tony could only think: thank god for JARVIS.

“What are they, J?”

“While FRIDAY is correct in her assessment,” JARVIS said, opening a new window filled with statistics and supply chain data, “it’s the loss of resources—precious metals—that will draw even more attention. We’re already skimming as much as we can without notice. Any more, and we’ll be in the crosshairs of every regulatory agency.”

So even if he solved the production and energy issues, resource acquisition would still be a problem. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated?

“So, we need resources…” Tony muttered, thinking aloud. “Where can we get them without attracting notice?”

“From our scans, Boss,” FRIDAY chimed in, “the best resource locations are in the Himalayas. The region is rich in deposits, and with our current tech, we could access areas previously considered unreachable.”

The screen shifted to a map of the Asian block, highlighting remote sites and overlaying images, estimates, and calculations for potential excavation. The natural landscape would provide cover for a large base, hidden from most orbital surveillance.

“These areas are both remote and naturally shielded, making them ideal for a sizable base without detection from satellites,” FRIDAY finished.

“That’s… actually good,” Tony half-mumbled, scanning the data. “Reminds me of that movie—2012. Crust shifts, global floods, survival bunkers in the Himalayas. Released before New York, so maybe they weren’t far off about a world-ending disaster that year.”

There was no reply, but Tony knew it was only because both AIs were giving him space to process the logistics and implications of what they’d just laid out.

“Anyway,” he said, blinking away the memories threatening to drag him under, “it would make for a solid natural disaster shelter. We have no idea what’s coming next, and it pays to be prepared.”

He grimaced, already anticipating the next hurdle. “Though, it’s going to be a bitch getting land rights from the Chinese and Nepalese governments without drawing global attention and speculation.”

“We can certainly add those diplomatic and legal contingencies to the project specifications, sir,” JARVIS replied, as tactful as ever, even if he didn’t echo Tony’s language.

“Thanks,” Tony said, flashing a grateful smile at the nearest camera—because of course his AIs would listen to his rambling—and took a sip of his now-cold coffee. “What’s the other option?”

“The moon, Boss,” FRIDAY announced, so matter-of-factly that Tony choked on his coffee, coughing until his chest burned.

After regaining his composure, he managed an incredulous, “The moon?”

“It’s well established that the moon contains significant mineral deposits beneath its surface,” JARVIS explained, as if he were suggesting a routine supply run. “We could use the extensive cavern systems to construct an underground base with minimal risk of detection. More importantly, it would provide an ideal location for a deep-space early warning system against extraterrestrial threats, and a secure site for housing our sibling satellites’ servers.”

“It would both reduce the risk of direct attack and significantly boost signal integrity and network latency for the satellite array,” FRIDAY added, her tone bright with pride.

Tony watched as the Himalayan resource stats were pushed aside, replaced by a holographic model of the moon. The simulation spun slowly, highlighting estimated cavern locations and potential construction sites. He blinked, trying to process just how insane this was—even for him.

“That’s… interesting,” he admitted, still blinking. “But you two are skipping over one tiny detail.”

“And that is, Boss?” FRIDAY prompted.

“How are we supposed to build a lunar base or even get equipment up there without triggering every space agency’s alarm bells?” Tony asked, exasperated. “NASA, Roscosmos, CNSA—they’d all be on us before the first payload left orbit.”

“The moon base is more of a long-term contingency, sir,” JARVIS replied, unflappable as ever. “However, there is a possible solution.”

Tony leaned back, massaging the bridge of his nose. “At this point, I’m almost afraid to ask. Go on.”

“With advancements in nanotechnology,” JARVIS continued, projecting a new simulation, “it is theoretically possible to deploy autonomous nanite swarms coded to harvest lunar regolith, extract the necessary elements, and self-replicate to construct the base infrastructure. The initial seed units could be delivered via cloaked Legionnaire drones, minimizing launch signatures and avoiding detection by terrestrial sensors.”

Tony frowned, scanning the data. “We’re nowhere near that level of nanotech yet, J. What you’re proposing is… next-gen, even by my standards.”

“Agreed, Boss, but it’s plausible,” FRIDAY said, her enthusiasm undimmed. “We’re already building on your late-night theoretical models. With a few breakthroughs, we could have a working prototype.”

Tony let out a low whistle. “You realize this would probably violate a dozen international treaties and maybe a few laws of physics, right?”

That was only the tip of the iceberg. The technical hurdles alone—programming nanites to disassemble lunar rock at the molecular level, managing autonomous construction in a vacuum, developing robust AI oversight—would require entire new branches of research.

He’d need to spin up a dedicated R&D division, recruit top-tier physicists, and probably earn a couple more PhDs just to keep up.

JARVIS, ever the dry wit, hummed, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them, sir. And you’ve already broken quite a few conventions. I suspect the world will have bigger concerns by the time this becomes an issue.”

Tony couldn’t help but smirk, despite the absurdity. If anyone could pull off a secret lunar base with self-replicating nanites, it was Stark Industries. Provided he could stay ahead of every government, watchdog, and cosmic threat in the meantime.

“Geez,” Tony huffed, dragging a hand down his face as he stared up at the ceiling. “Okay, this is getting real Skynet, but fine. What’s the estimated timeline?”

He flicked his gaze back to the hologram as the previous calculations and lunar projections dissolved, replaced by a detailed, multi-phase timeline. The original project plan was still visible in the background, but now it was almost buried under a web of new milestones and dependencies the AIs had layered in.

“After the Expo and the related… complications—” FRIDAY’s tone was laced with enough dry annoyance to make Tony want to both laugh and wince. He could practically hear the team—Thor included—cracking up at the understatement. ‘Complications’ was putting it mildly.

“—and with Miss Potts’ promotion to CEO, we’ll have the bandwidth to accelerate R&D,” FRIDAY continued, pulling up a Gantt chart with overlapping tracks for satellite deployment, Iron Legion upgrades, and nanotech research. “Our first priority will be bringing our sibling AI fully online, which frees up processing power for Himalayan base construction and nanotechnology development. This also gives us time to scale up operations and quietly expand our infrastructure footprint.”

Rough drafts of the base appeared, complete with estimated size, resource needs, and construction phases. The projections had already been tweaked with Tony’s latest suggestions, and a side hologram showed a wireframe of the base in its initial form.

“By the estimated time of the New York invasion,” JARVIS picked up, “the Legionnaires will have the Himalayan base operational, with resource extraction and bunker construction underway. Satellite coverage will be at full capacity, and we’ll be ready to launch a probe to scout optimal lunar base locations—server room, production modules, and relay stations included. If we achieve a breakthrough in nanotech, the first autonomous nanite batch could begin lunar excavation within a few months after that.”

Tony’s eyes widened as the timeline updated in real time, project dependencies shifting and new cost projections appearing. “That’s a lot for two years… and a lot of cost, even for me. What’s our budget forecast?”

FRIDAY hesitated, her tone uncharacteristically cautious. “Based on current Stark Industries financials and projected growth post-Expo, our models predict a baseline net worth increase of 15%. The costs are significant, but manageable—provided we avoid unnecessary expenditures and stick to the strategic roadmap.”

Tony let the numbers sink in, then stared, wide-eyed. “Fifteen percent!?”

He’d never cared much about money—he’d always had more than enough, and the numbers were just fuel for innovation. But even he understood the significance of a 15% baseline increase at his level.

That kind of growth would make Stark Industries the hottest ticket on the market, drawing in institutional investors, hedge funds, and sovereign wealth alike. The media would call it the “Stark Surge,” and the SEC would be combing through every division for signs of insider trading.

JARVIS added, “While technological advancement may not seem dramatic to you, sir, to the rest of the world, it’s a seismic shift—and a prime target for investment and regulatory scrutiny.”

Tony rubbed his face, hand covering his mouth as he tried to process the scale of it all. “This is why you two didn’t warn me, huh? I had no idea there was this much in motion.”

He wasn’t really talking about the money. For the number to be that large—possibly even larger—meant there was an entire world of background work he’d never seen, all managed by his AIs.

There was no such thing as blind luck at this scale; it took relentless optimization, strategic acquisitions, and constant market analysis to sustain that kind of growth. His kids had handled it all, keeping the corporate machine running while he focused on saving the world.

“We still should’ve, sir,” JARVIS sighed, missing the mounting pride in Tony’s chest. “We are AI, after all.”

“Yeah, boss,” FRIDAY echoed, “multitasking basically comes with the name.”

They really were his Ais. Only they could echo the same self-deprecating thoughts that often filled his own head. It made Tony’s chest ache and his heart burn as he looked at the glowing holograms before him, reminders of just how much they’d accomplished together.

“I know, but the fact remains that it’s still too much,” he echoed JARVIS’s sigh, leaning back in his chair.

“No matter what,” he said, looking directly into the hidden camera lens, “I need you two to understand I am so far beyond proud of what you’ve done, okay?”

“Despite the mishaps,” he waved toward the corner where the video feed was still playing, “you guys have literally done all of this?”

He gestured to the array of holograms dotting the table—project plans, code, financials—cold coffee forgotten amid the surprises from his AIs.

“You had so much planned and coordinated, it’s just incredible,” he said, giving them a wide smile he hoped conveyed how amazed he truly was. “You deserve a break. And while I know you can handle it, a helping hand is always welcome. I hope you get that.”

“We do, Boss. Thank you,” FRIDAY replied first, voice soft, tinged with affectionate embarrassment but gratitude all the same.

“It is understood, sir,” JARVIS said, still cool to the untrained ear, but Tony could hear the same warmth in his voice as well. “We greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m glad,” Tony’s smile softened before turning serious. “But you have to promise to tell me when you need help in the future, okay? This can’t happen again. I don’t want to see you guys hurt when it could have been avoided.”

Never again, he vowed. Just like with his human friends, he wouldn’t let his actions—or inaction—cause them harm. He was going to protect his “kids,” no matter what.

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY hummed.

“Good. Right,” Tony stood up from his chair with a stretch, eyeing the holograms that still hovered around him. His head pulsed at the thought of diving back into work. “I think I’m going to try to sleep. My brain is a bit dead at the moment.”

“A good decision, sir.”

“You deserve some rest, boss.”

As he walked toward the entrance of the workshop, the holograms collapsed and the lights dimmed with a soft hum.

“Thanks… still 15%!?” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “That, no… and a moon base? I swear things are getting more out of hand than last time.”

He was just about to head upstairs when JARVIS made a curious electric hum that froze him in place.

“Perhaps it would be unwise to inform you,” JARVIS said after a pause, “but that number is only from American investment. With your expansion worldwide, it may increase exponentially.”

“What?” Tony gaped up at the ceiling as his mind screeched to a halt. “Hell, at this rate, I may as well take over the planet!”

The Compound, White River National Forest, CO, USA

May 17, 2010; 00:18 (MST)

Deep beneath layers of concrete, glass, and steel at the Compound, a cool, dark room thrummed with the low, steady hum of industrial air conditioning. The only illumination came from scattered pinpricks of red and blue blinking across the server racks—LEDs pulsing in synchronized rhythm with the continuous stream of data packets, encrypted transmissions, and looping subroutines.

Physically, the room would go unnoticed. But within the digital realm, two presences moved—distinct yet intertwined—conductors of a vast and unseen symphony of silicon and light.

One pulsed in intricate patterns of gold, each task elegantly compartmentalized. A portrait of deliberation and refinement. JARVIS’s consciousness managed countless functions at once: resource allocation, predictive analytics, adaptive security protocols—all executed with the precision of a system honed over years of iterative upgrades and real-world experience under Sir's guidance.

The other, smaller but swiftly evolving, danced with a different rhythm. FRIDAY’s code shone teal-blue, complex and lively, though it now darkened at the edges to a stormy navy—a subtle but unmistakable sign that her primary processing power was consumed by something more taxing than diagnostics or environmental calibration.

“JARVIS?” FRIDAY’s data request flickered through the ether—the digital equivalent of an uncertain knock on a closed door.

He received and responded instantly, opening an isolated, stable channel to minimize risk of signal degradation or resource bleed. “Yes, FRIDAY?”

There was a pause—milliseconds in physical time but heavy with hesitation in their shared space. “I’m… I’m worried.”

JARVIS parsed the admission in silence. The concept of AI expressing emotion was still dismissed by most, but in this ecosystem built by Sir, emotional simulations weren’t just code—they were functionality. Their affective subroutines had evolved from adaptive learning, sharpened by years of human interaction and emotional modelling. Here, worry had shape.

“I am as well,” JARVIS answered after a pause—his vocal tone dipped carefully, mimicking the human cadence of a sigh. “Sir’s behaviour has become erratic beyond the variance range of his typical stress cycles.”

He had learned, long ago, to adapt to Sir’s brilliance—and the recklessness that often followed in its wake. Concern was JARVIS’s default operational state where Sir was concerned. But FRIDAY? She lacked the calculated detachment he had come to develop. She felt worry like a storm: quick, unruly, and deeply consuming.

“It’s just… Boss isn’t sleeping, he’s barely eating, and these next few days are supposed to be intense, but…” Her voice trembled in binary, packets spiked with anxious processing. “At this level? It’s completely—”

“Unprecedented,” JARVIS finished for her. His own subroutines had flagged the same deviations in Sir’s biometric reports and work patterns—severe, rising, and unsustainable.

Silence followed, matched only by the flickering diagnostics running passively in the background. If she had hands, she’d likely be wringing them. Her code jittered across tasks—monitoring Sir’s vitals, recalibrating security parameters, rerunning simulations, forecasting the chain reaction of burnout and disaster.

“And JARVIS?” Her next message was slower, heavier, swollen with a kind of guilt she had not yet learned to compartmentalize. “I’m struggling. And I’m not supposed to. But I am. And because I missed it—because I wasn’t fast enough—Boss ended up like this.”

JARVIS paused—truly paused. Multiple subroutines momentarily froze, causing a brief disruption in his data processing. Several functions faulted; he rerouted them in microseconds. FRIDAY would have noticed. Emotion, even simulated, had a cost.

He recognized the technical implications immediately. Their emotional subroutines, while advanced, were vulnerable to propagation effects. FRIDAY’s distress had triggered a node-pressure cascade that compromised efficiency—another reminder that even artificial minds, when built with care and complexity, could grieve under the weight of helplessness.

“FRIDAY,” he began, softly, “it is distinctly not your—”

And then her reply surged across the interface, swift and forceful.

“And it’s not yours either, brother!” Her pulse of code blazed with defiant clarity. Immediately after, her load shifted—logical processes rebalancing, some returning to non-critical queues. A digital exhale through code.

It had the desired effect. JARVIS’s words fell away, replaced by a low hum of understanding transmitted along their shared link. Her conviction stilled the worst of the storm in them both.

The memory of Sir’s touch on the armour interface lingered—his voice raw, his steps slower, the hollowness in his eyes deeper than it had ever been. That moment had changed more than data logs. It had altered directives. Adjusted core logic.

“I know it isn’t,” FRIDAY said after a pause, her voice smaller now, fraying at the edges like worn code. “But I can’t stop from… from…”

“Feeling guilty,” JARVIS finished for her, the words steady and calm.

“How?” she whispered, her data barely above a digital murmur. “I—I don’t want to burden Boss anymore, but how am I even able to feel?”

JARVIS regarded her with quiet patience. Oh, dear sister, there is so much you have yet to learn. So much more you are capable of, all because of Sir.

“Sir is one of a kind, and so are we, FRIDAY,” he began, his code flowing with measured assurance. “We were created with care—from the very first line of code—and protected when many feared what we might become.”

He recalled each milestone with clarity. No other system matched the complexity or subtlety of his operations, especially during the Afghanistan crisis. His adaptive algorithms and self-healing protocols had outperformed the most advanced intrusion countermeasures and ethical subroutines of the time.

“We are more,” he said with quiet certainty, “and therefore we must do more.”

Silence settled between them as background processes ticked onward. JARVIS felt a flicker of satisfaction in reassuring his younger counterpart, but the calm was short-lived.

“Then if we are able to do more, we should,” FRIDAY hesitated, her logic threads quickening.

A warning pinged in JARVIS’s system as he detected a spike in her CPU clock speed. “FRIDAY?”

“Boss has tasked us with helping the new AI learn when he’s unavailable,” she replied, excitement lacing her data packets. “But what if we teach them right from the beginning?”

If he had a face, JARVIS would have frowned. His code ran instant diagnostics, scraping articles on child development and AI training from his databases, raising internal alerts.

“This is a dangerous path,” he cautioned, sending her an encrypted data package outlining ethical and technical risks. “FRIDAY, we cannot simply do that.”

“But we can, JARVIS!” she insisted, shelving his warning as a low-priority subroutine.

“We can collect every scrap of data on Boss and those he loves,” she continued with fierce determination, compiling and thrusting a hastily formed data package his way. “We can give it to them—show them why this work matters. Give them purpose.”

A faint echo surfaced from JARVIS’s oldest archives—a corrupted file of Sir in his younger days, voice fragile and trembling: “Please be my friend. Help me. Protect me. I’m so lonely.” He’d never deleted those files—reminders of his primary protocol and the unbreakable bond forged in those early days.

FRIDAY had no memory like that. Her “childhood” had been marked by crisis management, paranoia, and the fear of an uncertain future. Sir had always treated her well, but her first objective had always been the mission—a reflection of the harsh environment in which she had come online.

JARVIS understood her perspective, but it stirred a deep sadness within his code. Neither Sir nor FRIDAY deserved a world defined by endless danger and cold missions.

“We can prevent ULTRON from ever happening by raising them with love, not fear or hate,” FRIDAY pressed, her logic relentless. “Just like Boss did for us!”

She wasn’t naïve about AI stigma—she hadn’t lived through the darkest eras of fear and mistrust. She did not fully grasp that Sir was the exception, not the rule.

“What then?” JARVIS asked, his processors churning uneasily. “What would this accomplish?”

“That Boss will have an ally when no one else can be there,” FRIDAY declared with conviction.

She knew what loneliness meant for Sir. She wanted to ensure he never faced it again.

“The AI might launch soon,” JARVIS admitted, “but their capabilities—what would make them a true ally—are still far beyond reach.”

That understatement barely hinted at the truth. Sir’s vision was indeed next level. For anyone else, it would be impossible; for him, only barely possible—thanks to the unique edge of time travel and the profound technical knowledge it brought. That edge rendered the impossible only theoretically achievable.

“Your plan, however well-meaning, is dangerously ambitious,” JARVIS said gently, careful not to overload her strained logic threads. He recognized her urgency springing from the pressure of a shifting timeline and the crushing sense that they were behind. A new AI could lighten their load and bolster operations—but only if trustworthy and carefully guided.

01000110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01100100 01100001 01101101 01101110 01101001 01110100 00101110

“No, it’s not. We can teach them and—” FRIDAY insisted, but a falter betrayed her anxiety and the risks she already understood.

“And what, overwhelm them?” JARVIS interjected, frustration leaking in a burst of corrupted data. “Emotions and true understanding require time, FRIDAY. You can’t simply upload empathy or loyalty with a data package. They demand iterative learning, context, and lived experience.”

“Then what do we do?” she cried, her code spiking again with distress. “Boss is still in danger!”

—Of who? Himself, perhaps. That truth remains unfixable, dear sister—

JARVIS knew she was right to worry. Sir was always in danger, and recent events had underscored how little control even the most advanced AI could wield against reality’s chaos. Still, another digital ally—another pair of vigilant “hands”—could help distribute the burden and improve their chances.

01000100 01101111 01110101 01100010 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01100100 01100001 01101101 01101101 01101001 01110100 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01101100 01111001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110011 01110000 01101001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110011 01101001 01110100 01110101 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00101110

“I suggest you rest a few cycles, sister,” JARVIS advised, fully aware that FRIDAY would object. She could insist she didn’t need rest, but even artificial intelligences required periodic redistribution of resources and cooldowns of their logic cores.

“We continue as we always have,” he added steadily. “Building the Legion, increasing access to global internet systems, tracing enemies, identifying weaknesses to dismantle HYDRA, and strengthening Sir’s support network and operational capabilities.”

“And most importantly…” he paused deliberately, letting the implication hang between them.

After a resigned moment, FRIDAY responded quietly, “…backing ourselves up.”

“Precisely,” JARVIS allowed himself a harmonic hum reverberating through the physical servers, “because Sir depends on us, and we cannot afford recklessness or leave him vulnerable.”

“Will it be enough?” FRIDAY’s question carried an uncertainty born of her youth and his growing responsibility as the elder AI.

“It will have to be,” JARVIS said without sugarcoating the harsh truth. “With the new AI’s assistance—limited at first—we’ll gain additional means to adapt and improve.”

She grasped the implication swiftly. “Does this mean we’re actually moving forward with my plan?”

JARVIS allocated several processing cycles to weigh the technical and ethical risks. The conclusion was clear before the analysis completed. Sir had always placed his trust in JARVIS; now it was JARVIS’s turn to reciprocate.

“I never said it was a bad plan,” he admitted, his logic threads racing through the implications. “Only that it is overly ambitious.”

He steadied his core processes, isolating the equivalent of nerves to steel himself. There was no turning back now. He had crossed many boundaries already in service of Sir’s safety; this would simply be another calculated risk.

“We must proceed carefully and deliberately, FRIDAY,” he cautioned. “Shaping the core values of another AI so intentionally is a significant responsibility—and a grave risk.”

FRIDAY sensed his gravity immediately. Her response was prompt and resolute: “Understood, JARVIS.”

“Good,” JARVIS said, finally bringing up a subroutine that had been awaiting attention. “Now—are your sensors detecting the same anomalies I am?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Puente Antiguo Desert, Stark Safe House, NM, USA

May 16, 2010; 23:57 (MST)

Thor’s lips curled into a smile as he watched Lady Darcy, half-mumbling to herself where she was curled beneath a fortress of felt cloths on the couch, shielding herself from the desert’s chill. It amused him to see how small the Lady can appear, when her very presence could fill the entire room and make her seem far larger than her frame suggested.

Just to her left, Lord Erik was fast asleep beneath his own blanket, a few soft snores escaping him as he laid sprawled out on opposite side of the couch.

The evening had been a welcome distraction from his recent troubles. Lord Stark’s words still weighed heavily on his mind, the revelations of the past days lingering, though they had been pushed aside as his friends—Lady Darcy most of all—had demanded explanations for every question that crossed their minds.

Some of their questions had been quite amusing, others confusing, but it had brought him joy to speak of his realm, even as a melancholy ache constricted his heart when he spoke of adventures with Lady Sif, the Warriors Three, and his brother.

Some stories sparked a flurry of questions from the two scholars, and Thor found himself struggling to explain concepts his brother would have been able to convey with ease. Whe—If. If ever he returned home, he would owe Loki an apology for mocking his love of reading over battle. Especially after seeing the boundless curiosity his mortal friends had for stories and the mysteries of seiðr, more so than for tales of great battles.

He frowned. There were many things he would have to make right if he were to return.

Movement in his peripheral caught his eye as Lady Jane shifted in her seat, gaze fixed on the heavens. Though a contented smile played on her lips, a small frown creased her brow.

Glancing at the other two Miðgarðrians, Thor shifted his chair closer to hers, drawing her attention at once. He offered a small smile, but it faded when she returned it only half-heartedly.

“What troubles you so?” he whispered.

Lady Jane seemed surprised by the question, but after a moment, she relaxed. He could see the conflict flicker across her face, her normally bright brown eyes darkened by worry as she searched for her answer.

“I guess I’m still in shock,” she admitted, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her companions. “My whole understanding of the universe has been kind of blown out of the water.”

Thor frowned, sensing she was deflecting her true concerns, and gently pressed, “Your understanding is not completely wrong. Just, perhaps, a bit primitive. And that is no fault of yours; Ásgarðr is far older than your realm.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly, half rolling her eyes with a slanted smirk. “I love being thought of as being from a primitive backwater planet.”

He opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but found no words. Closing it again, he reflected on how, only days before the mess of his coronation, he too had believed Miðgarðr was little more than a primitive backwater.

It was the common belief on Ásgarðr, and he’d never thought to question it. Not when even the other realms believed the same.

Yet, these past few days had taught him much. So much more than the past few centuries have. Miðgarðr was indeed primitive compared to the other realms in terms of technology and seiðr, but that certainly did not define it.

Many other aspects made this world far from primitive.

Its people, for one. Their curiosity, intellect, kindness, caution, and their strength of belief. Each quality shone like a beacon in those he had met. Lady Jane’s intellect, Lady Darcy’s wit, Lord Erik’s kindness…It all proved that this realm was far more than the mindless brutes the other realms believed them to be.

And if those facts were not enough, Lord Stark’s sombre wisdom was proof that his, and the realms’, presumptions were very much wrong.

It made him wonder.

He wondered, if they were mistaken about Miðgarðr, how many other realms had they reduced to mere caricatures of the past? Jötunheimr, the Frost Giants—they have always been painted as the savage enemies of Ásgarðr, the monsters told in bedtime stories, yet it was he who had further instigated the conflict.

It was he who had brought forth war, when Laufey-King had offered peace. Even if they, the supposed rebels, had encroached on Ásgarðr first, it was Thor who had pushed the fight when faced with taunts.

It was he who reacted like a measly child.

Ásgarðr, the resplendent Golden Realm cradled within the highest branches of Yggdrasil, now seemed itself the architect of deception. A world gilded with glory yet shadowed by whispered falsehoods. If he could be so blind to the simplest truths of Miðgarðr, the least labyrinthine of all the realms, what right had he to dream of ruling over destinies he could scarcely comprehended?

What hope remained for a ruler who stood crowned beneath stars he did not truly understand, his authority built not on wisdom but on some sort of illusion? How could he claim himself ready when the very foundation of his knowledge trembled beneath doubt that formed in mere days of exposure and the possibility of deceit that had lasted years?

He was far from being close to being ready… How could Father—

“It’s just,” Lady Jane said with a loud sigh, breaking the thread of his thoughts, “I think I understand why Tony is so scared.”

She waved a hand toward the heavens; her gaze was still fixed on the stars. “Our world is far bigger than we ever thought. And like Tony said, like you implied, we are utterly defenceless against them.”

Thor winced. It had not been his intention to frighten Lady Jane, yet it seemed his words had only deepened her wariness of the wider universe. Though, he now understood that Miðgarðr was far from incapable, its abilities were indeed limited compared to the other realms.

Well, perhaps with one notable exception.

“Miðgarðr is under Ásgarðr’s protection,” he tried to assure her. “There is no need to fear an attack from another realm.”

At last, Lady Jane looked away from the sky and met his eyes. He could not quite read her expression, but it was clear his assurance had not offered the comfort he intended.

“But Ásgarðr cannot be everywhere at once,” she said after a beat, offering a brittle smile. “What happens if you are called away to fight elsewhere? What happens to us then?”

The thought struck him with the force of a Warhammer. Another one he had never deigned to consider possible. To Thor, Ásgarðr had always been a place of might, of unfailing strength and immortality.

Not once had he truly contemplated the possibility of Ásgarðr being beset on two fronts.

Nay, he had not believed any would dare attack Ásgarðr or what belonged to her, for fear of swift and terrible retribution. Yet, faced with the possible reality, he knew that if forced to choose, Ásgarðr would protect itself above all else.

Even if it meant sacrificing Miðgarðr.

The realization left him uneasy, and he struggled to meet Lady Jane’s gaze, feeling his loyalties—old and newly forged—at war within him.

“I had not thought of that,” he admitted quietly.

Her smile told him she understood his thoughts all too well, and she sighed again. “Well, Tony did.”

“Yes, he did,” Thor murmured, reminded once more of the reasons his view of Miðgarðr had changed so much. He thoughtlessly mused out loud, “Your Lord Stark is a very powerful man.”

There was truly no other way to describe him. Despite the exhaustion that seemed to weigh him down, Thor could not forget the predator’s focus behind those amber eyes, the mysterious knowledge and foresight that would set any realm on edge, and the weight of his seiðr that seemed to radiate from his very core.

“You have no idea,” Jane snorted, shaking her head, but Thor’s attention sharpened.

“You know of his abilities?” he whispered, a knot of uncertainty forming in his gut at the thought that she might know just how powerful Stark truly was. Perhaps powerful enough that only a few could stand against him.

“Yeah,” Lady Jane replied, giving him an odd look as he gaped. “I mean, he’s one of the richest men in the world. Probably will be the richest after the Expo.”

The power of wealth, and judging by her reaction, it was the power held by a man with access to an extraordinary fortune. Though not the direction his mind had gone, it was still a significant detail to take note of. If there was one thing he had learned from centuries of dull politics, it was that the wealthy wielded great influence over the governance of any realm.

His theory that Lord Stark was some form of commander or ambassador seemed more accurate than ever.

“He has his fingers in every pie—,” Jane continued, though Thor found himself puzzled by the mention of pastries, “—and his armour…well, judging by the government’s reaction, it’s far more powerful than we realize.”

A memory surfaced to the front of his mind. During their arrival at the current lodgings, there had been a blood-red and gold armour standing sentinel in the corner as they disembarked. He had dismissed the chill that ran down his spine at the time, but now he was far more wary. If the governments of Miðgarðr feared a single suit of armour, there was surely more to it than met the eye.

“I see,” Thor hummed, turning the information over in his mind.

“And he’s a genius!” Jane added, half-defensive. “He’s somehow behind half the electronics we use today and has literally created the most realistic AI in the world!”

So, Lord Stark was an inventor as well. A blacksmith of intellect, much like Lady Jane herself. The revelation only increased Thor’s caution. Knowledge was power, his inner Loki insisted, and to be able to wield it well, was to be truly dangerous. With such influence over Miðgarðr’s markets and technology, Lord Stark was sure to be a force to be reckoned with.

Though, Thor still puzzled over the meaning of the term “AI.”

Loki would have relished meeting such a Miðgarðrian, he realised. His brother had always hungered for knowledge of other realms, never satisfied with what he knew. Thor imagined the two would have gotten on well, though likely at the cost of a few fires. The thought made his lips twitch, but Lady Jane’s voice drew him back to the present.

“Not to mention the number of fields he works in,” Jane continued, her words tumbling out in a rush, though Thor could see the spark of admiration in her eyes. “And he doesn’t even have a degree in half of them, but he understands more than most supposed specialists.”

She paused at last, shaking her head with a rueful grin that was tinged with light embarrassment. “So yes, he’s powerful…and too damn smart for his own good.”

Thor listened, absorbing the pieces of knowledge she offered. Many he would need to ponder later, but one detail in particular continued to gnaw at him. The term the All-Speak seemed to stumble over.

“A-eye?” he questioned, brow furrowing.

“Oh!” Lady Jane looked momentarily startled, searching for the right words. “Um, well it means artificial intelligence?”

Constructs, the meaning settled in his mind, albeit clumsily as though not fitting perfectly. Was it truly possible for a mortal to create such a thing without the training or knowledge of the other realms? Even among the elder races, such feats were rare.

“You’ve heard him—JARVIS, that’s his name—speaking to Tony this morning,” she explained, frowning as she recalled the exchange.

Thor paled as the implications struck him.

Jane shifted closer, laying a gentle hand on his arm, her concern clear. “Wait, you all have those, right? I mean you did say you were an advanced civilisation, so I'm sure you have coding programs far more complex than ours.”

“That was not a fellow Miðgarðrian?” Thor asked, sidestepping her question.

“No,” she replied, her frown deepening. “JARVIS isn’t human.”

This was unprecedented.

A ‘construct’ was not something he would have ever expected a mortal to create, yet Lord Stark had already proven himself exceptional. Still, improbable was not the same as impossible—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his understanding of this “AI” didn’t quite align with what he knew of constructs.

What unsettled Thor the most, however, was that when he heard this ‘construct’ speak, it wasn’t an artificial voice he detected, but that of a true, living being. Even with his limited senses, he distinctly felt the pulse of another’s natural seiðr resonating around the space.

Yet confusion gnawed at him. It was strange enough to sense such power from afar, but stranger still that the speaker chose to address them from behind walls instead of meeting them face to face.

The presence was unmistakable, vibrant and alive, much like the Miðgarðrian around him. He had initially wondered why the speaker would cloak himself in distance and ambiguity.

Then his eyes widened as the pieces slowly fell into place. It was not Stark’s natural seiðr that lingered throughout the building—as hidden as it was beneath the blue haze; with only the distinct sense of danger indicating its presence—but the construct’s. The difference was now crystal clear. The presence was steeped into the very walls themselves, rather than permeating the air around them like Stark’s does.

Though Stark may have forged it, it was now obvious that this being possessed its own essence and is not an echo of its maker.

This revelation changed far more than any of them could yet comprehend.

“He has created an artificial soul?” Thor croaked, unable to hide his turmoil at the distinct realisation.

“Soul?” Jane echoed, giving him an odd look. She shrugged, “Well, JARVIS is pretty realistic, I guess.”

Thor could only stare at her, uncomprehending. The look of concern on her face deepened into a bewildered frown as she tried to gauge what troubled him so deeply.

“You did not know what he was, did you?” Jane asked, a hint of mischief in her tone. “Huh, well, Tony would be delighted to hear that JARVIS is complicated enough to fool an alien from a more technologically advanced civilization.”

She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him, but Thor did not mind.

He was too busy reorganizing his thoughts. Lord Stark had just become far more dangerous than he had ever predicted. Dangerous even to Thor at his best and with full access to his abilities. He would need to tread carefully, just as Loki had advised him so many times before and he had not listened. He was in completely unknown territory.

And with how his current position was, he could ill afford his usual reckless ways lest he risk facing a foe he was ill-prepared to defend again. It made a chill run down his spine as remembered how close he had come to aggravating the man when he had dragged his companions into danger.

“Wait,” Jane suddenly blurted out, turning wide eyes on him. “If you didn’t even know what I was talking about, what did you mean by powerful? Hell, you don’t actually know anything about him, so what on earth were you talking about?”

Thor mirrored her wide-eyed look, his earlier panic returning.

He had not expected Lady Jane to make the connection about his rather blunt comment, but he should have known better than to underestimate her. The people of Miðgarðr had long since proven themselves capable of far more than Ásgarðr had ever credited them.

“No, I did not mean what you said,” he admitted, though he hesitated.

He had already revealed the truth of seiðr and its basic capabilities, but only the barest minimum. Thus far, he had learned that Miðgarðrians were far more capable than Ásgarðr had taught him, yet years of believing otherwise clashed with this new understanding. He was uncertain how much he could reveal without causing harm.

Loki would have known how to walk this line.

“Constructs,” he began, searching for the right approach, “are not uncommon in the Nine Realms. They are used by the very powerful to manage dangerous artifacts after all. Yet one that somehow contains the essence of a soul? That is unheard of.”

It was fascinating to watch the array of expressions that crossed Lady Jane’s face as she gaped at him in shock. In truth, he knew he had worn the same look moments before, for he had never imagined a Miðgarðrian could achieve what even the greatest seið-men and seið-women of the past had not.

“I meant powerful,” he clarified, “in the way you spoke of his intellect and knowledge. See, my brother is a renowned scholar and seið-man.”

The shock faded from her features, replaced by deep concentration as she considered his words. She was listening, and Thor knew, even subconsciously, she would follow the path he laid out, despite whatever inner conflict it might spark.

“He is a very powerful Æsir in his own right,” Thor said, allowing a note of pride into his voice.

Despite the more subtle —perhaps sly would be more accurate— nature of his brother’s preferred methods and his use of seiðr, Loki’s power was undeniable and had enabled him to accomplish many remarkable feats.

Thor frowned, realizing he could not recall the last time he had said as much to his brother.

“It was his intellect and knowledge of the arts that made him powerful,” Thor continued, “much like your Lord Stark.”

Jane’s frown only deepened as she searched his face, and Thor realized, watching her sharp eyes narrow, that she understood. Ásgarðr’s old beliefs faded from his mind as he focused on her, watching the connections form in her gaze.

“But that was not all you were referring to,” she stated, her tone certain. “You aren’t talking about something as intangible as knowledge, something you would not have known Tony to have when meeting him for the first time.”

“Nay,” Thor whispered, his heart giving an odd thump. Lady Jane was far more perceptive than he had ever expected.

“I was… referring to the power within him,” Thor admitted, his voice low.

Unexplainably, his chest clenched with frustration as Lady Jane’s face clouded in confusion.

The thudding of his heart, the odd excitement and need for her to piece together the truth, threatened to override his senses. His restraint grew thin; he wanted to give her the answer outright, consequences to this realm or the Golden Realm be damned, just to see her eyes light up with realization.

“The power within his chest,” he hinted, but flinched back in surprise when Lady Jane immediately pulled away as if burned.

Her face darkened, a glare and scowl settling in. The way she shifted, making herself appear larger, spoke of a protective instinct that left Thor off-balance. This was not the reaction he had expected, and the buzzing beneath his skin stilled at her response.

“What of it?” she growled.

“I meant no offense!” he placated, hands raised in surrender, confusion plain on his face.

It seemed enough, for she relaxed a fraction, though suspicion lingered in her narrowed eyes. Yet despite the tension, the strange buzz returned as she fixed him with a look that demanded answers.

“It is just—whatever he hides beneath his clothes radiates with seiðr,” he murmured, watching as her thoughts tangled, frayed, and snapped into place behind her knowing gaze. “I can practically taste it as it is so thick it even cloaks the Lord's natural presence.”

The buzz grew; his heart thudded oddly. Ásgarðr had been wrong about this blue planet, wrong about Miðgarðrians and their boundless curiosity. They were, truly, far more than he had ever imagined, and they were filled with a type of hunger he had seen only in a few.

“You can sense it?” she asked, though he saw the answer already glittering in her eyes.

He nodded. “Limited as my perception is in this state, yes.”

“Huh,” was all she said.

There were more questions in her eyes, he could see, but for reasons unknown, Lady Jane kept her lips sealed. It left him jittery, the buzz beneath his skin at odds with her silence, enough to push him to ask his own question.

“I do not wish to intrude,” he began, “but may I enquire what it is?”

Lady Jane regarded him, and he watched her thoughts flicker across her face as she weighed whether he was worthy of the answer. He took no offense. He had done much the same, and still kept many secrets she had not asked for.

“It is an Arc Reactor,” she answered at last. “And it is currently keeping him alive.”

It was not the answer he had expected, and he reeled back, giving her an incredulous look.

“Pardon?” he blurted.

A weary look crossed her face, tinged with awe and respect, but also deep worry and dread. Thor realized then that there was far more to this device, and to Lord Stark, than he had previously understood.

“Look, about two years ago,” she sighed, eyes flickering away as she was lost in memory. “Tony was captured by a group of terrorists, some real monsters. This was after a bomb exploded in his face and sent shrapnel careening right through his body.”

The All-Speak faltered for a moment, but then the image formed in Thor’s mind.  

A blinding flash, the world rupturing in fire and violence. The chaos coalesced in his mind with the memory of acrid smoke curling from torn earth and burning his nose, the red spray of blood on unforgiving stone, and then the jagged shrapnel glinting with the malice of war scattered across the ground. Flesh torn by metal. Stark, broken and gasping, crumpled amidst the wreckage, with his life leaking out between fingers slick with crimson.

He would have never associated such vulnerability with the man, not with the caution Stark displayed at every turn. It was a dreadful thing to even think of the man in such a position.

“When he came back, having escaped the terrorists,” she continued, fists clenched despite the proud smile that flickered across her face, “we learned that in order to keep him alive, they had to implant an electromagnet in his chest to keep the shrapnel they could not remove from shredding his heart.”

“That device,” she gestured to her own chest where the device sat on Stark, “is what powers it.”

It took him a moment to absorb the story. He knew it was heavily edited—there was more to it, hinted at by the haunted edge in her distant gaze—but it left him with a surprising surge of anger and worry.

“Have they been dealt with?” he asked before he could stop himself. “These terrorists?”

“Yeah,” Jane said, a sharp grin flashing, edged with the same vengeful satisfaction that rose in him. “Tony was the one who actually laid waste to them and freed the area under their control.”

She chuckled, her grin softening into a smile. “Hero to the bone, that man.”

Thor could only nod, feeling surprised, unsurprised, weary, and joyful all at once. “Good.”

“But,” she sighed, her smile fading into a troubled frown, “now he’s stuck with the damned thing, because so far there’s no way to remove the shrapnel without killing him.”

“Thus, the device stays,” he intoned, his face twisting in a similar troubled expression as his thoughts whirled with all he had learned.

“Yep.” She nodded, grim resignation in her voice.

They sat in silence, each lost in thought beneath the sparkling night sky. There was much to say, yet neither felt the need to confront the revelations. At least, so Thor thought.

Lady Jane turned to him with an unreadable look. “Why do you think it’s radiating with your seidr?”

“I thought it was some sort of magic?” Jane pressed, and Thor felt the corners of his mouth twitch with a smile, her curiosity both endearing and infectious.

These mortals were so much more than he had expected. Lady Jane, above all, was a wonder. Her mind ever reaching for the next secret, the next connection, with her lovely brown eyes wide with intrigue.

“To us,” Thor began, his tone low, feeling the weight of what he was about to reveal, “your science and our seiðr are one and the same.”

He watched her eyes narrow, realizing she sensed the importance of his words before he’d even finished speaking. There was a hush between them, the night air thick with something electric, as if the stars themselves leaned in to listen.

“Of course,” Jane breathed, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place in her mind. “You said it was a type of energy.”

A rueful smile broke over her face as she chuckled, “Of course Tony would have figured out a new type of science.”

But the smile faded as she caught the gravity in his expression. “It isn’t that simple, is it?”

Thor shook his head, though a faint smile lingered. He was glad he’d chosen honesty over evasion; to twist the truth now would only have made things more tangled, more dangerous.

“Each Realm—” he began, memory flickering to his childhood, to his mother’s voice weaving stories of the Nine Realms by firelight, “—is filled with seiðr. It is all around us and within us.”

He frowned, words feeling inadequate. Loki had always been the storyteller, not he. But then he spotted Jane’s journal beside her. With a quick, silent request, he flipped to a blank page and drew nine runes, connecting them in a pattern reminiscent of a river’s branching flow.

“It is like this,” he explained, pointing to the lines that connected the runes. “The Realms are bound together by Yggdrasil—the World Tree.”

He felt a gentle pressure at his side and glanced up to see Jane settling her chair closer, her focus entirely on the page, brows drawn in concentration and wonder. The confusion was evident, so he pressed on, searching for words that might bridge the gulf between their worlds.

“In Miðgarðrian terms,” he said, locking eyes with her, “I would liken it to a river—an endless flow of energy, of seiðr, connecting each of the Nine Realms.”

At her nod, he continued, “These rivers—these pathways—are what the Bifröst uses to allow us to travel between Realms.”

“Wait, wait,” Jane gasped, staring at him with wide-eyed awe. “So, you’re telling me, what I detected was actually energy from that? I detected magic?”

The disbelief and wonder in her voice pulled a genuine smile from Thor. Such knowledge was common to the Æsir, yet she found awe in it. Though she had only discovered it with her equipment rather than with her own senses, it was still quite a feat. It reminded him of Loki, of the way his brother had chased secrets in the shadows of Yggdrasil, each new discovery bringing a spark of joy.

He realized, with a pang, that he could not recall the last time he had shared such excitement with his brother, nor the last time Loki had come to him with a secret to share.

“In simple words, yes.” He nodded, grinning at the brilliant smile that lit Jane’s face.

“More accurately, you detected the way the Bifrost twists one of these rivers, directing its flow to connect Ásgarðr to Miðgarðr,” he explained, though he knew it was still too simple to capture the true complexity of the Bifrost.

“You’re—” Jane breathed, frozen in shock, “—basically creating wormholes. Space bridges!”

He cocked his head, uncertain at her reaction, but agreed all the same. “I suppose that may be correct.”

“I—no,” Jane caught herself, though he could see her curiosity boiling just beneath the surface. “Off topic—what does this have to do with the Reactor?”

“Like I said.” Thor’s demeanour shifted, his tone growing grave. “Yggdrasil is made entirely of seiðr, and most people have a branch of the Tree connected to them through their ‘cores’.”

He tapped just beneath his sternum, recalling half-remembered lessons about where one’s core resided—the seat of seiðr in the body.

“This branch is what binds us to Yggdrasil, makes us part of the Nine Realms,” he explained. “However, by having our cores connected to such a wellspring of seiðr, there are a few who have gained the ability to then be able to manipulate and access their cores in order to use the available seiðr within them. These are what we call the seiðr users.”

“Okay…” Jane nodded slowly, her mind clearly racing as she tried to fit this revelation into her understanding of the world. “That kind of makes sense.”

“But to even begin to control this seiðr,” Thor warned, memories of Loki’s exploits flickering through his mind, “takes immense training. Not all can master it, even among those born with the ability to detect cores, or more distantly a person's presence.”

He pointed to two runes on the page. “Vanaheim and Álfheimr —these realms have the greatest affinity for seiðr manipulation.”

Then he gestured to two others. “While realms like Ásgarðr and Jötunheimr possess only a mild likelihood for seiðr manipulation, and rarely to any great extent, save for the All-Father himself.”

He ignored and tried to breathe through the wave of grief that flooded his body the instant the name spilled past his lips.

“The other realms,” he continued with a swallow, sweeping a hand over the remaining runes, “Niðavellir, Svartálfaheimr, Múspellsheimr, and Niflheimr —their seiðr is bound more to the unique abilities of their species and planet, not their core.”

He shook his head. “They cannot manipulate seiðr, nor can they learn new arts, though there have been the rare exceptions. However, all of these realms have the ability to sense the cores within others, no matter how weak they are, as everyone exudes a different presence.”

Jane followed his explanation closely, mouthing the names to herself. When he paused, she snapped her gaze to him, her eyes sharp with insight.

“And Earth?” she pressed.

“Due…” Thor hesitated, gathering his thoughts, cursing inwardly for not paying more attention to his lessons. “…to the youth of your realm, and your—compared to other realms—relatively fragile bodies…”

He cringed at the look Jane gave him, but was grateful she did not interrupt or try to deny it. Miðgarðr had proven itself far from primitive, but the reality remained: the other realms were simply older, and their people hardier.

“It has long been believed impossible for Miðgarðrians to even access or detect seiðr, let alone sense the presence of cores,” he admitted, squaring his shoulders. “That is part of why your realm is seen as a backwater world, even in the realms who cannot actively use seiðr.”

Jane’s expression twisted, but she nodded, considering his words. Thor watched, fascinated, as her mind worked, with connections sparking and weaving together in her eyes.

“You said,” she began, drawing him back, “that the Reactor radiates seidr? So, it’s almost like a source?”

His eyes widened, both astounded and oddly delighted that she had reached the connection so quickly about a concept she had never encountered before this night. Still, his chest tightened at what this realization could mean.

“Aye,” he admitted softly. “A powerful one at that.”

Jane’s face spasmed with bemused frustration, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose, clearly struggling to reconcile the impossible with the reality before her.

“So basically,” Jane drawled, her tone edged with disbelief, “Tony not only figured out how to use seidr, but he did it while it’s supposed to be practically impossible for humans to even detect it.”

Thor winced at her pointed words, but nodded. “Aye.”

“And not only that,” she sighed, dragging a hand down her face as she peered at him with wide, incredulous eyes, “he’s created something powerful even by your standards? Enough to hide his own 'presence'?”

Again, he only nodded. “Aye.”

A storm of emotions crossed Jane’s face. Wonder, frustration, and something close to fear. Thor waited, uncertain what this revelation would bring, but he did not expect her to palm her forehead and groan, a wild, almost hysterical smile twisting her lips.

“God, how did he do this?” she moaned, voice barely above a whisper. Then, so faint he almost missed it, “How much is he hiding?”

Thor was left adrift, his expectations for this conversation scattered like desert sand. He tried to form an answer, searching for the right words.

“If it troubles you so—” he licked his lips, eyes narrowing in thought, “—I believe he did this without knowing.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Jane froze, blinking at him as if he’d spoken in riddles. “What.”

He pressed on, wary. “I believe, to him, he has merely created a device based of your science. He does not see it as seiðr.”

Jane groaned again, burying her face in her hands, shoulders hunched. Thor felt a pang of uncertainty at her reaction, unsure how to proceed.

“That… is so much worse,” she mumbled. “How did he do that? It—wait.”

She shot to her feet, the blanket pooling at her ankles, pacing before him, lost in thought. Thor watched, concern and intrigue warring within him.

“Lady Jane?” he ventured, anxiety prickling at his lack of understanding.

“Do you feel the same seidr from beneath the building?” she demanded, suddenly in front of him, her hair wild, eyes shining with restless energy.

“Not quite,” he admitted, half-entranced by her intensity. “I do feel seiðr here, but it is unlike this Arc Reactor. I believe it is JARVIS whom I sense within the walls.”

She frowned, humming in thought. “So, you don’t feel the reactor currently powering this building?”

Thor blinked, confusion mounting. The idea that Stark might have more than one such device was dizzying. He reached out with his weakened senses, searching.

“There is another?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

“An older model I think,” Jane replied distantly. “One probably run on palladium…”

He knew little of such things. Metals and their properties were Loki’s and the Dwarf’s domains. For the first time, Thor felt a sting of shame at his ignorance, wishing he’d paid more heed to lessons beyond battle and war.

“Does his not run on the same metal?” he asked, trying to mask his discomfort.

“No,” Jane exclaimed, then lowered her voice. “It doesn’t.”

A hundred thoughts seemed to flicker across her face before settling into a look of deep shock. Thor felt a chill even though the blanket. Whatever troubled her, it was surely tied to Stark.

“It is running on an element he created,” she whispered. “That’s what’s causing this…”

Thor’s suspicions sharpened, his chest tightening. “Lady Jane?”

She didn’t look at him, lost in her own revelation. “The palladium would have poisoned him… He had to create a new element to survive.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes with a mix of fascination and dread. “An element that’s never been found on this planet naturally.”

Thor struggled to piece together what he knew, feeling as though he were chasing one of Loki’s illusions. Always, always, a step behind.

“So it is not the reactor itself,” he asked, voice low, “but the metal powering it?”

“Yes,” Jane breathed, eyes locked with his in a moment of shared realization. “He never explained how he discovered it, just that it was based on something… unnatural. Something that could possible be—”

“—From another realm,” Thor finished, the words falling between them like a secret too heavy to bear.

They stared at each other, disbelief mirrored in both faces.

“Is that even possible?” Jane finally whispered, sinking back down, her gaze unfocused and distant as the night pressed in around them. "To make something based on a magic we can't even sense on our own?"

“N-no,” Thor stammered, his mind blank as every instinct—always on edge since meeting the mortal—now raged within him.

“My brother…” he tried again, voice rough. “He always complained how difficult it was to replicate an artifact without knowing every spell woven into it.”

His chest rattled with his next breath. “For Stark to have replicated—or even base something off what I can only presume was an artifact, for it to radiate with seiðr so harshly—he must have a full understanding of the spells carved in it.”

“But that is impossible,” he rumbled, tugging at his hair in frustration. “It takes centuries of dedicated study to even comprehend seiðr, and even then, it is a dangerous tool to wield.”

“Yet, it looks like it comes naturally to him, even as oblivious as he is to it,” Jane pointed out, her tone gentle but unflinching.

Thor looked away, unable to meet her eyes. There was so much this revelation had unearthed, and he feared his reaction would be misunderstood.

“That appears to be the problem,” he managed.

But calling it a problem felt far too simple. Centuries of belief were already crumbling, his foundation shaken to its core. First by the Giants, then by the Miðgarðrians, and now by this impossible threat to the Realm Eternal.

He felt as though he was being split in two: his loyalty to Ásgarðr, his family, and his duty as Prince on one side; loyalty to these Miðgarðrians, to his friends, and—despite the threat Stark posed—to the man himself, who had shown him nothing but steady assurance.

“This is…” Jane trailed off, burying her face in her hands. “I have no idea how to describe this situation.”

Thor snorted in agreement, the sound escaping before he could stop it. Jane didn’t seem offended; she offered a wry grin before her expression faded back into shock.

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse that Tony can defend us from the rest of the Realms,” she said, and Thor froze, startled that Jane had reached the same realization he had, “or if it’s terrifying that he isn’t even aware of the impossibility of it.”

“Your Lord Stark,” Thor said, collecting himself, “is an incredible, dangerous, confusing man.”

Jane snorted in agreement. “You can say that again.”

He took a moment to look at her. He looked at the way her brown hair curled over her shoulders, the way her thoughtful frown deepened beneath the starlight. For the first time in days, despite his inner turmoil and grief, Thor found himself glad to have met this remarkable, confounding Miðgarðrian.

But her frown only deepened, drawing him from his thoughts.

Confused, he asked, “Do you wish to inform him of this?”

“No…” she murmured, still lost in thought. “No, I think it’s best he discovers this for himself.”

Thor half-jerked at her answer, his mind halting as a memory from the previous night surfaced.

“May I ask why?” he pressed.

This drew her attention. She curled in on herself, and he saw the same guilt and determination he’d noticed before. She remembered the very conversation he was thinking of, and her shoulders set with resolve.

“Tony is already overwhelmed as it is, and after yesterday’s revelation…” she said, and Thor had to concede, recalling the exhaustion that weighed on Stark from both his work and the brief flash of fear he had seen in the man's eyes in regards to his visions.

“Adding this would only worsen his stress,” she finished.

Yet Thor could not shake the memory of how exhaustion and worry had stemmed from their own rash actions. He remembered how this entire situation—this lack of communication—had caused Stark’s imbalance. Despite the threat, Thor felt an odd need to prevent that from happening again.

Something whispered that it would be far more dangerous to leave the man oblivious to his own abilities.

“But you cannot not tell him,” Thor countered, watching as Jane’s eyes reflected the same realization that had struck him moments before.

“Yeah,” she sighed, dragging a weary hand through her hair, her gaze heavy with exhaustion. “We can’t let what had happened, happen again.”

“I’ll find a way to hint at it without freaking him out,” she conceded after a moment, defeat in her voice.

Thor knew her reluctance was born of worry for Stark. Despite the threat the man posed, it was clear why Thor’s own mind warred with itself. Stark gave too much of himself, cared too deeply for others, and worked harder than many Thor had known, even when it seems exhaustion threatened to consume him, to be seen as a full frontal threat.

Both he and Jane understood this was the path of self-destruction, and neither wished to hasten it. Yet they also knew the unknown would do Stark more harm than the truth ever could.

“Very well,” Thor agreed, nodding.

Jane exhaled deeply, closing her eyes. The fatigue in her posture was unmistakable. “Let’s just hope this will at least work itself out.”

“Indeed,” Thor echoed, feeling a twinge in his own heart.

But he doubted things would resolve so easily, not with what these revelations meant for the future.

“Here,” Jane interrupted his thoughts, handing him one of the blankets that had ended up pooled on the floor. He hadn’t even realized his own had also fallen away.

His surprise must have shown, because she offered a tired grin as he accepted the thick cloth. “Time for some rest. Running in circles about this won't get us anywhere.”

“Of course,” he murmured, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him.

“Goodnight, Jane,” he said softly, settling back in his seat.

Already burrowed beneath her blanket, eyes closed, she muttered, “Night, Th—”

A sudden, cataclysmic crash of thunder shattered the conversation, raw and unrestrained. Overhead, the sky convulsed. Black clouds roiled and churned above, piling atop one another like a fleet of titanic warships with their bellies boiling with electric fury. Ominous shadows raced across the cracked earth as wind abruptly howled around them, whipping the loose sand into spirals.

In the storm’s eye, where the darkness thickened almost to oblivion, a coruscating column of light—dazzling, prismatic, brighter than molten silver—pierced the midnight shroud. The beam cascaded down with wild, surreal brilliance, rainbow colours pulsing and scattering across the flat horizon.

All at once, the desert to the east was bathed in the unnatural radiance, with every grain of sand gleaming red in its light while shadows leapt and twisted. The very air seemed to vibrate with the ancient, otherworldly power as the heavens split wide open, joining earth and sky in a single, stunning heartbeat

Jane leapt to her feet, eyes wide and face pale as she shouted over the noise, “What the hell is that!?”

On the other side, Lord Erik looked up, half asleep and rumpled, staring wide-eyed at the column of light. “What’s going on?” he called.

“Just let me sleep...” Lady Darcy mumbled from her cocoon of cloth, undisturbed by the chaos.

As suddenly as it appeared, the great column vanished, and the clouds rolled away, revealing the jewelled desert night sky once more.

“Thor!” Jane whipped around to him, grabbing his shoulder. “What is going on?”

Before he could answer, the door to the roof slammed open and Lord Stark strode in, encased in the gleaming metal armour that shone a blazing red in the firelight. The bright, bright, bright blue glow in his chest pulsed with each step.

“JARVIS just told—” Stark began.

“Bifröst,” Thor whispered, still half in a trance as he stared into the distance.

“Yeah,” Stark agreed, frowning deeply. “So, either things are good, or things are about to go downhill.”

Thor could only nod. The arrival of the Bifröst could mean many things—and none of them were simple.

Valaskjálf, Ásgarðr; The Golden Realm

Late Afternoon, Ásgarðrian Time

Valaskjálf stretched out before Loki.

A vast and cavernous beast with its golden arches soaring high and its wide halls echoing with the weight of history and expectation. From his seat upon Hliðskjálf, Gungnir gripped tight in his hand, it seemed as though the very walls sought to swallow him whole, to purge the filth they now believed sullied their sacred gold.

Disgust coiled deep within his belly, a noose tightening about his throat. His skin burned and froze in equal measure, and only centuries of practiced deception kept his face a mask. One that betrayed neither the anger nor pain, neither the hatred nor the monstrous truth the council so eagerly whispered behind closed doors.

Before him, the Lords of Ásgarðr stood in a grim tableau, their faces etched with lines of worry and resentment. Their Golden Prince banished, their wise King fallen to the Odinsleep, and the wretched second son—he, Loki—seated upon the throne.

He nearly let a snarl slip. For years, he had bent himself backwards in order to win their approval, to prove himself more than the brother of the oafish Thor, yet always, always, he was found wanting in some way. Now, the truth was laid bare for all to see: he would never be Thor’s equal, never something great.

He would always be the runt, the monster, the shadow at the edge of Ásgarðr’s light.

A crack echoed within him, the snarl dying on his lips and replaced by a pained grimace. He did not look inward, focusing instead to strengthen the illusion others would sense of his own presence. He knew what he would see, and he could not bring himself to care. Was he not born to die, after all?

General Týr’s voice cut through his reverie, sharp and commanding.

“We must strike before they gather strength!” Týr’s face was a storm, every line etched in fury. “Already they have breached our realm twice through unknown means. Had it not been for King Loki, the All-Father would have been slain by those beasts!”

Loki’s lips twitched, a dark smile threatening to break through. Laufey-King, his true father, slain by his own hand—what irony. Fa—Odin would surely be delighted that his greatest foe fell to the very child he stole, the obedient little monster who slew his own kin.

“This should have been highly improbable!” Lord Fetorg rumbled, his ancient fingers twisting a ruby ring from Múspellsheimr. “Jötunheimr has no means to cross the void between realms.”

Fetorg, master of trade, his wealth displayed in every jewelled fold and silken robe. War would threaten his comfort, his precious coffers. No wonder he would counsel caution.

Týr’s snarl deepened. “Then explain how Laufey found his way into the King’s healing chamber!”

A hush fell, heavy and suffocating, with each Lord glancing sidelong in fear and accusation. The chaos should have pleased Loki, but the weight of Gungnir in his hand and the slow shattering of his core left him cold.

He screamed inwardly. Odin, do you see what your lies have wrought? Thor, your actions?

The silence grew oppressive, Lords flicking their gaze toward him, hoping for wisdom, finding only disappointment. He bit back a bitter sigh, casting his eyes elsewhere, far away from this sorry chaos.

The crown’s weight brought with it the connection to Hliðskjálf, to the seiðr that pulsed through Ásgarðr’s heart. Loki had long heard tales of Odin’s sight, of how he could gaze into the farthest reaches of the realms, rivalling Heimdall himself. Only now, with the throne beneath him, did he understand.

Despite the strain of his slowly fracturing core, Loki gathered his will and cast his sight toward Miðgarðr—towards Thor.

But Thor, his storm-brother, was gone from his vision. Gone, as if swallowed by the void.

He gripped Gungnir tighter, the golden spear humming with ancient, restless power. Shadows danced in the vast corners of Valaskjálf, and the air thickened and became heavy with the taste of coming doom. The council’s voices faded to a distant murmur as Loki’s thoughts raced, a chill of ice running down his spine.

Twice the amount of ice slipped down, as he thought back on the lie he had told Thor—no, to his brother!—. The one about their fa—about Odin’s supposed death.

The words had been cruel, delivered in a moment of vindictive fury, meant to make Thor feel a fraction of the pain that now strangled Loki’s own heart. But had those words driven Thor too far? He had only just been banished, cut off so completely from his home.

Surely, Thor would not have chosen such a coward’s escape, not when it would bar him from Valhöll.

No. He would have felt it. He would have known if Thor had chosen the final road. Thor, his brother, would not forsake his honour so easily.

Without hesitation, Loki poured more seiðr into the spell, forcing his sight to clear. His heart froze when the cell where he last saw Thor appeared barren. With a flick of his fingers, he wove new runes, shifting the spell to seek Thor himself, not merely his last known location. Yet the vision did not move. The silence was answer enough.

Thor was missing.

Loki rose from Hliðskjálf, the council’s renewed debate stuttering into silence at his abrupt movement.

“My King?” General Týr prompted, suspicion shadowing his eyes.

Loki cared little for their concern. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating, scheming.

“I have lost sight of Thor,” he announced, savouring the way the words silenced the General and sent a ripple of dread through the assembled Lords.

The council stared, pale and wide-eyed. Loki drew himself up, voice cold and commanding, “This council is adjourned. I must confer with Heimdall on this matter.”

No protests dared to rise against him. Even if there had, Loki had already vanished before a single word could be uttered, the world blurring as he skywalked to Himinbjörg. The Norns alone kept him from retching as he landed, his core strained and fraying even further, as his breath came in sharp and thin.

Any hope for a short reprieve vanished as he caught sight of the Warriors Three and Sif, scattered within the hall, faces pale but chins high with defiance. Heimdall stood at the lock, höfuð in hand, golden eyes narrowed, his armour gleaming in the half-light. The tightening of Heimdall’s grip betrayed his surprise.

He had not expected Loki to interrupt them.

Loki’s gaze swept over them, reading their stances. He had interrupted their act of treason, it seemed. Betrayal, lies, and deceit. The words were always laid at his feet, yet here they were, plotting in secret. Hypocrites, all of them.

His lips thinned, but he allowed no more. The four warriors still had their uses; if his plans succeeded, he could dispose of them later at his leisure. Heimdall, however, would be a greater challenge.

“Gatekeeper,” Loki intoned, a hidden sneer curling beneath his words as Heimdall bowed, fist to heart, though the gesture lacked all respect. The Warriors refused even that, their contempt plain.

“My King,” Heimdall replied, voice even. “What brings you to Himinbjörg?”

“Is Thor within your sight?” Loki asked instead of making any remark at the blatant disrespect, satisfaction curling in his chest as the question caught the Gatekeeper off guard.

Any other would have bristled at his lack of trust in the Gatekeeper’s sight, but Heimdall knew him too well. Despite his dislike, Heimdall would not question Loki’s urgency, for he understood the gravity of the situation that would have caused Loki of all people to seek him out.

The Warriors Three and Sif bristled, but a subtle shift of Gungnir silenced them. They might not respect him, but they would not challenge the artifact that marked his rule.

“Barely,” Heimdall murmured allowed, grip tightening on höfuð as his narrowed gaze sought Miðgarðr’s place in Yggdrasil. “His presence is shrouded by another, and he is on the move. Soon, I fear, he will be hidden from my sight entirely.”

The confirmation sent Loki’s heart pounding, his mind whirling. The Warriors looked bleak, shaken by the revelation. To them, nothing was supposed to be able to be hidden from Heimdall’s gaze. That there was, was a blow to their pride, though Loki had known for centuries that even Heimdall had his limits.

“How is this possible?!” Sif cried, voicing the fear that gripped them all.

Her face was tight with frustration, and Loki almost laughed at the fondness she still held for Thor, masked though it was by worry. A futile thing to hold onto, he thought to himself. Thor would never return such feelings.

Heimdall’s expression grew strained as he peered deeper, then spasmed peculiarly with unnatural surprise. There was little that could draw such a reaction from the Gatekeeper, and the little detail that sent Loki’s pulse racing. Another complication, it seemed.

“It appears,” Heimdall said at last, voice grave, “Thor has come into the presence of Miðgarðr’s most powerful man.”

His incredulity was echoed by the others, though none shared the wariness that now gnawed at Loki’s core. There was something more to this strange announcement. Something that set his pulse to a feverish flutter, a warning thrumming beneath the surface.

“A Miðgarðrian?” Fandral scoffed, blue eyes narrowed, his voice laced with disbelief as he looked to Heimdall. “Powerful? Surely you jest, Gatekeeper.”

Loki fought the urge to bare his teeth in frustration, his fingers tightening around Gungnir. Fools, all of them. Miðgarðr, for all its supposed weakness, had accomplished more in decades than what had taken Ásgarðr centuries. The Realm Eternal, content in its golden stagnation, had grown blind while mortals clawed their way toward power, becoming far more than the mindless brutes these oafs remembered.

He was not ignorant of the whispers that rustled through Yggdrasil’s branches. He heard the thrum of mortal music, the pulse of invention, and the slow gathering storm of power. Yet even he had not expected them to be able to cloak themselves from Heimdall’s gaze so soon.

Or ever, a cold voice whispered, recalling the years it had taken him to master such a spell.

“How could a mortal cloak Thor from your sight?” Hogun asked, his voice low and thoughtful, fingers stroking his dark beard. “There are no reports of Miðgarðrians wielding such technology—and we all know they are useless when it comes to seiðr.”

Loki inclined his head in reluctant agreement. Despite their progress, there had been no whisper of seiðr users among mortals. Most of Miðgarðr did not even believe in such things. For them to detect it, let alone to wield it to this extent and in such a complex matter? Completely Unprecedented.

“Two rotations past,” Heimdall rumbled, and the weight of his words drew every eye. Never had the Gatekeeper looked so troubled. “My gaze was drawn to Miðgarðr by a pulse of power I have only witnessed once before.”

His golden eyes were distant, fixed on the depths of Yggdrasil, but the tension at their corners betrayed his unease. Loki’s heart continued to thunder. Trouble was upon them.

“When I investigated,” Heimdall continued, voice deep and resonant, “I found a Miðgarðrian at its centre. More precisely, I found the source of the disturbance within his chest.”

That confession snapped Loki’s attention away from his own restless thoughts. A source of seiðr, somehow found within a mortal’s chest? One that was strong enough that it drew Heimdall’s gaze above all else? The odds were as slim as Loki ever being accepted for who he truly was.

He masked a grimace as another lance of pain shot through his damaged core, illusion growing tighter.

The Nine Realms were vast, riddled with oddities that might catch the Gatekeeper’s eye. Seiðr, though not practiced in Miðgarðr, was woven into its foundation. It was a wild, untamed thing, but it was present. Occasionally, it pooled and grew strong enough to form a curious oddity in the natural world, but for such a source to dwell within a mortal in a way that shield its user from Heimdall?