Chapter Text
FIVE YEARS LATER
Dust motes floated lazily in the sunlight, cutting through the cracked levels of an abandoned storage unit. A rat scurried with the patter of paws across a workbench, darting over a dusty panel on the back of an old, dormant van.
Click.
The overhead lights flickered in a brief electrical stutter as the quantum tunnel roared to life. In a shimmer of sparks, Scott Lang expanded from ant-sized to full height—materializing back into the world from the Quantum Realm. He landed amid a heap of five years’ worth of forgotten junk and debris, sprawled on the cold floor. For a moment, he just lay there, dazed, before pushing himself up onto his hands, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“Okay—alright,” he said, groaning and stretching from a hard landing. “That wasn’t the smooth re-entry that we planned on, Hope.”
No answer.
“Hope?” Scott sat up, turned in a circle, and scanned the dim, cluttered space.
Nothing but silence. He climbed out of the van, rubbing the back of his neck, and stepped toward the storage unit door. It rattled on its hinges as he shoved it upward, sunlight streaming in so bright it made him squint. The air outside felt strange — heavy, somehow. The streets beyond were quiet. No cars rushing by. No voices. No kids on bikes. It looked like the whole Earth was attacked by aliens—which it was—in a manner of speaking.
“What the hell…?”
Dragging his small roll-away cart filled with the van’s leftover gear, he wandered down the sidewalk. Storefronts were closed, windows dust-covered. In the distance, he spotted a man pushing an overstuffed shopping cart, head down, face pale and thin. He stopped a man passing by on foot — one of the few people he’d seen.
“Hey, sorry, can you—uh—can you tell me what happened? Why’s everything…?”
The man barely spared him a glance. “Where’ve you been, man? Hiding under a rock?”
Scott had so many questions. He kept walking, faster now. His heart pounded in his ears. That’s when he saw it—the sprawling, gray stone walls ahead, etched with names. People moved slowly between them, their fingers tracing the engravings like they were touching ghosts.
He froze in panic. “Oh no…”
The Memorial of “The Vanished” stretched the length of a city block—thousands of names.
“Hope,” he whispered, and began to run. He scanned the panels, breath quickening. His fingers fumbled across each letter as his eyes darted desperately from name to name. The names were listed in alphabetical order by last name. Scott pushed people out of the way until he reached the stone that listed last names starting with the letter V. “Van Dyne… Van Dyne…” Her name was there. His stomach dropped. He stumbled back, chest tight. “No, no, no…”
And then his eyes caught something that made the blood drain from his face.
Scott Lang.
“What?” he whispered in disbelief. He stared at his own name for what felt like forever, his mind a blank roar. Then, with a sharp inhale, he bolted from the memorial. How can so much happen in five years?
THE AVENGERS TOWER - The Same Day
The Avengers Compound sat in uneasy silence, the kind that had become all too familiar since the snap. In the dimly lit briefing room, Natasha and Steve pored over maps and reports, the weight of five years heavy in the air. Steve was leaning over a holographic map with his arms braced on the table.
“Any luck on your end?” Steve asked Nat without looking up.
She sat opposite him, lazily spinning a pen between her fingers. “It’s the same everywhere. Empty streets and names carved in stone. We’ve checked every lead, but I just think that—”Then F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed in. “Security alert at the front gate.”
Nat raised an eyebrow and looked over at Cap. Since when does the compound get visitors? They froze mid-discussion in the briefing room and exchanged a sharp glance before wordlessly heading for the elevator. The glass doors shuddered as someone pounded on them from the outside. Security moved fast—two guards rushing to intercept the man with the dented roll-away cart at his side. They dragged him by the arms into the main lobby, with him flailing out of desperation. The guards tightened their grip. They just knew that Scott was there to stir up trouble. The doors slid open to the main floor with two armed guards restraining a frantic, wide-eyed Scott, who looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Wait! You don’t understand!” Scott’s voice cracked as it echoed off the metal beams and high ceiling. “I have to talk to the Avengers—or what’s left of them, at least!”
“Sir,” one guard said firmly, “you can’t just walk into this facility. Identification, now.”
Scott twisted in their grasp, exasperated. “Yeah, uh, that’s gonna be tricky—because I’ve been gone. Quantum Realm—gone. I know how insane that sounds, but you gotta believe me—”
The second guard cut him off. “I don’t have to believe anything, sir. You’re trespassing on a secure site.”
“Do you people even know how hard it is to roll this cart uphill?” Scott muttered under his breath, straining to pull away. “Look, I’m Ant-Man. The Ant-Man.”
Steve and Nat stepped out from the elevator, both slowing when they got a clear look at the scene. Nat squinted, tilting her head, “Is that.. Scott?”
Steve’s brows lifted. “It can’t be. Scott is—”
“Cap?!” Scott blurted, spotting them immediately. “Oh, thank God. Could you maybe tell your guys to lay off? I bruise easily.”
Cap lifted a hand to the guards. “It’s okay, guys. He’s a friend.” The guards released him reluctantly. Scott rubbed his wrists with exaggerated relief. Cap just shook his head in disbelief. “Scott… where have you been? How did you get here? We all thought you were—” Steve started.
“Dead?” Scott finished for him with a half-laugh, half-gasp. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot lately. Long story.”
Nat glared at him, skeptical but curious. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
Scott followed Nat and Cap in the elevator and up to the briefing room. “Listen, I think—no, I know—I might have a way to fix… all of this. I might have a way to beat Thanos.”
Nat and Cap looked at each other, confused. When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, Scott ran out and searched the place for any bag of chips, any sandwich, or anything to feed his hunger.
“Scott. Hold on,” Cap said. “You just said, you might have a way to beat Thanos. You can’t just drop a bomb like that.”
Nat crossed her arms, still eyeing him like she couldn’t decide whether to hug him or interrogate him. “You’d better start explaining.”
Scott gestured vaguely behind him. “Two words. Quantum Realm.”
Natasha and Steve exchanged a skeptical glance.
“I’ll explain everything,” Scott said quickly, “I'm gonna need a whiteboard. And maybe a snack. I haven’t eaten in… five years?” He frowned, still thinking about food. “Or… five hours. I’m not sure anymore.”
“So, this...” Nat folded her arms, trying to remember what Scott called it.
“Quantum Realm?” Scott corrected, popping open a bag of Cheetos.
“Right,” Nat said. “You’ve been stuck there… for five years?”
Scott hesitated. “…Yes. And no.”
Cap narrowed his eyes.
“In the quantum realm, time works differently,” Scott said, waving his free hand. “Completely unpredictable. For you guys? Five years. For me? Five hours.” A pause hung between them, only broken by the low hum of the Tower’s AC unit.
“So what does this mean?” Nat asked.
Scott stepped forward, rubbing his forehead. “It means there might be… a way to go back.”
Cap’s jaw tightened. “Back—before Thanos?”
Scott exhaled, nodding. “When you say it out loud like that, yeah—it sounds crazy.”
Scott stood in front of a scuffed whiteboard that looked like it had been salvaged from some abandoned SHIELD storage closet. His roll-away cart sat in the corner, wires and gadgets spilling out like a raccoon’s loot pile. The red Expo marker squeaked as he drew a series of messy loops, arrows, and stick figures that looked more like a bad board game than a physics equation.
“Okay, so—” Scott tapped the board with the marker, leaving a faint dot of red ink on his knuckle. “The Quantum Realm isn’t just… a teeny tiny space. It’s like… all the timelines and realities folded into one super weird, super small dimension.”
Steve leaned forward, trying to follow the scribbles. “So you’re saying… You could go back in time through the Quantum Realm?”
“It’s like… if space is a road, the Quantum Realm is an alleyway where you can sneak between streets. Time streets. You have to know the right turns. And also… not die.” He clicked the red marker shut with a triumphant snap, like he had just delivered a TED Talk. “So… thoughts?”
Natasha just raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I failed physics in tenth grade. Barely passed chemistry. And I only know one equation: ‘assassin plus bullet equals dead guy.’”
“It’s a brilliant theory, Scott,” Cap said. “But I think we might need more reinforcements. Someone with a bigger brain.”
Scott opened his mouth, then closed it, turning to Steve. “Someone who speaks… fluent quantum? Who do we know who has that kind of brain and wasn’t snapped?”
They exchanged a knowing look — the kind of look that carried both history and exasperation.
Steve sighed. “Well… there is one person.” His tone was dry, but his expression hinted at the slightest smirk. “A certain… playboy genius. ”
The air in the room felt heavier, as if speaking it would make it all too real. Scott’s wild theory sounded impossible… maybe even dangerous. But it was also the first glimmer of something they hadn’t had in years—hope. If there was even the faintest chance that his crazy idea could undo what the Snap had taken from them, they had to try. And trying meant stepping into uncharted territory.
It meant swallowing their pride.
Steve exhaled slowly, his jaw set. “Alright,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he threw his keys in the air and caught them in his hand. “Let’s not waste any time.”
THE STARK CABIN - Upstate New York
Morning sunlight sparkled off the water. The lake was still, like time itself had gone quiet in this corner of the world. Tony was seated on the porch steps with Morgan in his lap, his eyes scanning the tree line, a steaming mug balanced in his hands. The scent of grass and engine oil mixed faintly in the breeze. It was peaceful here. The silence was soon interrupted as the Audi rolled to a gentle stop just outside the lake house. Dust kicked up in the early spring wind, curling past the porch. The crunch of tires on gravel caught his attention. Steve stepped out first, Natasha behind him—and then Scott Lang, looking like he’d just stumbled out of an alternate dimension. Tony’s shoulders stiffened. He stepped off the porch, jaw already tight, with Morgan still in his arms.
“Oh, great. Field trip day at the retirement home already?” Tony asked with his typical sarcastic personality.
The group approached cautiously.
Steve stopped a few feet from the porch. “Tony.”
Tony crossed his arms. “Rogers.”
Nat gave a faint nod. Scott gave a sheepish wave. “Hey, uh… long time.”
Tony didn’t respond.
“We need to talk,” Steve said. “It’s important.”
Tony exhaled through his nose in aggravation.
“We’ve all lost people,” Cap said gently. “We have a way to maybe... bring them back.”
Tony let out a slow breath. “Time travel?”
Scott nodded. “Through the quantum realm. With the right tech, with your help, we can—”
Tony cut him off with a tired laugh.
“—Let me stop you right there,” Tony cut in, standing and brushing off his jeans. “If you’re about to pitch some suicide mission…”
“It’s not a suicide mission… not exactly..” Scott said sheepishly.
“Really? Because here you are, Exhibit A: “Guy Who Accidentally Survived.” Ergo: suicide mission. You weren’t supposed to come back. Congratulations. Medal’s in the mail.”
Steve exhaled, unsure what to say next. Tony looked at him. The silence stretched. He turned, heading through the living room toward the sliding doors that opened onto a small outside firepit and a circle of chairs. The others followed. They all settled into chairs as Tony tore up old newspapers and placed fire logs into the pit.
“Tony—” Steve began. “Just hear Scott out. He has a theory. A theory about—”
Tony glanced over his shoulder at Cap while his marshmallow turned to burnt charcoal. “Not interested—“ then Tony turned back to Cap with the same fire that he had for years prior. “Look, if you have guilt and this unbearable weight on your shoulders, that’s fine. Welcome to the club—there’s a lot of that going around. But don’t come here five years later pretending you’re—“
Then Tony was interrupted.
Peter drifted behind him, quiet, as the porch door swung open with a creak. “Hey, Mr. Stark, do you have any—" Peter stopped.
The view before him made him brake in his tracks. The Avengers. Here. Five years later. Some of them, anyway. He froze mid-sentence when he saw the visitors. For a moment, nobody moved.
Natasha let out a small, disbelieving breath. “Peter?”
Scott followed her look. “Wait. Is that—is that the Spider-Kid?”
Peter gave a half-hearted wave with Morgan still clinging to his side.
Steve blinked. “What’s he doing here?”
Tony’s head snapped back to them. “What do you think?”
He stepped closer, voice sharp. “Where was he gonna go? The streets?”
No one answered. Peter shifted his weight uncomfortably but didn’t look away.
Tony went on, quieter this time but no less fierce. “He lost everything. So yeah. He’s here. He’s been here. With us. Because someone had to show up.” Tony exhaled. “You know all about showing up, right, Cap?”
The air was brittle—a long silence. The group settled into the morning around the fireside. Natasha lingered near Peter, who sat down beside her. She glanced down at the Morgan in his lap, then at Peter himself, and then back at Tony.
“You’ve changed.”
Tony gave a tired sigh and rolled his eyes. “So has everything.”
She nodded once at Peter. “Glad you’re still here, kid.”
Tony, meanwhile, had crossed his arms. “Great. Now we’ve done the emotional reunion thing, can we address why my peaceful Sunday has been invaded?”
Scott stepped forward eagerly. “We think we can pull off time travel.”
Tony let out a slow breath. “Time travel?”
Peter crossed his arms. “Doesn’t that break every law of physics?”
Tony smirked. “Exactly. See, even the Spiderling gets it.”
Scott shook his head.
Scott jumped in. “Through the quantum realm—”
Tony cut him off with a tired laugh.
“Right. The quantum realm. Time heists?” Tony let out a humorless laugh. “Perfect. I’ve got it—we’ll go back, steal some magic rocks, and undo the biggest catastrophe in history. Sound familiar?” Tony said in his smart-ass, sarcastic tone.
They all looked at Tony.
“Oh, that’s right,” Tony said again, wincing sarcastically. “It’s hilarious. Why didn’t someone tell you? Who was it that told you that?” He let the question hang in the air for a beat before snapping his fingers. “Oh, that was me. I did. I also told you.” His voice dropped to a cold, almost venomous whisper. “And I also told you…” He leaned forward, eyes hard. “…that time doesn’t work that way. You don’t just rewind the tape and fix the parts you don’t like.”
“But it could,” Scott said hopefully. “Think Marty McFly—”
Silence. Not a single laugh.
Tony tilted his head, staring at him like he’d just confessed to getting his science degree from a cereal box. “Scott… please tell me you’re not basing this whole plan on Back to the Future.”
Scott glanced down, smirking awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, of course not… because that would be ridiculous.”
“You’re damn right it would,” Tony shot back.
Tony just looked at them. No one knew what to say.
“Tony—” Nat began. “Someone has to fight for what’s right.”
“We did fight, and look how that turned out.” Tony gave a half-glance over his shoulder, voice clipped. “I have a daughter now. And a life that doesn’t involve suits and time machines.”
Scott shifted anxiously. “But if we could fix everything—don’t you want to try?”
Tony just huffed. “And on that note—I think you all have overstayed your welcome. So, thanks for dropping by.”
THE STARK CABIN — Later That Day
The smell of grilled cheese drifted lazily through the kitchen, warm and familiar. In the living room, Morgan was curled up under a throw blanket on the couch, thumb tucked against her cheek, breathing deeply in her afternoon nap. The low hiss of the espresso machine came from the corner, and the sunlight through the glass doors threw long rectangles of gold across the hardwood floor. Peter leaned on the kitchen counter, absently flipping through a battered physics notebook. The pages were smudged with graphite, corners dog-eared from months of cramming formulas into margins. He pretended to be reading, but his eyes kept flicking toward the kitchen island—toward the man hunched over a flickering 3D simulation projected from a tablet.
“You’re thinking about it,” Peter said quietly.
Tony glanced at him, then back at the model. “It’s insane.”
Peter hesitated. “But… not impossible.” His voice softened. “If there’s a chance to bring them back—wouldn’t you want to try? To make every effort?”
Tony didn’t answer right away. He stared at the glowing timeline looping in the air, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s quiet hum filling the silence. They ended up in the workshop, away from the smell of grilled cheese and the rhythmic breathing of Morgan’s nap. Peter stood off to the side of the console, hoodie half-zipped over a mismatched pair of pajama bottoms, hair damp from a quick shower. He bounced lightly on his heels, fingers tugging at his sleeve cuff. Tony—sweats, old MIT shirt—paced in front of the table, gesturing to the hologram as if it were a reluctant jury.
“Alright,” he muttered, adjusting the projection matrix. “If Lang’s time-vortex theory syncs with the Mobius coil on the quantum anchor—” he traced a glowing strand with his finger “—then we route entanglement through FRIDAY’s backend here, we might close the loop without temporal drift.”
F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm voice broke in: “Quantum model initialized. Awaiting parameters.”
Peter leaned in, eyes darting over the numbers. “So… what happens if it works?”
Tony rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Then the world changes. Maybe. Or maybe we crack open the fabric of the universe and all hell breaks loose.”
Peter smirked faintly. “Reassuring.”
Tony arched a brow. “Still sure you want to press the button, kid?”
Peter looked at the simulation’s glow, then back at him. “Only if you do.”
Tony gave a half-smile. He stopped. “I don’t think it’s worth it. If I don’t know if it was successful, then it won’t haunt me or keep me up at night.”
Then Peter slid a framed photo across the counter—Avengers, together, pre-Snap. “Not even a little?”
Tony stared at the photo. Then at the simulation. Then— “F.R.I.D.A.Y., run the model.”
A brief pause. The hum grew louder.
Then— PULSE.
The simulation flared—then compressed. The timeline arced, looped, folded into itself. Numbers scrolled. The model spun once, froze, and displayed in blinking green text:
TEMPORAL PATHWAY STABILIZED. PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 98.7%
They both froze.
“Shit,” they said together.
Peter turned to him, eyes wide. “It worked?”
Tony sat back slowly, almost afraid to move. “...It worked.”
No grin. No triumphant fist pump. Just the result—its weight pressing against his ribs until it was hard to breathe. Peter’s smile faltered.
“Kid, you have to understand something. If we do this,” Tony said quietly, his voice low and edged, “We open all of it up again. The danger. The possibility of..." Tony couldn't even say it. "...I could lose what I’ve got here. I could lose you. I could lose Pep. Morgan.”
Tony met his eyes.
“You won’t,” Peter said instantly.
Tony met his gaze, steady and unblinking. “But I could.”
“But you won’t.”
“But I could!”
Peter’s jaw set. “No! We go back, and we all come home. All of us.”
Tony studied him for a long, loaded moment. Then he exhaled through his nose. “I need you to promise me something, kid.”
Peter straightened.
“If I’m not here—if something happens—I need you to look after them. Pep. Morgan.” The last name cracked, almost breaking in his throat.
Peter swallowed hard. “You’ll be here.”
“Promise me, kid.”
“Mr. Stark, I..." Peter squeaked out, tearing up.
“PROMISE ME!” Tony snapped, the bark loud enough to cut through Peter’s hesitation.
Peter’s throat worked, then he nodded. “I promise.”
“Morgan will need you,” Tony said, softer now, the fire in his voice cooling into something almost fragile. “I’d pull the plug on this whole time travel thing right now if I didn’t believe you’d be here after.”
Tony stepped closer, and when he saw the wet streaks on Peter’s face, he reached out with the edge of his sleeve, brushing the tears away. “Uh-uh,” he muttered. “Don’t do that.”
Then his arms were around him—tight, fierce, unshakable. Peter felt Tony’s hand at the back of his neck, holding him close like maybe he could anchor him there forever or possibly freeze time. Peter clung back, the world outside the moment falling away. When Tony finally pulled back, his eyes were glassy, but his voice was steady.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s go break the universe.”