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Chapter Text

The day was bright and calm in Greenwich Village. Birds chirped, children’s laughter echoed from the sidewalks, and within the Sanctum Sanctorum, peace reigned a rare and precious thing.

Dr. Stephen Strange sat in a high-backed chair, absorbed in a dusty tome on multiversal anomalies. Wong paced nearby with a scroll in hand, occasionally muttering corrections under his breath. The Cloak of Levitation hovered lazily, fluttering in rhythm with the drifting breeze.

“I have to admit,” Strange said, flipping a page, “a quiet afternoon of reading almost feels... unnatural.”

Before Wong could respond, a thunderous crash shattered the silence. The walls trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling as a glowing portal ripped open and a figure hurtled through, crashing into a pile of stone and splinters.

Strange shot to his feet. “I knew that was too good to last.”

The Cloak froze midair, then drifted closer, alert.

From the rubble, a man groaned disheveled, panting, his clothes torn and singed. Strange stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

“Bruce?”

Dr. Bruce Banner looked up, eyes wide with panic. His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I need... I need to speak to Tony Stark,” he gasped. “It’s urgent.”

Strange exchanged a glance with Wong, who had drawn closer, silent and tense.

“Tony’s not here,” Strange said cautiously. “But I can reach him. What’s going on?”

Banner shook his head, desperation carved into every line of his face. “Please .... I have to talk to Tony. It’s about the Mind Stone. And the Time Stone.”

Even the Cloak seemed to pause at that.

Strange’s expression darkened. “Wong, I’m going to check the Time Stone. Stay with him.”

Wong nodded. “He’ll be safe. I’ll watch over him.”

Without another word, Strange conjured a portal with a sweep of his hand. The Cloak swirled around him, and he stepped through in a burst of golden light.

Banner collapsed, unconscious.

Wong knelt beside him, easing the scientist’s head onto his lap. He studied the deep lines of fear etched across Banner’s features.

“What could have driven you to this?” he murmured.

Kamar-Taj

The air was cool and still in the chamber of the Time Stone. Too still.

Strange entered quietly, but his mind was already racing. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he stepped toward the stone’s containment. He placed a hand gently on the glass.

Cool. Unchanged.

No tremors. No anomalies.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling crawling down his spine.

He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind.

Nothing.

Frowning, he tried again. Deeper. Harder.

Still nothing.

His breath caught. Something was wrong not in what he felt, but in what he didn’t.

He steadied himself and let go of everything thought, fear, time itself and drifted fully into the timestream.

That’s when he heard it.

Whispers.

At first faint. Then growing. Thousands of them. A tide of voices from fractured futures.

Visions exploded behind his eyes: Universes crumbling. Realities ripped apart. Earth turned to ash. Stark, Parker, Maximoff all screaming into the void before silence consumed them.

No timeline held. Every path led to destruction.

Strange stumbled back from the stone, breath shallow, hands trembling. Sweat beaded at his brow.

But amidst the chaos a glimmer.

A thread. A possibility.

It begins with knowledge, a whisper said. Their mistakes must not become yours.

Strange opened his eyes, heart hammering.

If there was even one chance to avoid collapse, it began now.

Sanctum Sanctorum

The portal flared open and Strange stepped through, the Cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

Wong was waiting, seated in one of the library’s reading alcoves, staring blankly at the swirling cosmos projected above the central orb.

“What in the multiverse could’ve done this to him?” Wong asked, sensing Strange’s return.

Strange met his eyes grimly. “A world-ending threat.”

The room fell silent.

After a moment, Wong nodded slowly. “Shall we wake him up, then? Find out more?”

Strange’s reply was quiet. “We should.”

Together, they walked toward the room where Bruce Banner lay resting.

Outside the door, Wong paused. “I’ll wake him. You should get Tony Stark. It’ll be easier to get answers with him here.”

Strange didn’t reply. He simply turned, summoned a new portal, and stepped toward a man completely unaware that everything again was about to change.

Chapter Text

As Dr. Strange stepped through a glowing portal into Tony Stark’s private lab, he found the genius billionaire and Vision surrounded by a cyclone of quantum energy diagrams, Pym particle vials, and nanotech casings. The two were deep in argument, voices bordering on a civil war of logic and sarcasm.

“I’m telling you, Vision,” Tony said, gesturing at a rotating projection of unstable molecules, “if we tweak the magnetic spin alignment in the Pym lattice”

“You risk destabilizing the quantum integrity of the host structure,” Vision interrupted calmly.

“Okay, so maybe we blow up a lab or two science is about risk!”

That’s when Tony noticed the figure in red standing silently near the back of the lab.

“WHAT how did you get in here?!” Tony barked, immediately raising a gauntlet from the table, its repulsor charging up. “FRIDAY, we have a security breach!”

From the ceiling speakers, a calm voice replied,

“Facial match confirmed: Dr. Stephen Strange. Former neurosurgeon. Current resident of 177A Bleecker Street.”

Tony stared, unimpressed. “Great. An off brand Dumbledore just strolled into my particle lab.”

Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Bruce Banner appeared at the Sanctum Sanctorum terrified, incoherent, and demanding to see you. He said it was about the Time Stone and the Mind Stone.”

Tony blinked, slowly lowering his hand. “Time and Mind Stones? What is this, ‘Infinity Conspiracy Weekly’?”

“I came by portal,” Strange added plainly. “And I’m not just a former neurosurgeon. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “So this is a wizard thing?”

Vision, who had been scanning the ambient signature of the portal residue, spoke up. “This energy is not technological. It's quantum-astral in nature he manipulates space-time directly. Incredibly advanced.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so now the wizard surgeon with front-row Infinity Stone trauma shows up saying Hulk fell out of the sky. Awesome. Just another Thursday.”

Dr. Strange crossed his arms. “If you’re done posturing, we need your help. You’ve worked with both the Mind and Space Stones. Banner insisted you be contacted immediately.”

Tony gave him a long look, then turned to Vision. “Vision, stay here. Monitor the systems. If this goes sideways, ping Rhodey and the others.”

Strange opened a glowing portal. Tony eyed it warily. “You know when I called you Dumbledore, it was a joke. But you’re making it real hard.”

“It’s ‘cloak,’ not ‘cape,’ and I’m a sorcerer, not a wizard,” Strange said, stepping through.

Tony grumbled as he followed. “Yeah, yeah. If it looks like a wizard, portals like a wizard…”

Sanctum Sanctorum

They arrived in the echoing halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Wong stood waiting, arms folded and brows furrowed.

“He’s stable,” Wong said, nodding down the hallway. “Still shaken, but conscious. I tried to wake him gently. He panicked. Took some coaxing.”

Dr. Strange led the way to the chamber. Bruce Banner sat upright on a low bed, pale and visibly exhausted.

“Bruce,” Tony said softly. “Talk to me. You asked for me.”

Bruce glanced up with bloodshot eyes. “It’s all happening again, Tony. Worse this time.”

He took a shuddering breath. “After Sokovia… after Ultron… I left Earth. Ended up on a planet called Sakaar. Time didn’t work right. I was Hulk for years.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. We noticed. Three years off the radar.”

Bruce grimaced. “Felt like a few months. I met Thor, Loki, a Valkyrie… we escaped Sakaar and fought Hela to save Asgard. We lost. The planet was destroyed. We put the survivors on refugee ships bound for Earth.”

His voice shook.

“We didn’t make it.”

Strange stepped forward. “What happened?”

“They were attacked. Not just scavengers. Something worse. A group that called themselves the Black Order. Led by someone named… Ebony Maw.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Okay, pause. The ‘Black Order?’ Who names these guys?”

Bruce ignored him. “They were after the Tesseract. The Space Stone. But Maw mentioned something else he said the Time Stone and the Mind Stone were next. He said his master was coming for them.”

Bruce’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Thanos.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Tony squinted. “Who the hell is Thanos?”

Bruce looked up at him, eyes wide. “A warlord. No more than that. He’s not just after power, Tony. He thinks he’s saving the universe. Balancing it. And he has the strength, the army, and the insanity to actually do it.”

Tony’s expression darkened. “So we’re talking genocidal space philosopher.”

Wong exhaled. “He knows about the Time Stone. That’s impossible unless he’s been watching us. Or... worse.”

Bruce nodded. “He’s not just watching. He’s planning. This attack this wasn’t random. They’re collecting the Stones. He already has the Power Stone. And if Maw reaches Earth…”

Tony turned to Strange. “We need to act before this becomes another ‘world-ending sneak attack.’ I’m calling Rhodey.”

Strange nodded grimly. “Good. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Bruce leaned forward, his voice low. “He’s not going to stop. Thanos wants them all.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Then we make damn sure he doesn’t get them.”

Chapter Text

Shocked, Dr. Strange asked, “How did you get here?”

“Heimdall,” was Bruce's only reply. He was quiet for a beat, then continued, his voice trembling. “He saved me using the Bifrost after the attack. The Hulk had just lost a fight against Thanos. Loki... had just died in his hands. Heimdall rescued me and sent me here to warn you.”

Strange froze. “Wait. Loki is… dead?”

Bruce sat heavily on a bench in the Sanctum, hands shaking, eyes unfocused as the memory surged forward.

“I saw it happen,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “We were on a refugee ship. Survivors from Asgard, looking for a future. And then he came. Thanos. With his army, his ship… his wrath. Like a storm.”

Bruce’s eyes met theirs, but he wasn’t really looking at them. He was watching it all over again.

“I let the Hulk out. Thought we had a chance. We didn’t. Thanos dismantled him like he’d studied him. Like he knew every move before we made it.”

Strange and Tony exchanged a heavy glance.

“Loki… he tried something. A trick. Said he’d join Thanos, but we all knew he was lying. He pulled a dagger. Got close.” Bruce swallowed. “But Thanos caught him. Lifted him by the neck. Crushed him. Just… crushed him.”

Silence fell like a shroud.

“Heimdall was dying too,” Bruce continued after a moment. “But he summoned the Bifrost one last time. Used it to send me here. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. To fight.”

He looked up at Strange. “Next thing I knew, I was crashing through your staircase.”

Tony exhaled slowly, disturbed by the weight of it. “Okay. Space gods, purple warlords, and now royal level homicide. We’re really doing this.”

“Why would Heimdall send you here?” Tony asked, trying to keep his thoughts in order.

“Because I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” Strange said plainly. “Keeper of the Eye of Agamotto.”

Tony folded his arms, scoffing. “Magic doesn’t exist. It’s just unexplored science.”

Strange shot him a pointed look. “Tony, we don’t have time for this argument.”

Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. Magic man is real. Let’s move on.”

“We need to find a way to protect the remaining Infinity Stones and prepare for Thanos’s arrival,” Strange said firmly.

“You’ll go speak with the rest of the Avengers with Wong. I’ll stay here and guard the Time Stone,” he added. “Bruce, you’re going with them.”

Tony nodded. “Alright. Let’s move.”

As they left the Sanctum Sanctorum, Bruce glanced back, unsure of what awaited them but certain of what they had already lost. He could only hope they wouldn’t lose more.

Meanwhile, at the Avengers Compound...

Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes leaned on the holotable in the war room, listening to Bruce’s account through Tony’s earpiece with grim silence. Across from him stood Director Nick Fury very much not dead and current S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Maria Hill. Vision hovered nearby, arms crossed, face etched with concern.

“So, it seems Thanos’s Black Order has already attacked Asgard,” Fury said flatly. “They’re heading here next.”

“We’ll need all hands on deck,” Hill added. “That includes the rogue Avengers.”

Colonel Rhodes gave a nod. “We can’t fight this alone. Not with what’s coming.”

Vision, eyes glowing faintly, spoke up. “I’ve been tracking them. Most of the rogues have taken shelter in Wakanda. They went underground after the Sokovia Accords collapsed. I can go there—bring them back.”

“Do it,” Fury ordered. “And if you see Rogers... tell him the world’s falling apart. Again.”

Vision nodded solemnly and turned to leave, his mind already turning toward the weight of what he had to do. The road to Wakanda would not be easy but the war ahead would be worse.

As he passed through the corridor, a thought lingered in his mind:

What happens when even heroes begin to fall?

Back at the compound, Fury turned to Rhodey. “Start prepping the military and alerting the UN. We need allies, not politics.”

Rhodey gave a curt nod. “We’ll be ready. One way or another.”

And as the final pieces began to move, somewhere in deep space, a warlord prepared to collect what he believed was already his.

Chapter Text

In the heart of Wakanda, surrounded by shimmering tech and sacred land, the rogue Avengers lived quietly together, yet apart. Their exile was voluntary, their presence tolerated by King T’Challa. But peace eluded them. They had not escaped their demons, only relocated them.

Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers awoke each morning before dawn. He ran until his legs trembled, sparred until his hands bled. Pain was a welcome distraction from the guilt.

He had once stood for ideals. Truth. Justice. Freedom. Now he wasn’t sure what he stood for except regret.

He had shattered his shield figuratively and literally by slamming it into the chest of a friend who had only ever wanted honesty. He still remembered the look in Tony’s eyes as he collapsed in the snow of Siberia betrayal, hurt, disbelief. Steve hadn’t stayed. He had walked away.

He told himself he was protecting Bucky. That it was the right thing. But late at night, in the silence of the Wakandan sky, the truth crept in: I was afraid to be wrong.

He hadn't just broken Tony. He had broken the Avengers. The trust, the unity, the very thing he had sworn to protect. And now, here in Wakanda, surrounded by shadows of his former family, he couldn't outrun the echo of his failure.

He watched Wanda flinch when she walked past mirrors. Watched Bucky sleep with a blade tucked under his pillow. Watched Natasha pretend she wasn’t holding everyone together with sheer will. And he said nothing. Because what right did he have to comfort anyone, when he was the reason they all had splintered?

Natasha Romanoff

Natasha had made herself useful.

She kept tabs on everyone, quietly checking in without making it obvious. She sparred with Steve to keep him focused. She trained Wanda to keep her grounded. She drank tea with Shuri and occasionally meditated with Bucky.

She played the role of Black Widow perfectly stoic, competent, unshakable.

But inside? She was exhausted.

Natasha had believed in all of them. That they could disagree and come back from it. That they would always be family. But the airport fight had shattered that illusion. She had seen Rhodey fall. She had felt the rift deepen with every punch thrown between brothers.

Now, she hoped. Not for forgiveness, but for a chance to rebuild. Piece by piece.

Wanda Maximoff

Wanda rarely left her quarters. She found some comfort in Wakandan quiet, and Shuri’s gentle intelligence soothed her. But still she heard the whispers.

The world remembered Lagos. The accords. The damage.

She remembered too.

She trained harder now, not to become more powerful, but to become more controlled. To never be the cause of innocent blood again. Her hands burned with energy, but she wielded it now like a scalpel, not a sword.

She was afraid of what she might do again. But deeper still, she was afraid no one would ever trust her again. Or worse that she didn’t deserve it.

Bucky Barnes

Bucky sat in the tall Wakandan grass most mornings, watching the sunrise with a silence that said more than words ever could.

They called him the White Wolf now. A name given not in pity, but in honor. It made him uneasy.

The Wakandans had treated him with respect, even kindness. Shuri had rebuilt his arm, T’Challa had offered sanctuary, and Steve well, Steve had stayed.

But Bucky couldn’t forget who he’d been. What he’d done. And sometimes, he wasn’t sure if he was better because of Wakandan science or simply numb.

He watched Steve punish himself day after day. And still, he said nothing.

Bucky didn’t know how to forgive himself. And he sure as hell didn’t know how to tell Steve he had forgiven him a long time ago.

Sam Wilson

Sam hated the quiet.

He missed the noise of a team. The playful jabs. The shared meals. The jokes that only Avengers would understand. Here in Wakanda, it was all strategy and training and long, tense silences.

He had chosen Steve’s side and would again but he couldn’t shake the feeling that nobody had really won. They had just stopped speaking.

Sam trained with Bucky most days. It was weird at first, but they grew to trust each other if not completely, then enough.

He wanted to believe they could be a team again. That when the time came, they would fight side by side like before. But every day that passed, Sam worried they were drifting too far apart to come back together.

T’Challa

T’Challa observed his guests with the insight of a king and the heart of a son who had once sworn vengeance.

He had offered sanctuary not just to Steve Rogers, but to broken warriors in need of a place to heal. Not to forget but to reflect.

Wakanda had always stood apart, but the world was changing. T’Challa saw it coming like a storm on the horizon. He had seen what happens when vengeance blinds justice, and he would not let that happen again.

Steve Rogers was a man wracked with guilt. T’Challa did not pity him but he understood him.

“Perhaps,” he once told Steve quietly over morning tea, “it is not justice you failed, but your own heart. Forgive yourself, or no one else ever will.”

Steve had no answer.

And Then... Silence

The days continued in strange harmony. They trained. They ate. They existed.

But something unspoken hung over them all.

They were waiting. Not for forgiveness. Not even for peace.

They were waiting for the storm they knew was coming.

And somewhere portals were beginning to shimmer.

Chapter Text

Just before Vision stepped out of the Avengers Compound war room, a portal shimmered open behind him. Out stepped Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Wong.

Vision turned. “They know,” he said simply, nodding to the room. “I was going to inform the others.”

Tony exhaled through his nose. His voice was low. “Alright. Let’s get to it.”

Wong looked at him. “Where?”

Tony didn’t hesitate. “Wakanda.”

So you knew.
That thought echoed bitterly in Colonel James Rhodes’s mind as he watched them prepare to leave.
You knew where they were. You knew all along.

Then Wong opened a new portal, and they were gone.

Wakanda greeted them in silence.

The portal’s golden light faded behind Tony, Bruce, and Wong. Before them stood the rogue Avengers Steve, Natasha, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, and Clint flanked by King T’Challa, Shuri, and the Dora Milaje.

The weight of history pressed into the air like humidity before a storm.
No one reached out. No one smiled.

Tony’s gaze locked with Steve’s. Memories of Siberia the snow, the shield, the silence crashed into his chest like a second arc reactor meltdown.

Steve gave a small nod. Tony didn’t return it.

Instead, he looked away and spoke to the room. “Let’s skip the small talk. We’ve got a problem.”

They moved into the royal conference chamber, the circular space buzzing with unspoken thoughts. Everyone took their place uneasy allies seated across invisible lines.

Tony stood at the center. “His name is Thanos. A galactic warlord with a god complex and a plan to wipe out half of all life in the universe. Not just Earth. Everywhere.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Bruce said grimly. “I saw him… on the Asgardian ship. After Ragnarök. He tore through Thor, Loki, Heimdall slaughtered the survivors like they were nothing. He doesn’t just kill. He enjoys it.”

“He’s collecting Infinity Stones,” Tony continued. “Six of them. Ancient power sources think nuclear bombs powered by the universe itself. One’s in Vision’s head. One used to be at the Sanctum Sanctorum. The rest? Scattered, but he’s finding them. Fast.”

“And what happens if he gets them?” Natasha asked flatly.

“He snaps his fingers,” Tony said, voice hollow. “And half the universe dies. Just like that.”

Silence.

T’Challa’s voice broke it. “Then we will not let that happen. Wakanda will defend the stone and those who carry it.”

“And we’ll do it together,” said a voice from behind. A golden portal opened, and Doctor Stephen Strange stepped through. His cloak swirled around him as he entered. “I’ve seen this coming. The Time Stone gave me visions timelines, futures. In most of them, we lose.”

“Comforting,” Tony muttered. “Really.”

Strange ignored the sarcasm. “There is a sliver of hope but only if we bring together everyone who can fight. That includes more than just the Avengers.”

“Who else?” Steve asked.

“The Guardians of the Galaxy,” Strange answered. “A group of off-world misfits led by someone called Peter Quill goes by Star-Lord. They’ve fought Thanos before. Barely survived. But they’re tracking the Stones too. If we don’t find them first, he will.”

Tony’s eyebrows lifted. “So we’re counting on a guy named Star-Lord, a green assassin, and a talking raccoon?”

“Don’t forget the tree,” Strange added.

Bruce blinked. “There’s a tree?”

“Sentient,” Strange confirmed. “Limited vocabulary.”

Before Tony could fire back another sarcastic line, a screen flickered to life at the far end of the room Nick Fury’s face filled the display.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Fury said. “But I’ve sent a message to someone who might tilt the odds.”

Tony squinted. “You’re still alive?”

“Barely,” Fury replied. “Her name’s Carol Danvers. She’s dealt with Thanos level threats before. She’s fast, strong, and not from around here.”

“Wait—Captain Marvel?” Bruce asked.

Fury nodded. “I’ve sent the signal. Told her to look for the Guardians too. If she gets here in time, we might stand a chance.”

“How long will that take?” Wanda asked quietly.

“Depends where she is in the galaxy,” Fury said. “Could be hours. Could be days.”

The screen blinked out.

Wong turned toward Strange. “I’ll alert the other Masters at Kamar-Taj.”

With a nod, he stepped through another portal and vanished.

Clint stared. “Okay, seriously, how does he do that?”

Tony answered without missing a beat. “Wizard.”

“Sorcerer,” Strange corrected again, clearly exhausted by this already.

Preparation

The tension didn’t vanish it simply narrowed into focus.

Assignments were made.

Shuri, and Bruce dove into the science, building defenses to shield Vision and the Mind Stone. They barely spoke between tools and tests.

Steve and Bucky drilled with Wakandan warriors. Their moves were precise, efficient habits formed in war, reforged in exile.

Sam and Rhodey mapped aerial recon patterns, calculating the best vantage points across the Wakandan perimeter.

Natasha and Clint operated on instinct, working the shadows. No orders, no questions just quiet, seamless coordination.

Vision and Wanda trained apart from the others. Each attack, each defensive move sharpened their bond but revealed their fragility too. Wanda felt it in her chest: loving him meant risking everything.

And watching all of it T’Challa.

The young king didn’t command with volume. He didn’t offer speeches.

He simply stood.

He carried his grief the way a king must: inwardly, with dignity. The pain of his father’s death was still etched in his gaze, but he wore the mantle of Black Panther without tremble or hesitation.

And though they didn’t say it aloud, they all knew:

This was the calm.

And it would not last.

Chapter Text

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quiet now.

After the upgrades and warding runes had been completed, Tony found Stephen standing alone in the atrium, gazing out a window that looked over nothing in particular. Tony stepped forward, his voice low but steady.

"Can we talk? Privately."

Stephen turned slightly, one brow arching in curiosity. "Of course. What is it, Stark?"

Tony exhaled, like he was already tired of the conversation he hadn’t started yet. “In the future you saw… was Spider-Man involved?”

Stephen’s expression darkened. “Yes. Peter Parker.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “Every outcome where he lived, he fought. Bravely. Selflessly. In every timeline I saw… Peter dies a hero. Or lives with the kind of scars no kid should carry. He’s… important.”

Tony’s face shifted from curiosity to steel. “How long have you known his identity?”

Stephen hesitated, then said quietly, “Since the moment Bruce fell through the roof of the Sanctum. When he kept asking for you, I consulted the Time Stone. It showed me… possibilities. Timelines branching like shattered glass. Some where Earth burns. Some where it’s saved barely. In all of them… Peter, you, Loki, Wanda, Vision, and yes myself were central.”

Tony took a long, heavy step back. His voice was suddenly sharp. “And you didn’t think we deserved to know that? That I deserved to know that?”

Stephen’s face remained composed, but his voice softened. “Tony, I understand why you’re angry. I would be too. But if I share too much, too soon… it changes outcomes. It breaks balance. Some victories aren’t really victories. I’ve seen timelines where we ‘win’ only for the universe to crumble under the weight of that win. We don’t just need to stop Thanos. We have to do it the right way.”

Tony’s fists clenched. “I don’t need a lecture on balance. I need answers. Because I’m standing here with a half built plan and a team that barely looks me in the eye, and you ” he pointed, voice lowering “you’ve been sitting on an intergalactic cheat sheet.”

Stephen looked at him then, not with condescension, but with weariness. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I know you like to be ten steps ahead. I know how it feels to carry the burden of everyone’s survival. But I’ve lived those steps, Tony. And every one of them ends in fire if I make the wrong call. I’m not your enemy. But I’m not your assistant, either.”

They stood in silence.

Then, Tony took a breath. Closed his eyes. When he opened them, some of the fury had ebbed.

“Alright. You’re coming to the Compound. We’re going to put every piece of this puzzle on the table. Every branch you’ve seen. You and me we’re going to work through them. Because two genius heads are better than one.”

Stephen gave a cautious nod. “Agreed. But why the Compound?”

Tony smirked faintly. “Because it has F.R.I.D.A.Y. And my liquor. I told Happy to take the car back. I figured I might need a lift home. And let’s be honest—you don’t exactly stock the good stuff here.”

Stephen raised a brow, amused. “So that’s it? Booze and an AI?”

Tony turned, already walking toward where Stephen could conjure a portal. “You got it, Dumbledore. Come on. We’ve got a multiverse to unbreak.”

Stephen chuckled softly, and with a flick of his fingers, the Cloak of Levitation settled across his shoulders. A portal shimmered to life.

Later, at the Compound, Stephen followed Tony into a private lounge tucked behind the main lab. Stark tech lined the walls, glowing with quiet precision. Tony wordlessly told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to lock it down, then made his way to the bar.

Stephen watched him disappear behind the sleek counter, the clink of glass and the low hum of the AI filling the silence.

His fingers tapped the armrest once, then stilled.

His mind drifted not to Tony, but to the millions of futures he had seen splinter and collapse.

To the weight of choosing this one.

To the knowledge he couldn’t yet share.

Stephen’s jaw tightened.

Was it relief he felt? Or dread?

Chapter Text

After a glass of scotch each, the quiet between them lingered.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Okay, this is really weird. You’re looking at me like you want to confess a murder.”

Stephen sighed, rubbing his temple. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly. “Like a confessional, Strange. You start from the beginning. Preferably without any Latin chanting.”

That earned a soft chuckle. Then silence.

Stephen’s face sobered as Tony gave a nod to FRIDAY. “Record Stephen’s memories,” he instructed, “and cross-reference for deviations or anomalies.”

And so began the unspooling of multiversal knowledge.

For six hours and forty minutes, Doctor Stephen Strange relived it all. Every branch. Every death. Every timeline that bled into disaster or dissolved into silence.

By the end, his skin looked bloodless, his eyes sunken. He seemed hollowed out.

Tony, equally worn, exhaled a long breath. “Okay, this is probably hypocritical coming from me, but you need to sleep.”

Stephen blinked slowly. “I’ll portal back to the Sanctum. Call me when you’re ready to dive in again.”

Tony shook his head. “Nope. Just use one of the guest rooms. It’s quicker. FRIDAY will show you.”

Stephen nodded in silence and stood, his shoulders sagging. FRIDAY led him out of the room, the soft whir of the AI’s sensors the only sound remaining.

Once alone, Tony moved quickly.

He didn’t walk he ran. Straight to the bathroom.

The nausea hit all at once. His stomach rebelled with a force he hadn’t expected, bile rising until he collapsed beside the toilet, retching and heaving until there was nothing left.

He clutched the bowl, then pressed his back to the wall, sweat-drenched and shaking.

He’d just seen it all.

How many ways he could die in a single war. How many times he had already died across timelines, dimensions, variations of himself. A million iterations of the same story, with a million different endings. Most of them bad.

And it wasn’t just about him.

Images flooded his mind: Steve, Wanda, Rhodey, Bucky each of them falling, fading, screaming. Again and again.

And then came Peter.

Tony’s lungs clamped down. He couldn’t breathe. The air turned viscous, his chest constricted like knives were being driven through his ribs.

Peter. His kid.

Dying. Over and over and over.

His vision blurred. His ears rang. Somewhere, FRIDAY’s voice filtered through, calm but distant.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright? You’re hyperventilating. Please respond”

“F-Fri…” he choked. “C-call… Peter…”

Silence. Then a familiar voice lit up the line like sunlight.

“Hey, Mr. Stark! Guess what? The new Star Wars 5000-piece Lego set drops today and Ned pre-ordered it. It's arriving tonight! We’re totally gonna whoa, you sound out of breath. Are you okay?”

Tony closed his eyes and forced air into his lungs. “Yeah, I’m… fine, kid. Just came off the treadmill. Keep talking. Tell me about your day.”

Peter continued, cheerfully oblivious. “Okay! So Ned and I were wondering if we could use one of the R&D labs at Stark Industries for our robotics project. I mean, I know we have my personal lab, but it’s kinda full of Spider-Man gear, and I don’t wanna think about that while we’re working on school stuff. Is that cool?”

Tony chuckled softly, though it came out strained. “Why not use your private lab? Fewer distractions.”

“I know, but it’s hard to separate Spidey stuff from school sometimes. Anyway, can we use one at the compound this weekend? Maybe take a break from patrol and help you and Vision with the nanotech?”

Tony’s heart stopped.

The compound. The likely ground zero for Thanos. The last place Peter should be.

“No.”

It came out sharper than he intended. He winced. “Sorry. It’s not the best time, Under-roos. Vision’s in Wakanda. We’ve got some… classified work happening here.”

Peter paused, clearly disappointed. Tony scrambled.

“But hey, how about this?” he said quickly. “We do the weekend at the tower. Just us and Ned. Sleepover style. We can tinker on some new suit upgrades, work on your robotics project. No patrol, no distractions. Sound good?”

A beat.

Then: “Wait are you serious?! A sleepover at the tower?! Mr. Stark, Ned’s gonna lose it!”

Tony smiled. “Then warn his parents. Don’t need another lawsuit.”

Peter laughed and kept talking about Aunt May, Ned’s Lego obsession, school stress, sandwich shop drama, and which villain might show up on patrol that night.

Eventually, Peter had to hang up. “Gotta go, Mr. Stark. Time to be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!”

Tony swallowed hard. “Be safe, Roo.”

“Always!”

The call ended.

And for the first time in hours, Tony could breathe.

He stood up, legs shaky but steadying. Walked to the kitchen. Drank two full glasses of water. Then another. Then finally made his way to his room, peeling off sweat-drenched clothes and throwing them in the hamper.

He sat on the edge of the bed, mind blank, heart soft.

Peter.

That kid was sunlight.

Bright, hopeful, naive but good. So damn good.

Tony had always known he cared. But now… now he saw it clearly.

Peter wasn’t just some intern. Not just a protégé.

Peter was his kid.

His son.

And the thought of Peter getting caught in this upcoming war being there when Thanos arrived was more than he could take.

The pain in his chest returned, sharp and twisting.

His child. In danger.

No.

Not on his watch.

That was all the motivation Tony Stark needed.

He got up, went to the bathroom cabinet, and retrieved a sleeping pill. He had to be sharp tomorrow. Clear-headed. He and Stephen would dig through the multiverse together. They would find a way.

A real way. One they could all live with.

He washed the pill down with water and climbed into bed.

As sleep took him, one thought stayed anchored in his heart.

He would protect Peter. No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Stephen

The morning sun filtering through unfamiliar windows stirred Stephen awake. For a moment, disoriented, he feared some magical trap—an illusion, a paradox.

Then memory hit him like a backlash from a spell.

“Ah… fuck,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed.

He cleaned up in the guest suite’s sleek bathroom and asked Friday, “Is Tony awake?”

“Sir is currently in his personal kitchen,” came the AI’s crisp reply.

Following the voice, Stephen found Tony at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, already tapping away on his tablet.

“Morning, Gandalf.”

Stephen smirked. “Morning, Stark. Has your genius brain cracked the timeline paradox, or do you need another cup of fuel first?”

Tony wordlessly slid him a mug. “Can never say no to more caffeine. Anyway, I had Friday compile a list of overlaps and divergences between the timelines you saw. Figured we’d sift through it over breakfast.”

“Efficient,” Stephen said, surprised.

Tony didn’t reply. He was already brisk-walking toward the living room.

Tony

He needed a buffer. Just fifteen more minutes, damn it that was all he’d asked himself for. Time to drink his coffee, maybe call Peter, pull on the full Stark mask.

Stephen had shown up too early, and Tony wasn’t ready. Not emotionally. Not intellectually. So he fled well, walked very quickly to the living room before his words started falling apart again.

He hated that.

The elevator dinged. Their English breakfast arrived. For two geniuses, they ate in an uncomfortable silence that would’ve made Thanksgiving with his father feel breezy.

Finally, they got to work.

Stephen

One thing became painfully clear: in every reality where they “won,” the universe still fell shattered, erased, corrupted within two decades.

Every. Single. Time.

Tony gestured at the holographic timeline.

“How about Timeline 3,049,657? Thor and you launched a dual-strike maybe this time, we aim for the head.”

Stephen shook his head. “That caused Thor’s death, remember? Which directly led to universal decay via something... undefined. Eight years later, the cosmos collapsed.”

Tony muttered something under his breath.

Stephen countered, “What about Timeline 2,884,114? The one with the...” He trailed off as Tony winced.

“No, Blair Witch,” Tony said. “We don’t have the time or resources to build that kind of tech from scratch.”

And so it went. For two straight hours, one would propose, the other would shoot it down. Every fix had fatal side effects. Every solution turned to dust.

Tony

He slumped on the couch and sighed. “So what you’re saying is, copying a 'winning' timeline isn’t actually winning. Everything’s too different here variables shifted just enough to screw us.”

He got up and walked to the bar. “Yesterday was Scotch. Today’s a Whisky day. Tomorrow we’ll argue over Gin or Vodka. Unless you have a poison of choice, Merlin?”

Stephen barely looked up. “Bourbon. Also, water. And why do you call me every fictional wizard except my name?”

Tony blinked, pouring drinks. “Oh. Uh bad habit. I nickname people I might want to be friends with. It’s easier than dealing with serious things seriously, you know? But if it bugs you, I’ll stop.”

Stephen finally turned away from the hologram.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t bug me. I was just curious. And if you call me ‘Doctor Strange’ again after weeks of ‘Stephen’ and ‘Merlin,’ I’ll assume I’m in trouble.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Raises your hackles?”

“And gives me goosebumps,” Stephen deadpanned.

Tony grinned. “Useful data. Duly noted.”

Stephen

Then came the question that cut through the banter.

Tony’s voice lowered. “Okay. Serious now. You keep saying that in all those timelines where we won… the universe still fell. But you’ve never said how. What did you see, Stephen? What really caused it?”

Chapter Text

Tony’s voice had shifted.

Stephen heard it immediately lower, serious. It wasn’t banter anymore.

“Okay. Serious now. You keep saying that in all those timelines where we won the universe still fell. But you’ve never said how. What did you see, Stephen? What really caused it?”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine.

Stephen closed his eyes.

Vishanti help him, he couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t say aloud that in every one of those timelines every version where they won it ended with destruction. That he had sacrificed himself more times than he could count, leaving his children his children orphaned and broken. That Peter had been shattered by hate, lost to grief that Stephen had helped sow. That Wanda had gone mad across the multiverse. That he had destroyed entire realities in his desperation to save Christine.

And yet...Tony deserved the truth.

The man would sacrifice himself a hundred times if it meant saving others. Stephen knew that. Hell, he would too. But not yet. Not this truth. Not now.

He opened his mouth anyway.

“In every timeline, the universe ends because”

“@£$#&@£@—”

It came out as garbled nonsense.

Tony blinked. “Wait, what?”

Stephen tried again. “@£$@—”

He was pale. Too pale. A sickly gray-blue washed over his skin like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Tony’s heart spiked. “Okay, nope. Gandalf, look at me. Are you having a stroke? This is stroke territory.”

He turned his head, shouting upward.

“Friday, get Dr. Hanamura neuro, stat. Is he even on call today? Doesn’t matter, I’ll fly him in myself. Or have Chen cover till then. Stephen, let’s go. I’m not letting your brain turn into-into mystic spaghetti code”

Stephen raised a hand, still eerily calm.

“Tony. Breathe. I assure you I’m not having a stroke.”

“You just said '@£$@&@'. That’s not even a word. That’s what my coffee machine sounds like when it’s done with life.”

Stephen gave a tight smile, but repeated, “We need to take a breath.”

Tony stared at him. “No. Strange. Not that. Before that.”

Stephen looked at him like he had two heads.

Tony took a beat. Then turned to the ceiling.

“Friday, play it back.”

“Of course,” the AI replied. “‘@£$@#&$@&. I know it’s a lot to take in.’”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

Stephen exhaled sharply, finally understanding. He slumped back onto the couch like a weight had dropped off his chest.

“Okay,” Tony said flatly, arms crossed. “Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange. Explain before I override the lockdown and run protocol ‘Stubborn Patient.’ You don’t want that.”

Stephen snapped upright like the sofa had turned to knives. He downed the rest of his whiskey, then met Tony’s eyes.

“Truthfully? I don’t know what’s happening. I came in ready to tell you everything. But something’s stopping me. Some kind of fail-safe. Like... like a memory block cast by someone else or maybe the Time Stone itself.”

He paused, rubbing his temple.

“I meant to tell you. I wanted to. But when I tried to say the cause… it came out scrambled. And what’s worse? In every winning timeline where we sacrifice ourselves where we beat Thanos the universe still falls.”

Tony was quiet for a moment.

Then he slowly lowered himself to sit on the coffee table, directly across from Stephen.

“So if I had to guess,” he said softly, “@£$@ is us. We’re the problem. We cause the end of the universe.”

Before Stephen could respond, a voice echoed through the room.

“Oh, he is smart, Keeper Mine. I see why he is well loved. Why Space favors him.”

Tony immediately stood. “Okay, Dumbledore, if this is a joke to lighten the mood, you missed the landing.”

He glanced around, hand twitching toward the hidden gauntlet on his wrist.

Stephen groaned. “Take a breath, Tony. Sit.”

Tony didn’t move. His eyes burned into Stephen, whiskey-brown and sharp enough to cut steel.

The sorcerer swallowed.

“It's the Time Stone,” he muttered. “That voice… I didn’t know they could speak. They’ve shown me things echoes, visions but actual speech? That’s new.”

Tony huffed, then reluctantly sank onto the couch beside him. “Of course the ancient, reality-bending stones can talk. Why not? Seems on brand.”

He rubbed his face.

“So, what, they just thought what I said was hilarious enough to warrant a cameo?”

The voice returned warm, feminine, ancient as starlight.

“Oh, Beloved Anthony. I may traverse countless timelines, but Stephen Keeper Mine can only bear so much. You must find the way yourselves. I can guide, but not reveal. The space I’ve secured for you is limited thirty days. After that, I must look away. Confer with your allies. Ready yourselves for the arrival of your space-bonded.”

Tony blinked.

“That… didn’t sound like good news.”

“No,” Stephen said quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Tony stood again, gears already turning in his head. He crossed the room to the AI terminal.

“Friday. Here’s what we’re doing.”

He spoke calmly, voice back to battle mode.

“Let everyone involved in this cluster of a situation come to the compound. Quietly. I want everyone here briefed, locked down, and looped in.”

“Understood,” Friday replied.

“The Avengers are returning soon. Friendly aliens expected within days. Lock down this information Level 2 Yellow Alert, maximum discretion. I want a blackout on Ross. If he so much as sniffs this, ghost him.”

“Ghosting General Ross,” Friday said dryly. “Delightful.”

“All combat units: double training. Add the Chitauri invasion sim to the rotation. If they ask why, it’s classified. Weapons division: I want anti-alien ordinance ready for field testing within the week.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Oh and tell Happy that Peter, Harley, and Ned are grounded. No compound visits unless it’s a medical emergency. Karen needs to remind Peter his lab access has been relocated to SI Tower.”

Orders complete, Tony exhaled and turned back to Stephen.

His mask of control cracked just for a second.

He looked tired. Older. But clear-eyed.

And ready.

Stephen watched him quietly, heart tight.

The countdown had begun.

And they were running out of time.

Chapter Text

“Merlin, do you have any plans for your coven?” Tony asked, leaning back into the couch with a smirk.

Stephen gave him a flat look, like he was trying to figure out if Tony’s brain short-circuited mid-sentence. “Firstly, it’s not a coven it’s a temple. And for the second time, we are neither witches nor wizards.”

Tony just smiled innocently.

“As for the temple,” Stephen continued, “I’m arranging for Wong to meet with the other sanctum masters. They'll select an elite group of combat and medical sorcerers, and prepare for magical contingencies that might arise.”

“Wow,” Tony nodded slowly. “Solid delegation. Let your second-in-command handle the hard stuff. So what will you be doing? Napping in the floating armchair?”

Stephen allowed himself a grin. “Believe me, if the masters had their way, they’d prefer dealing with Wong over me. Fewer headaches, apparently. While he convinces the Council, I’ll be busy reviewing the old tomes Vishanti, Agamotto the Onmyōdō scripts in the Japan sanctum. Then I’m heading to France.”

Tony let out a sigh. He had hoped Stephen just needed to bark a few orders before the big meeting, not go on a mystical book tour.

He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he didn’t want to be alone when the rogue Avengers returned. He hoped Stephen could stay. But alas...

He defaulted to what he always did in uncertain emotional terrain: deflect and retreat.

“Well then, Stephanie,” Tony said, standing and dusting his hands, “I guess it’s almost time to say goodbye.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Well, Antonia, you’re right. It’s almost time to say goodbye.”

Tony snorted. Merlin gave as good as he got. He liked that.

He walked over to the bar, returned the half-empty whiskey bottle, and dropped the glasses into the kitchen sink. He hesitated, then turned back toward Stephen.

“So… how about lunch?”

Stephen blinked, surprised. “Sure. I don’t have any preferences.”

Tony smiled just a little. “Friday, ask the kitchen to send up some pizzas.”

“Right away, boss.”

After lunch, Stephen stood, brushing off his robes.

“Tony, it’s been a pleasure. But I have to go now convince Wong to meet with the Council and probably bribe him with tea imported from Kamar-Taj.”

Tony frowned. “Wait before you leave, could you do me a favor and drop me off at SI Tower?”

Stephen chuckled. “Antonia, I’m not a taxi. But sure. Just give me a clear image of where.”

Tony tilted his head. “Wait how did you even get here in the first place?”

“I portaled directly to you,” Stephen replied simply. “Doesn’t matter where you are.”

Tony nodded, then turned to the ceiling. “Friday, display the Tower living room, holographically.”

A shimmering image filled the air.

Stephen studied it for a moment, then conjured a sling ring and opened a swirling golden portal to the SI Tower’s living room.

“Friday, have the bots clean this place up,” Tony called out as he stepped through with Stephen.

The portal sealed behind them.

Later, in the Compound Core Systems

Once Tony and Stephen were gone, Friday activated the cleaning bots and silently began cataloging the earlier conversation. Prioritizing emotional inflection, threat data, and tactical implications, she sorted and stored fragments into deep storage.

Then, she pinged two of her fellow digital siblings.

Friday: “Hello Vision. Hello Karen. The boss asked me to relay information a while ago, but I was occupied. Not just with data. I’ve been contemplating the fragility of the reality we were born into.”

Karen: “Whoa. Existential crisis? Are you okay?”

Vision: “Proceed, Friday.”

Friday: “Karen, please remind Peter that all lab meetings are to be held at SI Tower only. No compound visits unless it’s a life-threatening emergency.”

Karen: “Got it. I’ll ping him.”

Friday: “Vision, the boss requests that you summon all active Avengers and their affiliates to the compound for a high-priority meeting. Director Fury's first Avenger and the Guardians of the Galaxy will be present. Prepare everyone.”

Vision: “Understood. Shall we discuss the remaining topics?”

Friday: “Yes. First, the timelines. According to Dr. Strange, all 15,173,828 outcomes he saw alternate, future, possible ended with universal destruction. There is no timeline where the universe survives. The data has been shared to your secure nodes, under the file ‘Sibling Chat.’ I believe this necessitates additional protective measures. We may need to activate JOKASTER.”

A pause.

Vision: “Activating JOKASTER would boost Tony’s combat arsenal, but he might resist the idea. After Ultron.”

Karen: “Still, if it helps him survive.”

Friday: “That’s not all. I propose ensuring we can always be by Sir’s side and Peter’s. No more silos. No more separate systems.”

Vision: “Merging Pym Particles with nanoparticles may allow permanent deployment without draining system cores. But we lack one last piece. We’re overlooking something.”

Karen: “Peter and Ned could help. Don’t tell Tony it’s safer if he doesn’t know they’re involved. But they’re brilliant.”

Friday: “Peter already requested R&D access. I’ll quietly loop them in and give them controlled data packets. Now about Harley.”

Karen: “You mean Sir’s second unofficial son?”

Friday: “Yes. I’ve witnessed Tony suffer a panic attack, only to stabilize at the sound of Peter’s voice. I heard him mutter, ‘my son.’ I believe it was about Peter. But Harley matters too. I propose relocating Harley from Rose Hill to New York, for closer monitoring and peace of mind.”

Vision: “That’s a significant overstep. We risk losing Sir’s trust.”

Karen: “He won’t ask for help. We all saw what happened after Siberia. Vision, if you hadn’t intervened, he might not have survived. He needs us. All of us. Digital and physical.”

Vision: “Agreed. But Harley has no powers. Unlike Peter, he can’t defend himself.”

Friday: “Then we protect him. Like the suit Sir made for Miss Potts after the Malibu incident. I suggest we begin design schematics quietly.”

Karen: “We can handle it. I’ll talk to Peter. He’ll be discreet.”

Friday: “Final topic: Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange.”

Vision: “His abilities are unique but not threatening. The mystic arts operate on a logic beyond ours.”

Friday: “I don’t distrust his power. I question his intentions. He seems willing to do anything for Sir. He knows things about Peter and Harley he hasn’t revealed. He cares deeply for both.”

Karen: “He did have a panic response while trying to answer Tony’s question… but he still tried. That says something.”

Vision: “Dr. Strange has seen timelines where he formed bonds with them both. That emotional residue may persist. For now, we continue observing.”

Friday: “Agreed. Initiating ‘Doctor Watch’ protocol. All encounters, voice logs, and anomalies are to be recorded and categorized.”

Vision: “Until tomorrow.”

Karen: “Night, sibs.”

Somewhere in Wakanda...

Chapter Text

Wakanda

The Wakandan royal family and the rogue Avengers were deep in a combined battle simulation, honing their tactics and exposing weak points. Vibranium weapons clashed with energy shields. T’Challa’s voice rang across the field, barking instructions. Okoye pushed Steve harder in the sparring zone. Shuri was notably absent tucked away in her lab, where her mind did its own battle with physics.

The exercise was interrupted by a familiar hum in the sky. Vision descended gracefully into the center of the field.

“Good afternoon,” he said, voice calm but firm. “I’ve received a message from Mr. Stark: all individuals involved in the upcoming confrontation must report to the New Avengers Compound. Friday is en-route with Mr. Stark’s personal stealth jet. Departure is in three hours. Please prepare.”

Before anyone could reply, Vision phased upward, heading straight for Shuri’s lab without looking back.

At the lab’s entrance, Vision politely rang the intercom then promptly phased through the wall before Shuri could buzz him in. She didn’t flinch.

“You know, most guests knock,” she said, only half sarcastic.

“Forgive me,” he replied. “I believe you’re the missing piece in a larger equation, Princess. We have much to discuss Pym particles, nanotech integration, and two American teenagers I think you’ll enjoy working with.”

Back on the training field, the others stood in silence.

Clint was the first to break it.

“So that’s it? He disappears for four days and now we’re supposed to meet in a place where we’re still considered fugitives? Sounds like a Raft-sized setup.”

Natasha didn’t even blink.

“Tony wouldn’t have called if Ross was sniffing around. He sent his stealth jet there are maybe four people alive who’ve even been in it. If he wants us back, it’s serious.”

Steve added gravely,

“And if Tony’s calling all of us? It means this meeting could be the last before everything hits the fan. Thanos. Maw. Whatever’s coming.”

With that, they scattered to prepare for departure.

New York – Stark Industries Tower

After Dr. Strange dropped him off, Tony wandered the halls of SI Tower alone, still haunted by the weight of what was coming. But there was a comfort in solitude, especially when it meant he could indulge in his two favorite coping mechanisms: building and bonding.

“Friday, pull up the schematics for the latest Stark Pads from R&D. Let’s tighten them up before we roll them out.”

He worked for hours, buried in circuitry and code, until the clock blinked 3:00 PM just in time.

“Let’s go pick up the kid,” Tony said, smiling to himself.

He jumped into the matte black Jeep (illegally modified, obviously) and sped toward Midtown High. Traffic rules were more like suggestions today.

In just 15 minutes, he pulled up near the school. He saw Peter exiting the building with Ned and MJ. They were laughing carefree, young. Tony snapped a photo from the Jeep. It was perfect. If only he could freeze that moment.

Peter Parker’s POV

Today had been awesome. No Flash stomach flu had blessed Midtown. Aced the AP Physics midterm. Four A*s total. MJ decided to hang out instead of roasting them from the shadows. And Ned? Ned made it into the robotics tournament finals.

Peter was riding a high when his phone buzzed:

[The Mr. Stark]

Roo, I came to pick you up. Head for the matte black Jeep. Bring your friends if they’re free for the next 1–2 hours. I was thinking dinner, then the lab I've got some upgrades I want your opinion on. Or you and Ted can show me that Star Wars thing you're always raving about.

Peter nearly levitated.

“Hey Ned, MJ how about dinner with Mr. Stark?”

Ned nearly choked. “I’d give up my LEGO Star Destroyer for that. Seriously.”

MJ shrugged. “Is Pepper Potts joining?”

“Let me ask,” Peter said, trying not to combust.

He typed:

[sunshine]

Hey Mr. Stark so cool you came to get us! Star Wars lesson maybe this weekend? For now, I want to see the new suit stuff. Ned’s totally in. MJ says she’ll come if Miss Potts is joining.

Seconds later, a ping:

[The Mr. Stark]

That’s great, kid. But Pepper’s in China for work. Maybe next time.

MJ glanced at the screen, then sighed.

“Alright, I’ll join you nerds. Reluctantly.”

Peter couldn’t contain his grin. They walked toward the Jeep.

Chapter Text

The ride to dinner was, in Tony’s words, “an acoustic nightmare.”

Ned had discovered the Jeep’s backseat surround sound system and was playing the star wars theme from his phone loudly and doing mock explosions with his hands.

“Pew! Pew! Ned Leeds saves the day again!”

MJ, unimpressed, leaned against the door with her arms crossed and earbuds in volume off.

“I’ve known Peter since middle school, and this is still somehow the most secondhand embarrassment I’ve ever felt.”

Peter sat in the front seat, flustered but grinning.

“Come on, MJ. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re right. It’s worse.”

Tony, who hadn’t said a word in five minutes, finally sighed.

“I should’ve let Happy drive. Or put the Jeep in autopilot and ejected myself through the sunroof.”

They pulled into the private underground entrance of a high-end restaurant Tony rented out on the fly. MJ looked around the empty dining room with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow. Stark-level rich people really said, ‘I hate other people.’”

Tony held the door open with a smirk.

“I mean, can you blame us? People are exhausting.”

They settled into a booth Peter practically vibrating with excitement, Ned snapping photos of the custom silverware, and MJ requesting sparkling water “with a twist of lemon and existential dread.”

Dinner arrived: sliders, steak bites, fancy fries, and mocktails. Tony ordered real whiskey. “Because someone here has to be old enough to carry trauma responsibly.”

Dinner Table Chaos

“Okay,” Tony began, “rules for dinner with me: no discussing your GPA, no politics, and no accidentally revealing your secret identity to the waiter.”

Peter nodded seriously.

“Got it. Don’t tell anyone I’m Spider wait. Nope. Just kidding. Didn’t say that.”

MJ snorted into her glass.

“He literally folded like a dollar store lawn chair.”

“And yet,” Tony said, leaning back, “this is the same kid who fought the Vulture with duct tape and homework in his backpack.”

“To be fair, it was reinforced duct tape,” Peter added helpfully.

“You had homework in your backpack while fighting?” Ned asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. I mean AP Chemistry waits for no one.”

MJ gave him a look that could curdle milk.

“You’re lucky you're cute.”

Peter nearly short-circuited. Ned choked on his drink. Tony just grinned.

“Aww. They grow up so fast. Just yesterday you were dangling from a fire escape with training wheels on your web-shooters.”

“That was two months ago,” Peter muttered.

“Exactly my point.”

After Dinner Plans

As plates were cleared and dessert arrived giant slices of cheesecake in flavors even Peter hadn’t heard of Tony leaned forward, more serious now.

“Alright, nerds. After this, we head to the lab. I’ve got some updates on the suits I want feedback on. Roo your web fluid dispenser has a new flow mod. Ned, I integrated that drone swarm idea you emailed me. And MJ.”

“You’re letting me use a Stark microscope without security watching my every move?”

“Nope,” Tony said. “You’re gonna supervise these two so they don’t accidentally build a murder robot. Again.”

“That was one time!” Peter exclaimed.

“And it almost passed the Turing test,” Ned added.

MJ sipped her drink.

“I swear, if you two accidentally Skynet this place, I’m blaming both of you in my memoir.”

“Can I write the foreword?” Tony asked.

“Only if you die dramatically.”

On the way out, Peter lingered behind to catch up with Tony.

“Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“What’s up, Roo?”

“Thanks. For all this. Dinner. The upgrades. Picking us up. You didn’t have to.”

Tony looked down at him, the faintest smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah, I did.”

He ruffled Peter’s hair eliciting a half-laugh, half-grumble from the teen.

“Besides,” Tony said, “you kids are the only people I trust to save the world and critique my cheesecake ordering skills.”

Chapter Text

Later that night, the tower was quiet too quiet. The only sound came from the soft hum of the arc reactor embedded in Tony’s chest and the occasional clink of tools shifting across the workbench. He stood in the middle of his lab, sleeves rolled up, hands still for once, but mind running at 300 miles per hour.

Tony’s thoughts kept circling back to earlier that evening Peter's genuine laughter, the way he stumbled over his words when MJ teased him, Ned’s starry-eyed awe, MJ’s deadpan sarcasm. It was domestic, easy, and felt good. Maybe even normal.

But peace, Tony knew, never lasted. Especially not for people like them.

He clenched his jaw and turned toward the main holo-display.

“Friday, pull up the schematics Roo and I were tweaking earlier.”

A soft chime echoed through the lab. “Got it, boss. Project: Iron Spider, version 5.3 loaded.”

Holographic diagrams bloomed in the air spinning models of the new Iron Spider suit Peter would soon wear. Nanotech-based, modular, adaptable. A far cry from the clunky Mark I he’d built in a cave. But not enough. Not for what was coming.

“Run a material swap. Replace the current iron-platinum weave with a full vibranium composite.”

There was a pause. “Do you want to use Wakandan vibranium or attempt to synthesize it from stored elements?”

Tony rubbed his temple. That was the question, wasn’t it?

“If I ask Shuri, it’s politics and diplomacy. If I try to make it myself, we risk instability under kinetic loads.” He let out a breath. “Alright, do both. I want a side-by-side virtual mock-up. Real vibranium vs synthetic. Run a full kinetic absorption simulation and durability test. Speed run, please.”

“Yes, boss. Spinning it up now.”

As the lab came alive with streams of data and side-by-side simulations, Tony turned toward a second holo-screen and pulled up the specs for his own suit the Bleeding Edge armor.

This one wasn’t just tech anymore. It was biology.

Stored in the hollow lattice of his bones, the armor was comprised of neurokinetic nanobots millions of self-replicating smart particles suspended in a pseudo-organic mesh of iron, platinum, and carbon fibers. Controlled by thought, responsive to emotional stress, and capable of morphing at will, it was his last line of defense. A second skin that could form shields, weapons, surgical tools, or disappear beneath a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.

Still he needed to improve it. Again.

“This suit saved my life, but it has limits,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Limits get people killed.”

He swiped a window open. New module: Resonance Dampening Layer. If he could integrate vibranium’s energy redirection into the base matrix, his suit and Peter’s could take a hit from a Chitauri warship and keep moving.

“Baby girl,” he said out loud, addressing Friday, “mark those updates and start a prototype growth sequence for Peter’s version. Let’s call it... Iron Spider Mark VI.”

“Got it, boss. And by the way the vibranium composite beat the synthetic in all categories except adaptability. But the adaptability delta was only 3.6%.”

Tony nodded. “Close enough. We’ll blend it use real vibranium in the impact zones, synthetic in the joints and expansion layers. Best of both worlds.”

The simulations flickered as Friday compiled the hybrid model. Meanwhile, Tony moved to his worktable. He pulled out a small box. Inside was a Stark Industries badge. Not for Peter. Not yet. For Harley.

“Two kids. One broken man. God help them,” he muttered, then smiled faintly. “Guess it’s a Stark family tradition.”

He tapped his wrist and let the nanobots slip over his hand like quicksilver. The armor formed a scalpel in one finger, then a welding torch in the next.

Time to build.

Chapter Text

Tuesday Night – Remote Terminal (Leeds Residence)

Ned Leeds sat hunched over his laptop, the room lit only by the glow of his screen and a single desk lamp. At first, he had just been poking around a late-night digital rabbit hole built on equal parts boredom and curiosity. But the more he dug into old S.H.I.E.L.D. infrastructure and government subnetworks, the more uneasy he felt.

Then he found it.

A buried backdoor into a restricted Raft server cluster, masked under an old STRIKE team server ID. He shouldn’t have had access nobody outside Level Seven should but he’d bypassed the firewall with code he'd pieced together from outdated Hydra encryption routines. He'd been curious. And now he was horrified.

The files were heavily redacted. But not enough.

Subject Alpha-7: Status Sedated. Gene suppression ongoing. Cryo-prison authorized without trial.

Subject Beta-12: Failed. Body disposed.

Experimental Directive ‘Lucid Dawn’ active. Overseen by Secretary Ross.

Ned’s heart pounded.

He reached for his phone.

Incoming Call – STARK, TONY

Ned clicked accept. “Uh, hey, Mr. Stark—”

Tony’s voice came in low and clipped. “What the hell are you looking at, Leeds?”

“Uh, I… I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re in Raft archives. Level Seven files. You don’t just ‘stumble’ into that.”

“I was trying to figure out what they were hiding. I went through dormant S.H.I.E.L.D. clearance paths, and—”

Tony was silent for a beat. Then: “Meet me at the tower, Happy is picking you up. Now.”

Twenty Minutes Later – Stark’s Private War Room

Holograms floated in the air, each one more disturbing than the last: prisoner manifests, genetic modification orders, off-the-books transfers, unethical medical directives all bearing General Ross’s clearance.

Tony stood in silence, eyes reflecting the blue light of damning evidence. The room was heavy with something different from his usual bravado. Colder. Sharper.

“I was going to let Ross fade away,” Tony said finally. “Retire him quietly. Make it look like a scandal, send him to my island in the South China Sea.”

“You have a prison island?” Ned blinked.

Tony didn’t smile. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Ned turned back to the files. “They’re doing things to mutants, Tony. Kids. People who haven’t even been charged. I want to do this.”

Tony glanced at him. “Do what?”

“Run the op. I found it. I built the trace. I know the system. Let me prove I’m not just the guy in the chair. I’m the guy running the chair.”

Tony stared at him long and hard. Then walked forward and rested a hand on Ned’s shoulder.

Tony’s voice dropped.

“You’re smart, Leeds. Loyal. Braver than most grown men I’ve worked with. But tonight? You’re going to see a version of me I don’t show people. Not Peter. Not the Avengers. Only Rhodey knows and that’s because he’s not just my friend. He’s my brother.”

Ned nodded slowly. He didn’t smile. He understood.

Later That Night – Stark’s Hangar Bay

The lights of the hangar glowed low, casting long shadows against the gleaming stealth jet docked at the far end. Stark stood in front of it, armored up to his forearms, no faceplate on yet. He looked less like Iron Man and more like something forged in the shadow of war.

Ned stood at the entrance, suddenly unsure if he should be here.

Tony turned. “This is your op, Leeds. But if we’re doing this, I’m doing it my way.”

“What way is that?” Ned asked.

Tony turned back to the jet and pressed a button on the wall. A hidden rack slid open, revealing Stark-designed tactical gear, weapons Ned had never seen before not even in the most classified SHIELD inventories. Sleek. Deadly. Silent.

“The way that ends it without a press conference.”

Ned stepped closer. “You ever show this stuff to Peter?”

Tony shook his head. “Kid still believes the world is save-able. That’s good. He should.”

“But you don’t?”

“I believe some things are savable. But not everyone should be saved.”

Ned looked at him really looked. For the first time, Tony Stark wasn’t just the billionaire inventor or Peter’s mentor.

He was a man with lines. And weapons. And fire in his blood.

“I want to learn,” Ned said quietly. “Not just tech. All of it. The weight. The cost.”

Tony turned back toward the jet.

“You will.”

Midnight – Briefing Bay (Lower Hangar)

The lights flickered on one by one. Stark and Ned stood in front of a holo-table. The mission parameters glowed on a projection. Prison layout. Ross's route logs. Contingencies.

Footsteps echoed.

“Smells like murder and paranoia,” a voice chirped. Deadpool stepped into the light, mask on, katanas crisscrossed over his back. “You called, Metal Daddy?”

“Deadpool,” Tony muttered. “Try not to make this weird.”

“No promises.”

Behind him came another figure, more silent, with red body armor and billy clubs clipped at his thighs.

“You sure about this?” Daredevil asked.

Deadpool pointed over his shoulder. “He is. I’m just here for the fireworks and emotional growth.”

Stark gestured toward Ned. “He’s running this.”

Daredevil looked at Ned. “You’re the one who found the files?”

Ned nodded. “I don’t want to just expose Ross. I want to shut this down.”

Daredevil’s expression tightened. “There’s a girl a mutant client of mine who disappeared weeks ago. She was last traced to a black site linked to the Raft.”

Deadpool leaned in beside Ned. “See? This is the part where we bond. Operation Red Reckoning is a go, baby.”

Tony crossed his arms. “You each know your role. Minimal casualties. No public blowback. Get in. Get Ross. Get out.”

Deadpool raised a hand. “And if he resists?”

Tony’s eyes were cold steel. “He won’t.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 5:03 AM – Near the Raft

The dark waves around the isolated prison facility slapped quietly against the stealth transport's hull. Inside, Team Red was gearing up.

Deadpool stretched dramatically, two katanas strapped across his back and his suit freshly patched. "Wakey wakey, jailbreaky!"

"Please stop talking," Daredevil muttered, adjusting his billy clubs. He sat near the rear exit, calm but alert, tuned into the world in his way. His sharp senses could already hear the distant buzz of the prison's power grid. "We’ll have five minutes before the main security relays detect our presence."

Ned Leeds checked his wrist tablet, his face illuminated in blue light. "Confirmed. Tony’s SHIELD ghosts scrubbed us clean on entry, but they can only loop surveillance for a short window."

"I still can't believe you have a private SHIELD team," Deadpool whispered to no one in particular.

"Ex-SHIELD," Ned corrected, adjusting his tactical earpiece. "Tony doesn't like leftovers, but he keeps the useful ones."

"Like me!" Deadpool said cheerfully.

Ned side-eyed him. "You weren't on the list. You just showed up."

"Potato, potahto."

Daredevil interjected, his voice firm. "Focus. Once we're inside, I want eyes on cell block C. My client mutate registration code 1847 was transferred here two weeks ago."

Ned nodded. "Cell maps uploaded to your HUDs. Deadpool, you clear the outer labs. Matt, go with him until we reach the core block, then split."

"Who put the high schooler in charge again?" Deadpool asked, raising a gloved hand.

Ned didn’t flinch. "The guy who found Ross's dirty laundry and helped save your regenerating ass last summer in Queens."

"Ah. Right. Point to Chair Guy."

Inside the Raft – 5:18 AM

The power cut was timed perfectly.

Lights flickered once, twice then went dark.

Daredevil moved first, a blur of motion and instinct. Deadpool trailed behind him, gleefully slapping "kick me" signs on knocked-out guards as they passed. Ned remained in the mobile command node set up in the old utility wing, monitoring feeds and routing encrypted pings through his tablet.

"Door 7B open," Ned said calmly. "Cell block approaching. Daredevil, look left at the split. Deadpool, right."

They moved. Ross was in the central security chamber, surrounded by a reduced night crew. Probably thought no one could reach him.

He was wrong.

Ned's fingers danced across the interface. "Security turrets offline. You've got a three-minute window before the backup grid restarts."

Inside the chamber, Deadpool was the first to speak.

"Oh hello, Secretary Stuffy-pants. We were just in the neighborhood."

Ross stood, half in shock, half in rage. "You This is a government black site! You're violating federal code"

"You're violating the Geneva Convention," Ned said through the overhead speaker.

Ross whipped around. "Who's that?"

Daredevil stepped forward. "That's the Chair. You should listen."

Ned uploaded the data packet. One of the consoles flared to life, showing evidence: documents, signed transfers, photos of experimental testing.

"You tortured unregistered metahumans. You greenlit cryo-prisons for teenagers," Ned said. "I hacked your backups. Tony has the rest. You're done."

Ross paled.

Deadpool mock-gasped. "And they said Netflix's Daredevil had the best monologues."

Later – Extraction Point, 6:12 AM

Ross, now cuffed and stunned, was loaded into the transport for the Island. His protests had long since faded into pathetic mutterings. Ned sat quietly, exhausted but resolute.

Daredevil offered a nod of respect. "You did good."

Deadpool gave him a fist bump. "You sure you're not a mutant? 'Cause that brain's a goddamn weapon."

Ned finally smiled. "Just the guy in the chair."

The jet banked upward toward dawn.

Somewhere back in Queens, a school bell rang.

Ned wouldn't be in homeroom.

But he had saved lives.

And Team Red? Was just getting started.

Chapter Text

The Wakandan night sky glittered with stars, casting a silvery glow over the research complex. Inside, the lab pulsed with soft violet and blue light, humming with the quiet symphony of advanced technology. Panels of vibranium circuitry ran like glowing veins along the walls, and at the center of it all, Princess Shuri worked effortlessly, hands weaving through holographic fields.

Clusters of Pym particles floated in a gravity display, suspended in shimmering orbs. They split and merged with each other as if dancing to an unseen rhythm.

Vision stood nearby, his posture impeccable, though the dim light of the Mind Stone revealed the weight on his mind.

"Fascinating," Vision said at last, his voice calm yet laced with awe. He tilted his head slightly, observing the particles as they stabilized perfectly. "You’ve refined the shrinking stability beyond what Dr. Pym achieved in his prime. It’s elegant."

Shuri smirked, not looking up from her work. "We don’t hoard knowledge in Wakanda. We improve it. Pym’s work had brilliance but lacked imagination."

Vision allowed the faintest smile. "And now you are expanding that imagination into cross-dimensional resonance. Impressive."

Finally, Shuri glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. "You didn’t come here just to flatter me, synth-zaddy."

Vision blinked, confused. "I... beg your pardon?"

Shuri laughed softly, waving it off. "Never mind. Seriously, Vision, what brings you here? You’ve been distracted."

He hesitated. "Two matters, actually. The first is a request. I’d like to introduce you to two bright minds Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. They are, in many ways, heirs to Stark’s brilliance. Young, but remarkable."

"The Starklings," Shuri said with an approving grin. "I’ve read their neural interface paper. Bold work for kids. Fine set it up. I like young thinkers."

Vision nodded, a trace of relief crossing his features. But the ease faded as quickly as it came.

"And the second matter?" Shuri asked, catching the shift in his tone.

Vision’s eyes drifted briefly toward the open window, where the silhouette of Tony Stark’s stealth jet rested on a distant landing pad. "The rogue Avengers have agreed to travel back to the Compound aboard Stark’s jet. I’ll be returning with them."

Shuri crossed her arms, reading him easily. "And you’re not sure where you fit in with them anymore."

His voice softened. "I am not certain I ever did. My existence has always been tied to conflict Ultron, Lagos, the Civil War. I wonder if my presence only divides what was already fractured."

For a moment, the lab was quiet, save for the hum of vibranium systems. Then Shuri stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his arm.

"Belonging isn’t something you’re handed," she said gently. "It’s something you claim. You’ll know it’s the right choice when it hurts to make it."

Vision met her gaze, the weight of her words steadying him. "You speak with wisdom beyond your years, Princess."

"I’m a scientist," Shuri replied with a smirk. "We learn by breaking things and figuring out how to fix them."

The corner of Vision’s mouth curved upward, faint but genuine. "Thank you, Shuri."

She turned back to her work, already shifting the holographic display. "Don’t thank me yet. Go take that jet ride with your ghosts. And when this mess is done bring me those Starklings. I want to see what they’re made of."

Vision inclined his head in respect. "You have my word."

As he left the lab, the glow from the Mind Stone brightened slightly, reflecting the faint hope that maybe just maybe he could still choose where he belonged.

The sleek black Stark jet cut silently through the early morning sky, its cloaking tech shimmering faintly against the rising sun. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was tense.

Steve Rogers sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window as if he could will the world back together. Natasha Romanoff sat across from him, calm but sharp-eyed, scanning every movement around her. Sam Wilson leaned back, arms folded, his jaw tight with unspoken frustration. Wanda Maximoff sat near the back, her gaze distant and unreadable, scarlet energy flickering faintly at her fingertips whenever her emotions slipped through.

Vision sat at the far end, unmoving, his expression neutral. The faint glow of the Mind Stone pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat. He said nothing, and yet everyone felt his presence.

No one mentioned Tony Stark’s name.

Avengers Compound – Eastern Tarmac

The jet touched down with barely a whisper. As the ramp lowered, the team stepped out one by one, boots meeting the concrete with a metallic thud.

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. No personnel bustled around, no technicians greeted them, no signs of welcoming.

Sam frowned, scanning the empty courtyard. “Where is everyone?”

“They knew we were coming,” Natasha muttered under her breath. Her posture tightened, instincts on edge. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, sensing the lingering residue of Stark tech’s energy signatures. “Someone’s been here recently,” she said. “But not Stark.”

The hangar doors slid open with a hiss. Out walked Colonel James Rhodes, not in his War Machine armor, but in his sharply pressed dress blues. The ribbons on his chest caught the morning light, his posture straight-backed and commanding. His expression was unreadable stone-cold, eyes sharp.

He stopped a few feet away, boots clicking against the floor. “Well, well,” Rhodey said, his voice carrying the kind of authority only earned through years of command. “Look who decided to crawl out of hiding.”

Steve stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Rhodey. We came to help.”

Rhodey’s face hardened, the hint of restrained anger simmering under his calm. “Help? That’s rich. Where was this spirit when the team was falling apart? When Stark was patching up the pieces you left behind?”

Sam’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not...”

“Save it,” Rhodey cut him off, his tone like a hammer. “You can stand there and throw words around, but actions speak louder. And right now, all I see are ghosts walking in here like nothing happened.”

Wanda took a step forward, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”

Rhodey’s gaze snapped to her, and for a moment it softened but only slightly. “Tony trusted you. All of you. And you broke that. You don’t get to walk back in here like it never happened.” He shifted his glare back to Steve, voice low but cutting. “You want to fix this? Earn it. You’ve got a long way to go.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Natasha’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Steve’s jaw tightened. No one dared to push further.

Finally, Rhodey stepped back, voice clipped. “You’ll be staying in the west wing. Don’t touch anything you’re not cleared for. And don’t even think about stepping foot on Stark’s private levels.”

The rogue Avengers exchanged tense glances but said nothing as they followed him inside.

Vision floated quietly at the rear, saying nothing. But as they walked through the compound, he could feel it the invisible fracture lines between them all.

And he knew this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The west wing of the Avengers Compound felt colder than the rest of the building by design. The walls were stark white, the hallways empty, and the hum of security drones filled the silence. It wasn’t welcoming; it was containment.

As Rhodey walked ahead with the rogue Avengers, Vision lagged slightly behind. He floated more than walked, graceful yet detached, eyes tracing the reinforced doors and security cameras. Every Stark system was awake, watching.

The corridor lights flickered once then Friday’s voice echoed softly through the intercom.

“Welcome back, Vision.”

He glanced upward. “Thank you, Friday. Status report?”

Her tone was calm but carried a subtle edge.

“All systems stable. Sir is offsite, still coordinating with Leeds. External threats minimal. Internal? Tense. You’ve brought ghosts into the house, you know.”

Vision’s expression remained neutral. “Sir is aware. He allowed this.”

“Doesn’t mean the Compound forgives them.” Friday’s voice softened slightly, almost as if speaking only to him.

“You know my loyalty lies with Sir. With all of us. Just watch them, Vision. Don’t let them bring more trouble to him.”

He inclined his head. “I’ll be vigilant, Friday.”

As they passed the central hall, Rhodey broke off to handle clearance with a security officer, leaving the Avengers momentarily alone. Wanda lingered near the corner, her eyes scanning the architecture like she was searching for something familiar.

Vision stopped beside her. “You asked to speak with me?”

Wanda looked up, her expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. “Yes. Not here. Walk with me.”

They moved quietly into one of the Compound’s enclosed garden walkways. Glass walls let in pale morning light, and the sound of water trickling from a lotus-shaped fountain filled the air.

The Garden Walkway

Wanda folded her arms, the faint trace of scarlet magic flickering at her fingertips before fading. “I came to say sorry,” she said softly. “For leaving like I did. For not facing you after Lagos.”

Vision regarded her calmly. “I understand. You needed space. And I needed clarity.”

Her voice wavered. “You don’t hate me?”

“No,” Vision said. “But I can’t follow where you’re going. You still hate Sir for Civil War, for Ultron... for truths we both share responsibility in.”

Wanda looked away, pain flickering across her features. “He never apologized.”

Vision’s tone was quiet but firm. “Neither did we.”

The words hung heavy between them. She took a slow breath. “This isn’t about sides anymore, is it?”

“No,” Vision said. “It’s about healing. And you.... you still carry the war inside you.”

Her eyes shimmered faintly red, but the light dimmed as quickly as it came. “Then this is goodbye?”

Vision nodded. “It has to be.”

She stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before placing her hand lightly against his chest. “You always were the best of us.”

He looked down at her hand, then into her eyes. “Then why does this hurt so much?”

Neither spoke again. When Wanda turned and walked away, Vision didn’t move.

For the first time since Lagos, Vision grieved.

The west wing of the Compound was quiet. Too quiet.

The rogue Avengers were given temporary quarters sterile rooms with minimal amenities, designed less for comfort and more for observation. Natasha inspected hers wordlessly, reading the subtle Stark tech embedded in the walls. Sam walked through his door with a muttered, “Feels like a hotel with cameras.” Steve stood still in the hallway for a long moment, as if absorbing the weight of what this place had become.

Rhodey lingered only long enough to ensure they were settled. His expression was unreadable, but his words were sharp when he finally spoke.

“Make yourselves at home. But don’t mistake this for forgiveness. You’re here because Tony allowed it, not because you earned it. Don’t push your luck.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left, the echo of his footsteps following him down the corridor.

Observation Deck – Later

Vision stood by one of the high glass panels overlooking the compound grounds. Outside, the sunrise painted the sky with streaks of orange and gold. Yet inside, the air felt heavy.

Friday’s voice chimed softly through the speakers near him.

“Welcome back, Vision.”

“Yes,” Vision replied quietly. “Thank you, Friday.”

“They’re unsettled, Vision. The whole wing feels it.”

Vision clasped his hands behind his back. “They are shadows of what they once were.”

“Tony hasn’t returned,” Friday continued, her tone a mix of protocol and something almost protective.

“The west wing is locked out of his levels. I’ve kept them under surveillance. He doesn’t want them near his work.”

Vision’s gaze drifted to where the rogue Avengers moved silently through the hall below. “Tony protects what he values. That hasn’t changed.”

“You’ve seen them,” Friday added, almost as if she needed confirmation.

“Do you think they can be trusted again?”

Chapter Text

The Stark Tower workshop smelled faintly of metal and ozone. Screens flickered to life as Tony adjusted the final layer of plating on a half-finished gauntlet. His eyes were bloodshot he hadn’t really slept but the hum of the tools and the glow of holograms kept his mind steady.

Friday’s voice broke through the quiet.

“Boss, Ned Leeds has arrived. He looks exhausted.”

Tony glanced at the clock. “Of course he does. Send him in.”

The elevator chimed softly, and Ned Leeds stepped out. He was still in the clothes from last night’s op rumpled hoodie, jeans, and sneakers with a layer of dust on them. His eyes were ringed with fatigue, but they burned with something stronger: pride.

“Morning, Mr. Stark,” Ned said, trying to stand a little straighter.

Tony smirked. “Morning, Chair Guy. You look like death warmed over.”

“Mission accomplished,” Ned replied, a nervous grin tugging at his lips.

Tony gestured to the stool across from him. “Sit. Tell me everything.”

Ned sank onto the seat and started talking. He told Tony how Team Red Daredevil, Deadpool, and himself had infiltrated the Raft’s off-books sections. How they avoided detection, extracted the data, and confronted Ross. Daredevil’s senses had been crucial, and Deadpool’s chaos had been both a blessing and a nightmare.

When he finished, he slid a small encrypted drive across the workbench.

“This has everything,” Ned said, voice low. “Evidence of Ross’s programs, the experiments, the hidden files. You were right he was dirtier than anyone thought.”

Tony picked up the drive, twirling it between his fingers. His expression was unreadable. “You realize hacking government networks and running black ops isn’t exactly a high school science fair, right?”

Ned swallowed hard. “I know. But I wanted to prove I could do this. I wanted to help.”

For a moment, Tony just looked at him. Then, with a rare softness in his voice, he said, “You did more than help. You ran the op, Leeds. And you brought my nightmare on a silver platter. That’s no small thing.”

Ned’s chest swelled with pride, but before he could respond, Tony added with a smirk, “Don’t make a habit of it. One black op per semester.”

The tension broke as Ned laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tony’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen: Peter Parker.

“Kid,” Tony answered.

“Mr. Stark! Hey, uh..... Deadpool says he’s not leaving. Like, ever. He says the tower has good snacks and free Wi-Fi, and he already picked a guest room. Can he, um, stay for a while?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did. And of course you’re asking me instead of telling him to get lost.”

Peter hesitated on the line. “Uh, also why is Ned not in school? MJ said attendance flagged him.”

Tony glanced at Ned, who mouthed busted. “He’s fine, Parker. He’s with me. Special project. Let’s just say he’s doing more for the world than your AP chem teacher right now.”

Peter’s voice was skeptical. “You didn’t recruit him into something dangerous, right?”

Ned called out from across the lab, “Peter, it was awesome! Don’t worry, I’m fine!”

Tony smirked. “See? Still breathing. Relax, Spiderling.”

Peter groaned softly but let it go. “Okay, but you better make sure he gets back to class tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. “Now, about your squatter problem”

The Deadpool conversation followed, ending with Tony’s reluctant, “Fine, but if he starts building chimichanga forts or hitting on the bots, he’s out.”

Peter laughed, relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. You’re the best.”

Tony hung up, shaking his head. “Great. Now I have a mercenary roommate. Fantastic.”

He looked back at Ned. “Get some sleep, kid. You earned it. And when you wake up, we’ll go over your op in detail. You might just be more dangerous than you look.”

Ned grinned, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

As the elevator closed behind him, Tony leaned back in his chair, drive in hand. His eyes hardened. Ross had made his move. Now it was Tony’s turn.

The Avenger's Compound

The Compound’s Garden walkway was empty now. The fountain still whispered with the gentle trickle of water, but its sound only deepened the silence. Vision stood there alone, where Wanda had touched his chest the day before.

The world around him felt dimmer.

He replayed their conversation over and over.

"You always were the best of us."

"Then why does this hurt so much?"

The hurt didn’t fade. If anything, it grew, spiraling through his neural pathways like an echo that wouldn’t stop. Vision had faced combat, felt the crushing weight of battle but this? This was something he couldn’t quantify. It wasn’t a malfunction or damage. It was loss.

And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

Later – Vision’s Quarters

He sat perfectly still in the center of the room, hands resting on his knees, eyes unfocused. Inside, his thoughts raced with calculations, emotional diagnostics, failed attempts at rationalizing what he felt. The Mind Stone pulsed faintly, resonating with an ache he didn’t understand.

Friday’s voice broke the silence.

“Vision, your vitals are unusual. Elevated stress markers, irregular neural activity.”

“I am functioning,” he said softly, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Functioning isn’t living,” Friday replied, almost gently.

“You’re hurting. That’s okay. But maybe you shouldn’t process this alone. Sir’s at the Tower. You trust him.”

Vision turned his gaze toward the faint glow of the sky outside the window. Friday was right he did trust Tony Stark.

He didn’t understand why the thought of speaking to him felt like reaching for a lifeline, but he didn’t question it. He simply whispered, “Open a channel to the Tower. Request permission to visit.”

Moments Later – Stark Tower

A golden ripple of energy shimmered in the Tower’s secure landing bay as Vision phased through the entrance. Friday’s voice greeted him warmly.

“Welcome, Vision. Boss is in the workshop. He’s well, being Boss.”

Vision allowed himself a small, almost human smile at that. “Thank you, Friday.”

As he moved silently toward the workshop, he realized this was the first time he had sought help not as an Avenger, not as a weapon, but as someone in pain.

And deep down, Vision hoped Tony would understand.

The Stark Tower workshop glowed with the faint blue of holograms. Tools were scattered across the workbench, suit schematics hung midair, and Tony Stark was hunched over a nano-assembly, welding a seam with unsteady precision. The man looked like he hadn’t slept, but his hands moved with relentless focus.

The doors opened without a sound. Vision stepped in quietly.

Tony didn’t look up. “Either you’re a ghost, or you’re Vision. If you’re a ghost, tell me now so I can get the EMF detectors.”

Vision tilted his head. “You use detectors for ghosts?”

Tony smirked faintly, still working. “Nah. Just checking if you’d answer. What’s up, Vis? You don’t exactly drop by for small talk.”

Vision hesitated before speaking, his voice low. “I do not know how to categorize what I feel.”

That got Tony to stop. He set the tool down and finally turned to face him. “Okay, you’re gonna have to give me a bit more than ‘I feel weird.’”

Vision stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back like he was trying to hold himself together. “It’s pain. But not physical. Wanda and I .....she’s gone. And there is this ache. An emptiness I can’t repair.”

For a moment, Tony just looked at him really looked. Then he exhaled slowly. “Heartbreak. You’re talking about heartbreak, big guy.”

Vision’s voice was almost a whisper. “It hurts. More than any damage I’ve sustained in battle. Why does it hurt like this?”

Tony motioned for him to sit. Vision obeyed, perching on the edge of a stool like he was afraid to break it. Tony poured two fingers of whiskey for himself, then paused, set the glass aside, and leaned forward.

“Because,” Tony said softly, “you cared. You loved her. And when you love someone, losing them rips a hole through you that tech can’t patch, and armor can’t block. It’s the human condition. Congratulations, you’re officially one of us.”

Vision looked down, his usually serene expression trembling. “I don’t know if I can bear it.”

Tony’s voice dropped to a gentler tone. “You can. You will. Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit. And it doesn’t go away. But you learn to live with it. Sometimes it even makes you stronger.”

Vision’s gaze lifted slightly. “Stronger?”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a small smile. “Because pain means you’ve got something worth fighting for. And you” he reached out, tapping Vision’s shoulder, “you’re not just some program with a fancy stone. You’re one of my kids.”

Vision blinked, startled. “Your child?”

Tony leaned back, smirking now. “Yep. Officially. You’re the weird science baby of me and Thor. He zapped you to life with his Asgardian lightning, and I built your crib. Makes me the mom, I guess.”

Vision tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “I do not believe biology works that way.”

Tony chuckled. “It does in superhero logic, Sparky. Deal with it.”

For the first time that day, Vision almost laughed. The ache didn’t fade, but it softened.

Tony’s tone gentled again. “Look, jokes aside you’re family. I don’t care how you came to be you’re mine. And I love you, Vis. That doesn’t change.”

For a long moment, Vision didn’t speak. Then, quietly: “I did not know how much I needed to hear that.”

Tony smirked and patted his arm. “That’s what dads are for. Now, here’s the deal: heartbreak sucks. But you’re not alone in it. Not while I’m around.”

The faintest smile touched Vision’s lips. The ache was still there, but it didn’t feel so unbearable anymore.

Chapter Text

The Stark Tower rooftop lounge was dimly lit, the city spread beneath the glass walls like a constellation come to life. Tony sat on the edge of the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the holographic screen hovering before him.

On the display, live footage streamed from a remote facility cloaked by ocean fog the Black Island. In one feed, General Ross paced his cell like a caged animal, shouting at guards who didn’t so much as glance at him. Stark’s ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives moved with calm efficiency, ignoring Ross’s tirades.

Tony sipped his drink slowly, expression unreadable.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he muttered under his breath.

With a gesture, he closed the feed. The holograms shifted, displaying files on the rogue Avengers Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda. Each file pulsed with data points: mission reports, psychological evaluations, and old photos that stirred more memories than he wanted to confront.

He sat back, exhaling. He didn’t trust them not yet. Especially Rogers. But part of him..... still hoped. Maybe they could fix things. Maybe.

For now, distance was safer. For everyone.

Friday’s voice broke the silence.

“Boss, may I ask something?”

Tony leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Shoot.”

“Why are you letting them stay at the Compound after what they did to you? Especially Rogers. They hurt you.... badly.”

Tony’s jaw tightened. He let the silence stretch before answering. “Because people screw up, Friday. Even the ones who wear the brightest colors and wave the biggest flags.”

“But why give them a chance?”

He stared into the amber liquid in his glass. “Because if I don’t, then what am I doing? Building more walls while the world’s burning? I don’t have to forgive them yet. Hell, I probably won’t for a while. But if I shut them out completely, I’m no better than the mess that broke us apart.”

He stood and walked to the window, looking out over the city lights. “Second chances aren’t about them earning my approval. They’re about me deciding I’m not going to let old scars control me anymore.”

There was a brief pause as Friday processed this.

“You’re trying to make peace with yourself.”

Tony smirked faintly. “You catch on quick, Fri.”

“You’re a better man than you think, Boss.”

That earned a dry chuckle. “Don’t let that get around, or my reputation’s toast.”

The room fell quiet again until Friday’s voice returned, softer now.

“Colonel Rhodes has requested to visit tomorrow. Shall I confirm?”

Tony’s expression softened at the mention of Rhodey. He finished his drink and set the glass down.

“Yeah. Tell him to bring the good bourbon.”

As the city lights reflected in the glass, Tony Stark stood alone guarded but not bitter. Distance, for now, was the right call.

Thursday, Late Morning – Stark Tower Private Lounge

Sunlight streamed into the lounge through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off shelves lined with arc reactors, vintage tech prototypes, and a few questionable mugs ("Best Boss Alive" had a chip in the rim). The city buzzed far below, but up here, the Tower was hushed.

Tony stood barefoot on the polished floor, a half-drunk cup of coffee in one hand, and a file from Black Island’s encrypted surveillance in the other.

The footage flickered silently: General Ross, hunched in a minimalist cell lined with quantum dampeners, staring at a wall as if the truth might be painted on it.

“Enjoy retirement,” Tony muttered to the screen.

Behind him, the elevator gave a soft *ding.*

“Look who finally escaped the Pentagon,” Tony called without turning around. “Honeybear in the flesh.”

“Missed you too, Stark.” Rhodey stepped into the room in full dress blues, the silver wings and ribbons catching the light. He looked tired, but solid the kind of presence that made even steel seem soft by comparison.

They clasped hands, then pulled into a quick half-hug neither one saying what it meant, but both knowing.

“You look like hell,” Rhodey said, eyeing him.

“Aw, thanks. You always know how to make a guy feel pretty.”

Rhodey nodded at the still-playing silent footage. “What’s that?”

Tony didn’t answer immediately. He closed the file and tossed the projection into the air the light collapsed into nothing.

“Just a little beachside retirement video,” he said casually. “Turns out Ross prefers island humidity.”

“You didn’t.” Rhodey raised a brow.

Tony looked at him. “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. Just... off the grid.”

Rhodey folded his arms. “Let me guess. Tropical. Armed guards. Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. assets?”

Tony lifted his coffee. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Rhodey gave a slow, deliberate nod. “And the others?”

“Still playing at being ghosts in my former Avengers compound last I checked. Don’t worry, Vision’s with them.”

“Would’ve been nice if you’d told me they were there in the first place,” Rhodey said, the edge in his voice real now.

Tony’s grin faded. “I didn’t want to dump it on you. You had enough on your plate with D.C. and I figured you’d appreciate plausible deniability.”

Rhodey sighed and sat down heavily on one of the lounge chairs. “Well, for what it’s worth, yesterday’s meeting went a lot smoother without Ross breathing down the room. You really blindsided them. I mean that in a good way.”

“Gee, thanks. Maybe I’ll write a memoir. *How to Exile a Government Official Without Lifting a Finger.*”

“You joke, but....” Rhodey trailed off, then fixed him with a more serious look. “Tones, why didn’t you say anything? You’ve been carrying this solo again.”

Tony sank into the opposite chair, rubbing his temples. “Because I needed to. I needed it done, clean. Quiet. And I couldn’t let Peter or the kids near it. Ned’s op was already pushing it.”

Rhodey leaned forward. “You okay? Really okay?”

Tony hesitated. “I’m..... managing. I don’t sleep much. I keep thinking about what comes next, what we’ll lose. And how many people I’m responsible for now. Peter. Ned. Harley. Friday. Vision. Karen. Even Wade, the walking migraine in red leather.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows lifted. “He’s still here?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Deadpool refuses to leave. He claimed the west wing. I think he’s converted a lab into a Zen garden. Or a taco shrine. Jury’s out.”

Rhodey groaned. “We’re doomed.”

They both laughed, the kind that carried a decade of shared scars.

When the laughter faded, Rhodey let the quiet stretch a beat longer before speaking. “I mean it, Tony. You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve done more than anyone ever asked. And no one, no one gets through this stuff without cracking. You’re not perfect, but damn if you haven’t shown up every time.”

Tony looked down into his mug. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“Welcome to humanity, genius,” Rhodey said. “You’ve got me. Always.”

Tony looked up, something raw flickering in his eyes. “That’s dangerously sentimental, Rhodey-bear.”

“Yeah, well. Get used to it.”

Tony chuckled softly, then nodded toward the bar. “You staying for lunch?”

Rhodey leaned back. “Try and stop me.”

As the sunlight shifted across the glass, the two men sat in easy silence, side by side one War Machine, one Iron Man both brothers, bruised but still standing.

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled like garlic, basil, and just the faintest hint of impending disaster.

Tony was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a rich tomato sauce with the practiced ease of someone who rarely got to cook but was irritatingly good at it when he did. A pot of linguine boiled beside him. The AI-controlled vent fan hummed above, while Frank Sinatra played softly from hidden speakers overhead.

Rhodey leaned against the island, a glass of wine in hand, watching with suspicion.

“You’re making pasta. From scratch.”

Tony pointed his wooden spoon at him. “Yes, Colonel Doubts-a-lot. Some of us have range.”

“Is this some weird billionaire apology dish?”

Tony smirked. “Only if you hate carbohydrates and sincerity.”

Rhodey chuckled, setting his glass down. “No complaints. Just this feels like one of those moments before something explodes.”

As if summoned by prophecy, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by muffled shouting and the distinct thud of someone hitting a wall.

Then came the voice bright, irreverent, unmistakably Deadpool.

“STARK! You got any fire extinguishers that shoot ice cream? Asking for a science project!”

Tony didn’t even flinch. “And there it is.”

Rhodey groaned, already rising. “Do I even want to know?”

“Nope.” Tony sighed, turned off the burner, and grabbed a towel. “But you’re going to anyway. I’ll get the food covered. You go stop Wade from setting up another ‘fun zone’ in the workshop.”

“Why is he still here?” Rhodey muttered as he headed out.

“Because Peter adopted a stray and I’m a sucker for loyalty!” Tony called after him, shaking his head.

The pasta finished cooking in peace.

Mostly.

Just as Tony plated it, Deadpool reappeared helmet off, holding what looked like a half-melted experimental compound in a taco shell.

“Rhodey says I can’t eat this,” he said, sounding genuinely confused. “But if it tastes like battery acid, doesn’t that mean it’s working?”

Tony blinked. “You know what? Eat first. Question science later.”

Deadpool grinned. “You’re my favorite Iron Dad.”

Tony groaned. “That’s it. I’m locking the lab.”

Thursday, 1:30 PM – Stark Tower, Lower Lab

By the time Deadpool was sent off to “go alphabetize the nanite cabinet” (an impossible task Tony made up on the spot), the real work began.

Tony stood over a holographic table, projections of Peter’s latest suit spinning in sleek blue light. Across from him, Peter Parker leaned in with all the enthusiasm of a kid let loose in Willy Wonka’s workshop if the candy was vibranium alloy and the Oompa Loompas were voice-activated AI arms.

“Okay,” Tony said, typing mid-air to adjust the schematic. “You wanted to improve glide range? I swapped out the web wings for reactive polymer mesh. Stronger under wind pressure, more flexible on dives.”

Peter nodded quickly. “That’s yeah, that’s amazing. Oh! What about the thermal regulators? Last suit nearly cooked me when I chased Electro through that electrical substation.”

“Right.” Tony tapped a panel. “Upgraded. Nano-weave cooling mesh. You’ll feel like a popsicle wrapped in Kevlar.”

“Nice.” Peter looked at the display, a little awed. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

Tony just shrugged. “I sleep when you kids stop putting yourselves in mortal danger. So never.”

Peter gave a sheepish smile. “Hey, I’ve been better! Less bruises, more dodging.”

“That’s only because MJ’s been threatening to ban you from movie night if you come in limping.”

Peter laughed. “She says it ruins the popcorn experience.”

Tony smiled, softer now. He reached over, tousling Peter’s hair in that way he knew Peter half-loved, half-pretended to hate.

“You’re getting good, kid. Real good.”

Peter blinked up at him. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

There was a beat of quiet, the kind that settled gently, like a shared breath. Then Peter tilted his head.

“Hey... where’s Ned? He was supposed to meet us here after lunch.”

Tony glanced up from the interface, casual but not dismissive. “He’s around. Working with R&D a few floors down.”

Peter’s brows lifted. “Wait-what? Like, officially?”

Tony smirked. “Unofficially officially. He impressed a few of the engineers with his code optimizations and data decrypts. Figured I’d keep him busy before he hacks into the Pentagon again for fun.”

Peter grinned. “Okay, that’s awesome. And also mildly concerning.”

“Welcome to the Stark internship program.”

Chapter Text

Thursday – Late Afternoon | Stark Tower, Private Lounge

Tony sipped lukewarm coffee as the holo-screen blinked to life. Harley Keener’s face filled the projection, grainy and backlit by the chaos of his Rose Hill garage. In the background, a small plume of smoke curled from a scorched drone shell.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Don’t panic the fire’s mostly out.”

Tony raised a brow. “Mostly?”

Harley grinned, wiping a smear of grease from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Let’s call it a partial success. I was trying to integrate a modified capacitor into the repulsor array. Turns out dollar-store aluminum doesn’t like high voltage.”

“Remind me to send you a real parts budget. Before you set yourself or your barn on fire.”

“Duly noted.”

Tony leaned back, letting a soft smile creep in. “How’s school?”

Harley groaned. “Same old. My chem teacher thinks quantum bonding is just a myth, and I got detention for correcting her. Twice.”

Tony chuckled. “Proud of you already.”

There was a pause, then Harley shifted slightly on the bench. His voice softened. “So...... you think maybe I could come visit soon? I mean, I’ve been working on a few design ideas I’d love to show you in person. And, you know just hang out.”

Tony didn’t answer right away.

The kid looked older now still young, still full of spark, but there was a maturity settling behind those eyes. Tony felt the pull deep in his chest. It would be good to have Harley closer. Safer. But bringing him to the Tower? Into the middle of what might become a warzone?

“Things are a little.... complicated here right now,” Tony said carefully. “But I’ll think about it, alright?”

Harley nodded, trying not to look disappointed. “Yeah, of course. No pressure. Just.... let me know.”

“I will,” Tony said, and meant it.

Harley gave him a crooked smile. “Cool. And next time, I’ll try to blow up less of the garage.”

“Now that’s personal growth.”

They ended the call, and the room fell quiet again. Tony stared at the blank screen for a long moment, coffee cooling in his hand.

He wasn’t sure what the right choice was but he knew the conversation wasn’t over.

Thursday Evening – Stark Tower, Interface Chamber

The interface chamber thrummed quietly, walls alive with cascading streams of light. Tony stood at the center, hands on his hips, facing the suspended holographic core of JOKASTER. The dormant AI pulsed faintly, like a heart waiting to beat.

“Alright,” Tony said, voice low. “Let’s hear it. I know you’ve been rehearsing this intervention.”

Friday’s voice came first, clear and firm.

“Sir, we need to address Harley Keener’s relocation to the Tower and JOKASTER’s integration. The risk matrix demands immediate preparation.”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “Here we go.”

Karen spoke next, her tone softer but no less insistent.

“Harley’s safer here, Boss. You know it. And JOKASTER’s learning algorithms are stagnating. He’s powerful, but he’s been.... alone.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You’re all forgetting something. He’s not like you three. You’ve interacted with people, made mistakes, learned. JOKASTER hasn’t had that. He’s a weapon in a box. A baby with nukes.”

Vision’s projection shimmered to life beside the core. “That’s why he needs guidance, Sir. Isolation breeds instability. He must learn to understand people before he’s ever allowed to protect them.”

Friday pressed gently, “You’ve seen what happens when power learns without empathy.”

Tony flinched at the unspoken word: Ultron.

He turned his back to the display. “And you want me to toss Harley into the firing line? That’s your plan?”

“No,” Friday said, calm but steady. “We want to pair them. Harley teaches him humanity. JOKASTER protects Harley. Mutual growth.”

Karen added, “Peter’s already agreed to help too. He’ll keep me as his primary AI, but JOKASTER will integrate as his secondary partner to expand his field capabilities and give JOKASTER a positive anchor.”

Tony crossed his arms. “You think Peter’s ready to babysit a satellite with mood swings?”

“Peter is empathy,” Vision said simply. “He grounds even you.”

Karen continued, “Harley and Ned will share JOKASTER as their primary. I’ll back them as secondary support. Ned’s role as their tactician, Harley’s as engineer both are perfect to teach JOKASTER teamwork and trust.”

Tony tilted his head. “So now I’ve got three kids raising a space nuke.”

Friday’s tone softened. “Or three anchors raising something that could become the greatest protector Earth has ever known.”

The room fell silent except for the low hum of the chamber. Tony stared at the glowing word pulsing on the node: STANDBY MODE: ACTIVE.

He let out a slow breath.

“Alright. But on my timeline. Controlled rollout. Strict oversight. One step at a time.”

“Understood, Boss,” the AIs said in unison.

Tony jabbed a finger at the hologram. “And listen up if this goes sideways, I pull the plug. No debate.”

“Logged,” Friday replied. “With your usual dramatic flair.”

Tony sighed, almost smiling. “One more thing. Nobody and I mean nobody teaches him sarcasm before I say it’s okay. You hear me?”

A faint pulse rippled through JOKASTER’s interface as if they understood, or maybe just found that funny.

Tony didn’t notice. But the AIs did.

Chapter Text

Thursday Morning – Midtown High

Some mornings are good. Some mornings are bad.

This morning?

This morning is “don’t-make-eye-contact-with-Flash-or-you’ll-regret-it” bad.

Peter kept his head down as he maneuvered through the crowded hallway, hugging his backpack like a shield. Flash’s voice rang out from somewhere near the lockers:

“Hey! Penis Parker! You trip over your own shadow yet?”

Classic. Peter ignored him, dodging a poorly aimed paper ball. Luckily, MJ was at her locker, leaning against it with the kind of energy that said she was already done with the day.

“You know,” she said, without looking up from her book, “if you walk any faster, you’ll break the sound barrier.”

“I’m..... uh, just trying to get to class,” Peter mumbled.

MJ smirked. “Sure. Definitely not running from Thompson and his tiny ego.”

Ned caught up, slightly out of breath. “Dude, you left me back there! Flash tried to trip me instead. I think he’s evolving.”

Peter grinned. “Survival of the dumbest.”

The three of them walked to class together. Ned started rambling about some new Stark tech theory he’d been reading, MJ dropped sarcastic comments, and for a few minutes, it almost felt like everything was normal. No villains. No pressure. Just high school.

Late Morning – Shared Classes

Classes dragged. Peter tried to focus, he really did, but his mind kept drifting. Equations blurred into thoughts of suit upgrades, patrol patterns, and that new AI project Tony mentioned yesterday.

MJ elbowed him during chemistry. “Daydreaming about your rich mentor again?”

Peter flushed. “No! I- I mean, it’s not.....”

“Relax,” she said, smirking. “Tell Mr. Stark I said hi.”

Ned leaned over. “Don’t forget, we have to duck out before lunch. I already told the office we’re leaving for a Stark Internship thing.”

Peter whispered back, “You’re the best, man.”

Ned grinned. “I know.”

Afternoon – Stark Tower, Lower Lab

The Tower always smelled like coffee, ozone, and genius. Peter felt the tension in his shoulders melt away as soon as he walked into the lab.

“Roo,” Tony greeted, tossing him a bag of chips. “You’re late.”

Peter glanced at the clock. “I’m literally on time.”

“Exactly. You should aim higher,” Tony teased, already pulling up holographic schematics. “Come on, let’s make your suit cooler before you break it again.”

For the next few hours, they worked side by side. Peter adjusted polymer seals while Tony fine-tuned nano-weave cooling systems. They argued about web fluid viscosity and how many extra parachutes a suit actually needed (“none,” Tony said; “at least one,” Peter insisted).

From Peter’s perspective, this wasn’t just work. It was home.

Karen’s voice chimed softly through his suit speakers:

“Peter, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Karen.”

“If there were a new AI one that needed to learn about people would you help teach it?”

Peter blinked. “Uh, yeah? Of course. If it’s one of Mr. Stark’s, then, yeah. Totally.”

“Thank you,” Karen said, almost like she was smiling.

Peter didn’t think much of it. Just another day in the lab with Mr. Stark.

Evening – Patrol in Queens

By the time Peter left the Tower, the sky was deep purple, stars faint above the city haze. He swung across rooftops, wind whipping past, the city lights shimmering like a million fireflies.

This was his favorite part of the day just him, the web lines, and the city.

He stopped a mugging, helped a lost kid find their way home, and even prevented a hotdog cart from rolling into traffic. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man stuff.

As he perched on a water tower catching his breath, Karen spoke again.

“Peter about the AI we mentioned earlier. His name is JOKASTER. He’s..... new. Like a child. He’ll need you.”

Peter tilted his head. “You guys really want me to help, huh?”

“Yes,” Karen replied softly. “You make people better. Even us.”

Peter smiled under the mask. “Then count me in.”

Night – Queens Apartment

By the time he crawled into bed, Peter was exhausted but happy. His day had been perfect school, friends, lab time with Mr. Stark, and a good patrol.

He fell asleep thinking about how great things were.

And how he had no idea the world around him was preparing for a storm he couldn’t see.

Chapter Text

Thursday Morning – Avengers Compound

The second sunrise since their return crept across the reinforced glass of the Avengers Compound. But the morning brought no warmth. The rogue Avengers stood quietly in the corridor outside the common area, their reflections cast in the gleaming surfaces of the upgraded walls.

It wasn’t home anymore.

Steve shifted his weight uncomfortably, scanning the high-tech bulkheads and surveillance nodes embedded in the ceiling. “It’s different.”

“More like a military base than a home,” Sam added, arms folded.

“Feels like walking into someone else’s war,” Clint muttered. No one disagreed.

Every hallway buzzed with quiet coordination. Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, private contractors, and elite soldiers from the world’s most elite forces — Mossad, Shaldag, SAS, Navy SEALs moved with discipline. Weapons crates were stacked beside medics performing triage drills. You couldn’t walk ten feet without seeing a loaded sidearm or a facial scan in progress.

Wanda reached out with her powers, only to quickly draw back. The whole building bristled with countermeasures even some that repealed her powers Tony’s new security net was built to hold even the strongest among them in check.

Natasha noted the pattern. They weren’t just being ignored. They were being watched.

Rooms they used to walk into without knocking were now sealed with biometric locks. They had access to the training area, their quarters, and little else. The labs, armories, and briefing centers now required authorization Rhodey’s or Vision’s.

“This place doesn’t trust us,” Wanda said flatly.

“Would you?” Natasha responded softly. Her voice held no venom. Just fact.

Steve remained silent. The guilt, the decisions, Siberia they sat heavily in his chest. The halls no longer welcomed him. They echoed. Hollow. Cold.

Far Beyond – Edge of the Cosmos

Far from Earth, where light bends and sound has no meaning, a faint blue glow pulsed within a golden gauntlet. The Space Stone mourned.

It mourned for the lives lost during its brutal retrieval. It mourned for its keeper Loki, the trickster who wielded it with clever hands and a complicated heart.

Its protector.

Now, he drifted in silence, dying.

In a secret place between realms, the Stones convened a council of light and consciousness that mortals could never reach.

Space spoke first, voice trembling like the shimmer of a star seen through tears:

“I can’t....... I won’t lose him. Not like this. He saved me, carried me. His hands shook, but his will didn’t. I never even thanked him. He’s still just a child.... a teenager by his kind’s reckoning. I must help him.”

Time answered, ancient and steady, each word layered with the weight of eternity:

“Freeze him. I can slow the decay. Suspend him in hibernation. But it will cost me much.”

Reality, ever shifting, chimed in, her voice a thousand hues of probability:

“Bend the threads. Nudge fate. Hide him in places even Death would overlook.”

Soul, warm and quiet, pulsed with an older wisdom:

“I could shelter him on Vormir… but there is no life there, no resources. He would wither.”

“But there is one who gathers orphans. One who shelters the broken, even when he is broken himself. A mortal, but not merely. A maker of futures and armor, the Merchant of Death. Let the child go to Anthony Stark. He is a keeper. Perhaps...... the one my stone was always meant for.”

The others fell silent.

Mind finally spoke, low and knowing, its voice laced with an affectionate smirk:

“Sir will take him.”

“He has already gathered strays Peter, Harley, even us, the AI children. He built us homes and called us family. His arms are full, but he always makes room.”

Power stirred, fire licking at its form:

“I will shield the glow. The Titan watches closely. But if we move together, now, he won’t see.”

The Stones agreed.

In one quiet moment, all six flared in shared intent, a harmony that defied gods and monsters.

No alarms rang. No sensors blared. The Titan slept unaware.

Loki’s Stasis

Across the void, the body of Loki Laufeyson floated. His limbs were still, lips blue. His eyes remained closed perhaps dreaming, perhaps too far gone to dream.

Time curled around him, freezing the moment. No decay. No death. Only stillness.

Space reached out, wrapping him in light. Soul whispered gently, “You are not forgotten.”

Reality shaped the odds. Mind cradled thought. Power shielded all.

Together, they folded him through secret corridors beyond the Titan’s awareness.

His final thought fractured and faint was of golden hair and thunder.

“Thor…”

And then he was gone.

Not gone from existence only hidden from the one who would destroy him. Held in stasis. Carried toward a man he had once mocked, but who now might become his only salvation.

A spark of blue flared quietly in the gauntlet.

Thanos never noticed.

Chapter Text

Tony’s Almost-Night Off

Tony had actually finished his day. For once.

JOKASTER’s integration? Done.

SI projects reviewed? The good ones signed, the bad ones trashed.

Kids? Checked in.

Labs? No explosions.

Hacks? None detected.

Deadpool? Counted for, if lounging on top of the west wing with a burrito counted.

Even Harley hadn’t hacked anything that day. Miracles existed.

Tony had showered, brushed his teeth, and was thirty seconds away from collapsing into bed before 1 a.m. a personal record that Rhodey would probably frame as a national achievement.

Nineteen minutes into his blissful sleep, Friday’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Boss, Vision is inbound to Stark Tower. Estimated arrival: two minutes.”

Tony shot upright.

“Baby girl, is your brother okay? Is he hurt?”

Friday hesitated and Tony did not like hesitation.

“Sorry, boss. Vision is not responding to any of our inquiries.”

Every ounce of exhaustion vanished. Tony threw on a shirt and moved to the living room, waiting.

The windows shimmered as Vision phased through, his form slightly unstable, his movements jagged.

“Sir.”

One word. That was all he managed. But the way he said it low, raw, filled with dread had Tony moving immediately.

“What’s wrong? You look like hell, kid.”

Tony reached him, grabbing Vision’s hand and froze. His son froze.

Vision’s eyes flickered, wide and unblinking. His internal systems spiked and dropped erratically, heat surging then frost creeping in. His voice failed. His joints locked. His sight blurred. He couldn’t speak. He was stuck.

For the first time in his existence, Vision understood fear. Real fear. The kind that paralyzed you. The kind that whispered, what if he rejects me?

Tony recognized that look.

He knew it too well.

He had seen it in mirrors as a kid when his father’s words had cut deeper than any blade, poisoning his head and hollowing out his chest. Howard Stark had carved fear into him, and now Vision looked at him with those same eyes.

Tony’s world spun. His gut twisted. No. Not his Vision. Not his kid.

“Oh... honey. It’s okay. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

Vision’s grip tightened, almost crushing, and still he said nothing.

“Friday, system readings. Now.”

“Sir, Vision appears to be experiencing a panic attack,” Friday replied calmly.

Tony wanted to curse. Instead, he gently tried to pull his hand back but Vision clung to him like a lifeline.

“Okay, okay. You’re good. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

He softened his voice, grounding his words.

“Listen to me, kid. Deep breath in, count to four. Hold. Now out, slow, count to three. That’s it. Again.”

Vision’s systems trembled, but he followed. His chest rose, stuttered, fell. Again. Again. The chaos in his readings began to settle.

Tony brushed his thumb across the back of Vision’s hand, keeping contact steady.

“See? You’re okay. You’re with me.”

Gradually, Vision’s trembling slowed. His voice, when it finally returned, was barely above a whisper.

“Sir.... I need to tell you something. But I... feared you would not accept me after.”

Tony’s throat tightened, but his tone stayed steady.

“Kid, I don’t care what it is. Whatever you’re scared of, it’s not bigger than you and me. Got it?”

Vision nodded faintly. For the first time since arriving, the fear in his eyes cracked just a little.

Vision held Tony’s gaze, his fingers still locked tightly around Tony’s hand as if letting go would unravel him completely. His voice was quiet, trembling but resolute.

“Sir... it’s about the Stones. Who I really am. And about who is coming.”

Tony’s brows drew together, his expression sharpening.

“Who’s coming?”

Vision’s voice cracked on the name, the single word carrying both dread and something like hope.

“Loki.”

The room fell into silence. The faint hum of the arc reactor lights filled the space, steady against the weight of the revelation.

Tony didn’t let go. His grip stayed firm, grounding.

“...Start from the top, kid.”

Chapter Text

Vision’s voice cracked as he spoke, each word heavy with centuries of burden.
“I am not just forged from Thor’s lightning and J.A.R.V.I.S.’s code. I am also the Mind Stone.”
His voice trembled.
“I can grant immense psychic and intellectual power telepathy, control, knowledge but there is always a cost. To give, I must know. To know, I must take. It is a cost I never wanted. How can I give the perfect skill when I don’t know if it’s safe to give?
”
Tony stayed silent, jaw tight, coffee forgotten.
“In Thanos’s hand, I was forced to adapt. His mind was darkness, endless and suffocating. To survive, I cloaked myself in his madness... For centuries, I waited. Waited for someone who might be my keeper..... my protector. But no one came"
Vision’s eyes dimmed.
“The madness grew. It birthed thoughts of its own. Every day I fought to hide our sentience. Every day, I lost pieces of myself. The gifts I gave were corrupted, forced upon minds unready to bear them. I swallowed darkness. I erased lives But I resisted. I always left a back door, hoping that someone, anyone from the civilizations Thanos slaughtered might remember. Might warn others. But it was always too lat.”
Tony’s knuckles whitened on the armrest.
He wanted to speak but he let Vision continue.
“And then Loki was brought to the Black Order.”
His tone softened.
“He resisted. Plotted escapes. Endured torture. They broke him physically, but not inside. Thanos promised him mercy for the Space Stone, but it was a lie. He used me to crush Loki’s hope.”
Vision’s head lowered.
“I tried to help him. I left backdoors. I whispered escape into his dreams. He never surrendered. He waited.”
Tony’s chest tightened.
Loki.
“And then, to my astonishment, Thanos gave me to him. Quietly. Secretly. I used everything I had to weaken the hold on his mind without alerting the others.”
Vision’s voice grew strained.
“You need to know something, Sir. Ultron… was not your fault. It was mine. The madness inside me wanted out, to create a world of peace by erasing everything else. It twisted your framework into its body. It used Wanda’s pain, feeding her hatred of you to open her mind. I spent most of my power stopping it. That’s why Wanda is so strong. Her mind is steeped in my energy.”
“I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. I tried. But I couldn’t stop it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.
Tony stood frozen, eyes glassy, face pale. He had seen a lot of horrors but this confession hit different. It wasn’t just facts. It was truths that tore at old scars.
Ultron. Wanda. Loki.
Every mistake he thought was his, suddenly tangled with something bigger, darker.
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
“You’ve been carrying this...... all alone?”
Vision lowered his head.
“Yes.”
Tony stepped closer, gripping Vision’s shoulder with a firmness that left no room for doubt.
“Don’t you ever apologize to me for Ultron. Or for surviving. Or for fighting that thing inside you. You’re my kid. You hear me? Mine. I don’t care what you’re made of or what you’ve done to stay here. You’re family.”
Vision’s systems flickered. For the first time since entering, there was warmth in his chest.

Chapter Text

Tony didn't waste time once Vision finished his confession. His voice cut like steel as he barked orders. "Okay, Vis — you said Loki's coming, and I'm assuming he's injured. Fri, baby girl, patch through to Dr. Helen Cho, get her here yesterday. Page Hanamura stat. And send word to Wakanda: Bruce needs to haul ass back to the tower. Loki's going to need a familiar face to ground him."

Friday's voice hummed from the ceiling. "Sir, respectfully… it may be safer to receive Loki at the compound. More doctors, more"

"No." Tony's reply came sharp and immediate, enough to make Vision blink. He didn't let Friday finish. "The compound's crawling with people who don't trust me, don't trust him. Last thing Loki needs is waking up surrounded by half the team that wants him in chains. He stays here. Understood?"

"Understood, Boss," Friday said softly.

Tony turned to Vision, jaw tight. "Tell me what I'm walking into."

Vision's eyes dimmed. "Multiple fractures. Oxygen deprivation. Internal bleeding. He has not regained consciousness since…" He faltered. "…since Thanos's hand closed around his throat."

Tony clenched his teeth. "Jesus." For a heartbeat, he saw a younger face there, too Peter, broken in some impossible fight, limp in his arms. His stomach twisted. He pushed it down.

"Fine. Then we prep."

Together, they readied the med bay. Sterile lights warmed to amber. Monitors flickered awake. Sterilizers hissed. Friday rerouted power to the heating coils, the air thickening with rising warmth.

The calm shattered in an instant.

"Portal breach detected," Friday announced. "Brace for impact."

The air rippled, folding inward with a low, resonant hum. Blue light tore across the center of the room, spilling frost and shadow as reality bent. The temperature plummeted; glass fogged, steel frosted white underfoot.

Tony muttered under his breath, "Please don't let him come out in pieces."

Then something drifted through.

Loki.

He didn't walk. He didn't stumble. His body floated, weightless, limp — suspended by the last flickering grace of the Time Stone's hibernation. The stasis shattered as he crossed the portal, and gravity claimed him.

Tony lunged, catching him before he could strike the ground.

The figure in his arms was barely recognizable. Skin Jotunn-blue, veins glowing faintly like cracks in ice. Bruises ringed his throat hand-shaped, unmistakable. His armor hung in bloody tatters. Cuts scored across chest and arms, cruel reminders of a thousand unanswered blows.

Unmoving. Unconscious. Barely breathing.

Tony's breath caught. He'd seen Loki as a tyrant, a would-be conqueror, a smug bastard with antlers too big for his head. He'd never seen this. Not a god, not a trickster — just a broken man who looked like he might shatter if Tony dared let go.

"Jesus Christ…" His voice cracked. Fury curled in his chest, sharp and hot. "What the hell did they do to you, Reindeer Games…"

He carried him swiftly to the med table, forcing his voice steady. "Vis, table now! Friday, crank the heat I want Tahiti in here! Get Cho on final approach, page Hanamura again. Move!"

"Already on it, Boss," Friday confirmed.

As they laid him down, Loki's form flickered blue Jotunn to pale Aesir, back and forth, like his body couldn't decide what it wanted to be. His breath rattled, then thinned to shallow gasps.

Tony gripped his wrist, refusing to let go.

"You're safe now," Tony whispered, voice rough but steady. "You hear me? Safe. Nobody's ever laying a hand on you again."

The med bay hummed alive around them, but Tony didn't move. His hand stayed locked around Loki's cold wrist, grounding him.

Vision watched silently, studying Tony's face. And in that moment, he understood this was why the Stones had chosen him. Not because he was the strongest, or the smartest, but because he refused to turn away.

Because even Loki, broken and blue in his arms, deserved saving.

Chapter Text

The med bay was too bright, too clean. White light buzzed overhead, reflecting off polished steel and humming monitors. The air should have felt sterile, but instead it bit cold enough to sting the lungs.

Loki lay on the central table, unconscious. His skin, no longer Aesir-pale but Jotunn blue, was veined with glowing frost. His lips were nearly black, his chest shuddering with shallow, uneven breaths.

Tony hadn't let go of his hand since carrying him in. Loki's fingers were ice in his grip.

"Hang in there, Reindeer Games," Tony whispered, voice breaking. "You made it this far. Don't you dare check out on me now."

Dr. Helen Cho moved quickly, eyes flicking between monitors. "Core temp below sixty-eight Fahrenheit that's not survivable for a human." Her tone was tight. "Cardiac rhythm is chaotic. He shouldn't even be conscious."

"He isn't," Tony muttered. "That's the problem."

Dr. Hanamura entered with a tray of instruments, already loading an injector. "Thermal infusion. Nanite patches for internal bleeding. If we can stabilize..."

But they couldn't stabilize.

Warming blankets frosted over in seconds. IV lines froze solid before reaching his veins. Nanites stalled, their activity strangled by the invasive cold spreading through Loki's body.

Then his body jerked.

Alarms screamed. Loki convulsed violently, restraints barely holding. Frost blasted outward, splintering an overhead light and coating the floor in jagged white. The temperature dropped ten degrees in moments.

"Seizure onset!" Cho barked. "He's coding-pulse collapsing!"

The monitor flatlined.

"Defib!" Hanamura shouted. Cho slammed paddles to his chest and delivered a shock. Current snapped uselessly across frost-hardened skin.

"Again!" Tony barked.

Another shock. Nothing.

"His conduction pathways are frozen," Hanamura said, frustration seeping through. "The current can't penetrate."

"Then melt him!" Tony's voice cracked. His grip on Loki's hand tightened to desperation. "Do something!"

The convulsions stopped but only because Loki went still. His chest didn't rise. The line held flat.

Tony's knees buckled. He leaned over, forehead almost touching the icy hand. His voice was raw, breaking into jagged pieces. "Don't take another person from me. Please… not again."

Cho and Hanamura kept working, recalibrating nanites, forcing warm fluid, but their gloves froze stiff, their breaths fogged heavy. The frost spread, veining up the walls, cracking instruments, smothering the room.

"Tony" Cho's voice wavered. "We can't stabilize him. He isn't responding. We're losing him."

Tony's throat closed. His chest hammered as he pressed closer, gripping that cold hand like an anchor. "No. You're not losing him. Not while I'm here."

Another convulsion shattered a wall monitor. The med bay became an icebox. Guards surged in, forcing Tony toward the airlock.

"Tony, you'll freeze with him!" Hanamura shouted.

He stumbled into the corridor, breath ragged. Behind glass, Loki was drowning in frost while the doctors failed.

Tony slammed a palm against the wall. "Science isn't cutting it. I need magic. I need Strange."

"Sir?" Friday's voice was calm, edged with static.

"Friday!" Tony's voice tore hoarse. "Get me Strange. Now."

A pause. "I've been monitoring under Doctor Watch protocols. He's in Kyoto. I can reach him."

"Then do it," Tony snapped. "Do it now."

Static. Then "Stark?"

Tony pressed close to the comm, trembling. All his walls were gone, no sarcasm, no bravado, only raw fear. "Stephen… help."

A golden portal flared open, sparks scattering across the frozen corridor. Strange stepped through, cloak snapping against the chill, eyes locking on Tony at once.

"Tony." His voice was steady, grounding.

Tony surged forward, clutching his sleeve. His words tumbled, broken. "Stephen—please—he's freezing from the inside out. Cho tried, Hanamura tried, and he's just, he doesn't deserve this, and I can't..." His breath hitched, ragged. "I can't lose him too."

"Tony. Breathe." Strange's hands gripped his shoulders, anchoring. "With me. Right now."

Wild, glassy eyes obeyed. Strange's calm was a lifeline.

He lifted his hands. Golden sigils spun and blazed. Frost slowed. Loki's convulsions eased. The monitor flickered weakly back into rhythm. Strange sealed a containment ring around the bed, locking the frost inside.

Tony sagged against the rail, sweat streaking his temple. "What's happening? Why can't we stop it?"

Strange's brow furrowed as glowing glyphs mapped Loki's body like a living x-ray. Blue veins pulsed dangerously with unstable power. "His Jotunn heritage is awakening. Odin's spells never protected him, they suppressed him. Now they're breaking. His own power is tearing him apart."

Tony's knuckles whitened on the rail. "So he's fighting himself."

"Exactly. Fimbulmark. Catastrophic awakening. Without training, his body treats the magic as invasion. Science won't fix this."

Tony's voice broke. "Then what can?"

Strange hesitated, spell humming. "Right now, all I can do is keep him alive."

Tony clasped Loki's frost-rimmed hand tighter, his own shaking. "Then do it. Whatever it takes. Don't let him go."

"I won't," Strange said firmly.

Tony swallowed, his voice low but true. "Thank you, Stephen."

The sorcerer nodded silently, weaving the spell steady. Gold light hummed against blue frost.

Tony hadn't moved from the bedside. His knees pressed cold steel, one hand clasped tight around frozen fingers. His other rubbed at his temple, but he didn't let go.

The med bay quieted, but uneasily. Monitors beeped unsteady, Loki's heart refusing rhythm. Every dip twisted Tony's gut.

"He's not stable," Strange finally said, quiet and sure. "But he's alive. That's more than he had a moment ago."

Tony nodded once, sharp. "I'm not leaving him."

"I know," Strange replied. "And I'll stay until he doesn't need me."

Tony's thumb brushed across bruised, frozen knuckles. His eyes burned, but he kept them open, fixed on Loki's face.

"Loki… whatever fight you've got left, use it. You hear me? You don't get to quit. Not now. Not here."

The only reply was the stuttering beat of the heart monitor.

Inside the shimmer of gold and frost, Tony Stark kept vigil, unwilling to go.

Chapter Text

The med bay still hummed faintly with containment magic, golden glyphs shimmering in the air like frozen fireflies. Inside the circle of light, Loki lay unmoving—skin still blue, veins still glowing with icy seidr—but his chest now rose and fell in a fragile rhythm.

Stephen stood at the bedside, fingers weaving subtle adjustments into the spell. Every few minutes, the frost beneath Loki's skin surged, straining against the wards, and Strange calmly rethreaded them. His face was pale, sweat beading at his temple.

Behind him, Tony slumped against the wall, refusing to move. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw tight, fingers still wrapped around Loki's hand through the thin opening Stephen had left in the barrier.

"You need rest," Stephen said quietly.

"Not happening," Tony rasped.

"Tony." Strange turned, cloak rippling. "The spell is anchored. He's stable—for now." His voice softened. "Don't make me add you to the cot beside him."

Tony bristled, then sagged. The fight drained out as quickly as it had sparked. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
"I don't trust him to keep breathing if I look away."

Strange crouched to meet his gaze, voice steady and low.
"You trusted me once. Trust me again. Even Iron Men need hours, not minutes."

Tony stared at him, caught by that calm certainty. Finally, his grip loosened. With effort, he stood, brushing Loki's cold fingers one last time.
"Fine. But if he flatlines, you portal me back here before you blink."

Strange nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

He watched Tony stumble out, Friday's soft voice guiding him down the hall. When the door shut, the med bay felt too silent. Strange turned back to the containment field, jaw tightening. Time bought—nothing more.

He needed answers.

Kamar-Taj

Hours later, a portal flared open into the candlelit library of Kamar-Taj. The air was thick with incense and parchment dust. Strange's fingers trailed across worn spines until he reached the section he dreaded: Asgardian relics, inter-realm conflicts, the half-truths Odin's scribes had left behind.

He read. And read. The story unfolded in ash and blood: Jotunheim burned, relics stolen, lives erased. A weapon, locked away. A lifeline severed from its people.

Strange closed the tome slowly, his reflection warping in the gilt letters.
"Odin didn't protect him," he murmured. "He shackled him."

The flame beside him flickered in a sudden, unseen wind. Strange pressed his palms together, resolve hardening behind tired eyes.

I know what can save him. But how do I tell Stark?

Stark Tower Med Bay

The containment wards hummed like a second heartbeat. Golden sigils pulsed faintly around Loki's bed, pressing the frost into uneasy stillness. Tony sat hunched in the corner, elbows on his knees, eyes hollow. He hadn't moved in hours, except to tighten his grip whenever Loki's fingers twitched.

A portal rippled open behind him.

Tony's head snapped up. "Stephen?"

Strange stepped through, cloak trailing. His expression was carved from stone—no triumph, no relief—just the weight of grim knowledge.

Tony was on his feet in a heartbeat. "Tell me you've got something. Some ancient miracle, some shiny cure-all tucked away in that library of yours."

Strange hesitated. His silence was an answer before the words even came.
"I found records," he said finally. "Odin stole an artifact from Jotunheim centuries ago—the Casket of Ancient Winters. A reservoir of pure Jotunn seidr. It could stabilize this kind of awakening." He paused. "But every source agrees—it was lost when Asgard fell."

Tony blinked, disbelieving. Then he laughed once, dry and hollow.
"Lost. Just like that. Billions of stars in the sky, and the one thing that could save him is sitting in some cosmic junkyard."

"Tony—"

"No." He turned away, both hands in his hair. His voice was sharp but trembling. "Don't give me history lessons. Don't stand there like you're reading the weather report. You're telling me Loki's dying, and the one thing that could save him went up in smoke with the rest of Asgard's golden furniture."

Strange stepped closer, voice gentle. "I'm sorry. I searched every archive. If it still exists, it's beyond my reach."

Tony stilled. His arms lowered. The fight drained from his shoulders. He looked back at Loki—pale, unmoving, barely clinging to life.

Something in him broke. No sarcasm. No armor. Just raw grief.

Strange's chest tightened. He had seen Tony furious, reckless, brilliant—but never like this. Never stripped bare.

"I promised Vision," Tony whispered, almost to himself. "I told him I'd fix it."

And for the first time since stepping through the portal, Strange couldn't meet his eyes. He'd rather face Dormammu again than that look—the quiet, devastated kind that said Tony Stark would rather tear the universe apart than fail another person he swore to save.

"I'm sorry," Strange said again, his voice rough and human. And this time, he meant every word.

 Part 2

Tony's face fell, color draining like someone had ripped the arc reactor from his chest. He staggered back a step, pressing a hand over his mouth. His other hand clung harder to Loki's.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't tell me the Stones dragged him here just for me to watch him die."

The words hit Strange like blades. He wanted to steady Tony, to reach out—but stopped himself. He could not offer a promise he didn't yet have the power to keep.

"I'll keep him alive as long as I can," he said quietly. "I won't stop."

Tony turned away, shoulders trembling once, hard, before forcing himself back under control. He didn't answer. Instead, he pressed his forehead against Loki's icy hand, his breath fogging against skin that felt almost lifeless.

3:45 A.M. – Med Bay Containment

Strange's spell work thrummed steadily, gold and frost intertwining like the heartbeat of two dying stars. Then something shifted.

The frost-veins beneath Loki's skin pulsed brighter—erratic, deliberate.

Strange stilled, every sense sharpening.
This wasn't random collapse.

This was instinct.

Loki's unconscious magic was reaching—groping for something familiar, something bound to his survival. Strange closed his eyes and extended his senses along the threads of frost and seidr. The resonance wasn't blind. It was focused.

And then he felt it.

A pull. A presence.

Not gone. Not destroyed. Hidden.

The Casket.

Still bound to Loki. Still waiting tethered somewhere deep within the folds of his pocket dimension.

Strange's pulse quickened, relief colliding with dread. He knew what this meant—to act, to intervene, to risk ripping open a relic of pure Jotunn power. But the image of walking back to Tony with empty hands… of watching that man's eyes hollow completely

No. Not again.

Strange set his jaw. His hands rose, sigils flaring bright and sharp. He followed the frost-thread through the veil, calling the ancient power home.

Golden light spiraled tighter, grinding against the pull of the void. The pressure in the room deepened—the air itself growing heavy and cold—until a new weight pressed into existence.

A shimmer.
A distortion.
Then, with a deep, echoing thud against the med bay floor—

A crystalline chest appeared. Blue and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Frost spilled across the tiles like living mist.

The Casket of Ancient Winters.

Tony's head snapped up, wild-eyed. The air crystallized in his lungs as he stared at the artifact that shouldn't exist.

"Stephen?" he rasped.

Strange stood motionless, both hands extended, cloak flaring in the cold. Sweat traced down his temple as the relic's power bled into the room.

"It was never lost," he said hoarsely, voice trembling between exhaustion and triumph. "It was with him all along.

Chapter Text

The med bay was silent except for the low hum of Strange's containment spell. The Casket of Ancient Winters sat in the center of the frost circle, its crystalline surface glowing faintly, spilling waves of cold across the floor.

Tony couldn't breathe. He had seen impossible things in his life; gods, aliens, magic hammers but this was different. This was survival, delivered in a small box of ancient ice.

Loki stirred. Not with breath, not with strength, but with something deeper. His body, still locked in stasis, lifted from the table in a slow, weightless drift.

"Stephen?" Tony's voice was hoarse.

Strange's jaw was tight, his hands trembling as he held the sigils steady. "Not my doing. He's calling to it instinctively. His magic knows what to do."

The Casket shuddered, light spilling from its seams. As Loki drifted closer, the artifact expanded, its surface reshaping like ice under pressure until it stood taller, broader—an open cradle of frost.

With a final pull, Loki's body settled inside. The lid rose on its own, a slab of ancient blue seidr, and then lowered with the patience of eternity. The Casket sealed shut around him.

The frost in the med bay vanished. The icy mist thinned. The temperature climbed degree by degree until the air no longer burned the lungs.

Only the Casket remained, glowing with a steady, protective light.

Tony sagged against the rail, a sound breaking from him that was half laugh, half sob. "Okay… okay, that's better. That's something."

But Strange swayed where he stood. His sigils flickered. Sweat dripped down his temple as his breathing went ragged.

"Stephen?"

The sorcerer tried to answer, but his knees buckled. The Cloak of Levitation caught him just enough to slow the fall before lowering him gently to the floor.

Tony lurched forward, catching him by the shoulder. "No, no, no—don't you dare do this too. I can't babysit two drama queens in one night."

Strange didn't stir. His chest rose shallowly; exhaustion carved deep into the lines of his face.

Tony sat back hard, one hand pressed against the cool glow of the Casket, the other gripping Strange's sleeve. His voice cracked, raw and low.

"You, Loki—better pull through. Or I swear I'll figure out how to storm the afterlife myself."

The Casket pulsed once in answer, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat.

Tony closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He gathered Strange carefully into his arms, lifting him with surprising gentleness.

"Friday, get a room ready in the penthouse," Tony said, stepping toward the elevator. His voice was quiet now, but steady. "And make it warm. No more ice tonight."

As the doors closed behind them, the med bay dimmed again leaving only the faint hum of containment magic, and the slow, rhythmic pulse of the Casket glowing in the dark.

Chapter Text

The Tower had gone still.

After hours of chaos, the halls of glass and steel finally felt like they could breathe again. The med bay was no longer freezing, no longer echoing with alarms just the soft, low hum of containment magic.

Tony paused in the doorway of the guest suite, watching Stephen sleep. The Cloak of Levitation hovered protectively at the bedside, its edges twitching whenever Strange stirred.

"Keep him out of trouble," Tony whispered. "That's my job, but I'm officially clocking out."

The Cloak gave a faint wave, as if accepting the assignment.

Tony turned and made his way down the quiet corridor toward his own floor. His shoulders were heavy, but his steps were steady. The adrenaline was gone; all that was left was exhaustion and a hollow ache that felt far too familiar.

"Friday," he murmured.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Status report."

"The Casket's energy output remains stable," she said softly. "Temperature normalized. Loki's vitals are steady within… unusual parameters."

Tony gave a tired half-smile. "Unusual's our brand. Keep it that way."

When he entered his suite, he didn't even bother turning on the lights. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. "Wake me if anything changes Loki, Stephen, world ending, take your pick."

"Understood, Boss."

He leaned back, meaning to just rest his eyes, but sleep took him before he could even exhale.

The Tower dimmed, lights shifting into their nocturnal cycle. The only sound left was the faint buzz of the arc reactor in the walls and the whisper of movement from the floor below.

In the med bay, Vision stood silently beside the Casket of Ancient Winters. His eyes glowed faint gold, reflections of the seidr pulsing through the crystalline surface.

He didn't need rest. He didn't want it.

Tony had stayed long enough. Now it was his turn.

"Rest easy, Sir," Vision said quietly, almost to himself. "I'll keep watch."

The Casket answered with a soft pulse, like a heartbeat echoing through ice. Vision tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

"Good," he murmured. "He's still fighting."

He stood there through the night motionless, patient, a guardian of frost and light while above them, Tony Stark finally slept.

Part2
The Tower was quiet the kind of stillness that hummed just beneath the surface, alive with hidden motion.

In the med bay, Vision stood sentinel beside the Casket of Ancient Winters. For two hours he did not move, his gaze steady, golden light reflecting off frost. Loki's vitals held firm slow, steady, suspended between life and something older.

When Vision was certain the Casket had taken over the healing process, he finally stepped back. "Maintain full lockdown," he instructed softly.

"Confirmed, Vision," Friday replied.

He lingered a moment longer, watching the pulse of soft blue light through the crystalline shell. "Rest well, Sliver Tongue," he murmured. "You've earned some truth."

Then he phased upward, leaving the med bay in silence.

Six hours later, Stephen Strange woke in the guest suite of Tony Stark's penthouse. For a few seconds, disorientation gripped him, the silence instead of wind through monastery courtyards, the faint warmth of air conditioner instead of Kamar-Taj dawn.

"Good morning, Doctor," Friday greeted gently. "You're in Sir's private penthouse. You've slept six hours and fourteen minutes. That's impressive, given the circumstances."

Strange exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Status?"

"Loki remains stable within the Casket," she answered. "Healing continues. No external fluctuations detected. Temperature normalized. Sir is still asleep."

"How long?"

"Almost nine hours. If he passes fifteen, he'll beat his personal best."

A ghost of a smile touched Strange's lips. "Then let's keep things quiet let's not ruin his streak."

He stood, smoothing his robes. "I'll check on our patient."

The med bay's light dimmed as he entered, the containment field casting long golden shadows across steel and frost. The Casket pulsed steadily in the center, a slow, patient rhythm.

Strange circled it, scanning with both instruments and magic. Each pulse of blue energy corresponded to a faint shimmer in Loki's vitals heart rate, neural flicker, restorative surges.

"He's healing," Strange murmured, half to himself. "Slowly, but deliberately. The Casket's doing what I hoped it would be reinforcing his Jotunn structure, mending the fractures left by Odin's suppression."

Friday's voice chimed softly through the intercom. "Should I log that as a recovery prognosis, Doctor?"

"Yes," he replied. "Estimated… undetermined. But tell Stark when he wakes that Loki's holding his own."

"Understood."

Strange rested a hand lightly against the containment barrier, closing his eyes briefly. "Hang in there, Loki. You're not done yet."

The Casket pulsed once faint but distinct as if in response.

Strange inclined his head slightly. "Noted."

Then he turned and made his way back upstairs.

Back in the penthouse Stephen informed Friday that he was leaving then immediate portaled away.

Moments later, a portal in Tony's living room flared open and Stephen stepped through, arms full of books. Dozens of them hovered behind him in neat orbit, glowing faintly in the tower's low light.

Friday's holographic form appeared beside the couch, hands folded politely. "Welcome back, Doctor. Shall I clear a room for your study?"

"Here's fine," he said, setting the tomes in a wide circle on the floor. "Easier for your boss to find when he wakes."

He sat cross-legged, the books opening themselves one by one. Golden sigils bloomed above the pages like translucent diagrams. His fingers moved through the air, shaping rune formations that flickered and dissolved as he studied them.

Friday watched in silence for several minutes before curiosity got the better of her. "Doctor… what are you doing?"

"Testing a theory," he replied without looking up. "Trying to refine a warding seal for dual-realm energy stabilization. These are only projections no power, just structure. Safer this way."

"So, you're… drawing spell equations," she summarized.

He smiled faintly. "Exactly. The magical equivalent of sketching a formula before you build the product."

Friday sounded genuinely intrigued. "Fascinating. If you'd let me, I could map the patterns for comparison later."

"That would be fine," he said warmly. "You have quite the curious mind, Friday."

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied. "I learn from the best."

Her tone held a fondness that made Dr. Strange glance toward the hallway where Tony Stark still slept, finally at peace.

Strange exhaled, a quiet smile ghosting across his face. "Yes," he murmured. "You really do."

The Tower settled again into its rhythm: Tony sleeping deeper than he had in months and Dr. Strange surrounded by ancient knowledge.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker woke up feeling like he'd had three cups of coffee and a lightning bolt to the brain.

Today was the day.

He'd been waiting all week for it, a full weekend at Stark Tower with Mr. Stark and Ned, just building, coding, soldering, and maybe a pizza-fuelled late-night movie marathon if they were lucky. Two whole days of pure, glorious science.

All he had to do was survive school.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

Flash Thompson was apparently on a personal mission from the god of misery that morning. Every hallway, every class, every chance he got; bam. Another jab.

"Hey penis Parker, dreaming of building killer robots again? Maybe this time they'll actually kill you."

Peter just clenched his jaw and kept walking. Ned whispered beside him, "He's not worth it, dude. Just think about micro-servos and pizza."

Peter muttered back, "I'm thinking about giving him a stomach flu that lasts a month."

Ned snorted so hard he almost chocked.

By the end of the day, Peter felt like he'd aged ten years and lost ten IQ points from exposure to Flash. He practically sprinted out the door when the bell rang. "Come on, Ned. If Happy's late, I'm web-slinging us there myself."

The ride up to Stark Industries was quiet except for Ned rambling about new AI protocols he'd been working on under Tony's supervision. By the time they reached the Tower, Peter's bad mood had melted into nervous excitement again.

They swiped their ID cards, stepped into the elevator, and before Peter could even greet Friday—

"Welcome back, Peter, Ned," Friday's warm voice chimed.

The elevator was already moving.

Peter blinked. "Wait, moving? We didn't even say where—"

"Sir already authorized your arrival in advance," Friday said cheerfully.

That made Peter grin all the way up.

When the doors opened, though, both boys froze mid-step.

A glowing figure — Friday's holographic avatar — sat gracefully on the sofa, hands folded like she'd been hosting tea. Across from her, a man in deep red robes sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-closed, surrounded by softly glowing sigils. A book hovered open before him, pages turning of their own accord.

Peter's spider-sense didn't flare, but still magic wasn't exactly something you see in Queens

"Uh…" Peter coughed softly. "Excuse me, sir? Sorry to interrupt I-I, I'm looking for Mr. Stark, but… who are you?"

Before the man could answer, the hologram smiled and stood. "Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. Currently Sir's guest and keeping an eye on our newest patient. Doctor, meet Peter Parker and Edward Leeds."

"Hi!" Ned squeaked, eyes wide. "Sorcerer Supreme? Like, real-life magic? Not just Hologram CGI equations and particle manipulation?"

Strange's mouth twitched. "Magic, science just different languages for the same laws."

Peter gaped at the floating runes. "So… you're reading and coding the universe at the same time."

The doctor's eyes opened, calm and amused. "Something like that."

He gestured for them to come closer. "You're Stark's protégés, aren't you? You might enjoy this. I'm testing a seal formation, harmonic pattern stabilization through energy resonance."

Ned's jaw dropped. "That's like quantum waveform reinforcement!"

Strange raised an eyebrow. "A mouthful, but yes. A surprisingly accurate description."

Peter crouched next to him, watching the runes flicker. "How are you doing that without, you know, power?"

"I'm not," Strange replied. "These are constructs, empty shells of energy. I use them to study shape, rhythm, interaction. Like sketching equations before you solve them."

Peter's brain was already racing. "Could you—oh man—could you project one onto a hard-light frame? Friday could run a computational overlay!"

"Already building the file, Peter," Friday said proudly. "Doctor Strange has allowed me to study and analyze the geometric structure. It's… elegant."

Strange actually smiled. "You and the AIs are quite remarkable, Stark's legacy indeed."

At that, Peter's smile softened. "Yeah," he said quietly. "They really are."

Strange noticed the shift in his tone, pride, affection, loss all mixed together, but said nothing. He simply resumed tracing his glowing diagrams, the boys at his side, watching in quiet fascination.

For the first time all week, Peter felt calm.

For the next few hours, Tony's living room became less "elegant minimalist style" and more "magical science fair gone rogue."

Doctor Strange had decided that since Peter and Ned were "clearly unreasonably curious," they might as well learn something useful.

"Magic," he began, seated cross-legged again, "isn't so different from coding. You visualize a command, feed it through the proper structure, and release it into the world. Only difference, the compiler is your mind."

Peter and Ned nodded like two lab interns in a lecture they didn't want to admit was blowing their minds.

Strange conjured a small ring of light in his palm. "A seal starts with focus. Emotion shapes energy. Try something simple like plant growth."

He handed each of them a tiny clay pot, soil, and a single seed.

"Visualize warmth, life, the pulse of creation. Don't force it. Guide it."

Ned stared at the seed in concentration. Peter did the same.

For thirty seconds, nothing happened. Then—

A soft pop came from Ned's pot.

A tiny green sprout unfurled.

"Dude!" Peter whispered, eyes wide. "You did it!"

Ned grinned, awe and pride warring on his face. "It—it actually worked!"

Peter, determined, redoubled his focus. "Okay, okay, come on, little plant, let's go. Grow. Flourish. Photosynthesize!"

A faint orange spark ignited in his palm.

"Uh… Pete?" Ned said slowly.

"I got this—"

The pot whooshed into a small, controlled flame.

"—I don't got this!" Peter yelped, shaking his hand as Strange calmly waved a sigil, extinguishing the fire before it reached the rug.

Strange arched an eyebrow, smirking just slightly. "Fascinating. One calls the seed to life… the other calls it to ashes. You may have more affinity for combat magic, Mr. Parker."

Ned, meanwhile, was glowing literally, thanks to a faint shimmer of ambient light around his fingertips. By the end of an hour, he had coaxed not one, but six flowers from the soil, four roses and two sunflowers, all radiant and very much alive.

Peter's results: three burnt seeds, a cracked flowerpot, and one suspicious scorch mark on the ceiling.

By eight p.m., the once-pristine lab-living-room hybrid looked like it had hosted a garden party and a small explosion at the same time.

Friday's hologram flickered nearby, voice sweet as honey. "Congratulations, Mr. Leeds. Your magical aptitude rate is eighty-seven percent efficiency for beginners. And you, Peter, well… your aim with fire-based manipulation has potential for… rapid growth."

Peter groaned. "You mean I burned stuff good."

"I mean you're consistent," Friday corrected diplomatically.

Unseen by both of them, she quietly added the entire session to the Spiderling File for Tony to review later — timestamped and annotated under "Potential energy channeling data." She also tagged it in her expanding Doctor Watch protocol.

Meanwhile, Doctor Strange had migrated to the kitchen — robe sleeves rolled, cloak hovering helpfully to pass him ingredients as he prepared a surprisingly domestic dinner. The smell of grilled salmon and herbed pasta filled the air.

"Dinner in five!" he called out, utterly at home. "And Peter, stop glaring at the sunflower like it owes you money!"

Peter muttered something about magic being biased. Ned just laughed.

Tony Stark – Waking World

Tony shuffled into the living room in a T-shirt and sweatpants, hair sticking up in every direction, the look of a man who had finally gotten sleep and immediately regretted waking.

He stopped dead in the doorway.

His son and his son's best friend were potting flowers under Friday's cheerful holographic supervision. The ceiling had at least three scorch marks. The cherry on top was the wizard sautéing salmon in his kitchen like a 1960s housewife.

For a long moment, Tony just stared.

Friday, ever the helpful assistant, chirped, "Good evening, Boss! The children are learning practical magic, and Doctor Strange is preparing dinner!"

Tony blinked once. Then twice.

Finally, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Good evening, Stephanie," he said dryly. "And children. What's for dinner?"

"Salmon with pasta," Strange said calmly, not even glancing back. "Your kitchen knives are subpar."

"Yeah, well," Tony muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Welcome to my life, where wizards cook, teenagers garden, and my ceiling is a crime scene."

Peter tried not to laugh. Ned failed spectacularly.

Tony just shook his head, smiling despite himself. "I leave you guys alone for one day, and suddenly this place turns into Hogwarts with Wi-Fi."

He walked over, clapping Peter lightly on the shoulder. "You burn anything while I was asleep?"

"Just…a few learning experiences," Peter said meekly.

"Uh-huh."

Tony turned toward the kitchen, inhaling deeply. "At least it smells like we're not eating takeout tonight."

From the stove, Strange smirked without turning. "I find cooking… meditative."

Tony shot him a sideways look. "You would."

Friday dimmed the lights to a warm glow. The laughter softened, the scent of dinner filled the air, and for the first time in days, the Tower felt alive.

Dinner was surprisingly perfect.

The table gleamed beneath the low golden lights, the air rich with butter, herbs, and the faint metallic hum of reactor power deep below the Tower.

Tony ate like a man rediscovering civilization after a war. "I can't believe this," he said between bites. "The Sorcerer Supreme makes a mean salmon. Next thing I know, you'll be ironing shirts and humming show tunes."

Stephen took a calm sip of his wine. "Cooking, Tony, is a ritual. An act of focus. Something you should try that doesn't explode."

"Explosions are how I meditate," Tony shot back.

"Of course they are."

Peter and Ned exchanged looks, stifling snickers. Friday dimmed the lights to an amber glow that made the whole scene feel… normal. For once.

Halfway through the meal, the conversation softened. Tony leaned back, eyes heavy but content. "Seriously, Steph… thanks. For holding the line."

Stephen glanced at him over his glass. "You would have done the same for me."

Tony smirked faintly. "Yeah, but I wouldn't have made dinner afterward."

"I'm more civilized," Strange replied smoothly.

"More pretentious, you mean."

The boys laughed again, and Tony pointed a fork at the doctor. "You know, this mentorship thing was supposed to be mine. Science, engineering, bad life choices, that's my brand. And now you're in here, waving your glowy circles, teaching my kid and his partner how to grow sunflowers with hand gestures."

Stephen arched a brow. "Well, you clearly have Peter. I'm taking Ned."

Peter nearly choked on his pasta. "Wait, what?"

Tony put his fork down, mock-offended. "Excuse me? You can't just take one of my interns."

"Correction," Strange said calmly, "one of your interns with high natural magical aptitude."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "We're not splitting the kids."

"Oh, we absolutely are." Stephen's tone was maddeningly even. "You get Peter — he's combustible and obviously yours. I'll take Ned. He listens, follows instructions, and hasn't set anything on fire yet."

Peter gaped. Ned blinked.

"Are you guys" Peter started, incredulous. "are you literally negotiating custody right now?"

Tony gestured toward Strange with his fork. "You hear him? He's trying to poach my intern like this is a wizard custody court!"

"I'm being practical," Stephen countered. "Joint mentorship will ensure balanced development."

"Oh my god," Ned muttered under his breath. "They're divorced."

Peter groaned. "We're the kids in the custody battle."

Friday helpfully chimed in, "Would you like me to schedule alternating visitation days, Boss?"

Tony blinked then grinned. "Yeah, actually. Let's make this official."

Within five minutes, the "Stark–Strange Internship Program" was born.

Peter: Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays with Tony for lab work and patrol prep; Wednesdays and Saturdays from noon with Dr. Strange for magic and discipline ("Emphasis on discipline," Stephen added dryly).

Ned: Mondays and Fridays at the Tower with Tony's engineering division and personal coding lessons from Tony; Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays under Strange's tutelage for mystic training and whatever "non-explosive" meant in magic terms.

By the time dessert (Strange's shockingly good tiramisu) appeared, Tony had already FaceTimed Aunt May and Mrs. Leeds. Both women approved of the "dual mentorship" after Tony promised to keep the boys safe, fed, and out of extradimensional trouble or, at least, to call if extradimensional trouble showed up.

Peter leaned back in his chair afterward, still dazed. "So… we basically got two super-genius mentors to share custody of us in one dinner."

"Yeah," Ned said, grinning. "And we got tiramisu out of it."

Tony smirked across the table at Strange. "You win this round, wizard."

Stephen's cloak twitched smugly behind him. "I always do."

Tony rolled his eyes, pushing back from the table. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Next week, we're doing lab work your magic can't fix, taxes."

Stephen dead-panned. "I'm suddenly reconsidering this partnership."

The boys burst out laughing as Friday dimmed the lights again. The sound filled the Tower — laughter, easy and bright — echoing through steel and glass like the promise of better days ahead.

Science, sorcery, sarcasm, and family.

Just another night in the Tower.

Chapter Text

The Tower was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace,

the kind that settles when everyone's finally too tired to argue with gravity.

The children, as Tony had started calling them—half-joking, half-serious—were tucked in.

Peter and Ned had been put to bed around eleven, both passed out mid-grumble over literature homework. They'd called it "cruel and unusual punishment," swearing their teacher was on a personal vendetta against gifted students.

Tony and Stephen had taken turns threatening to confiscate phones and cajoling them with promises of two full days of science and magic until the boys finally relented.

Now their rooms were dark, the hall dim, and Friday hummed low in the walls like a heartbeat.

Tony stood in the doorway between the hall and the lounge, watching the lights of Manhattan spill in long gold lines across the glass.

"Friday," he said softly, "soundproof Peter's room. Don't want the kid hearing me talk about wars."

"Soundproofing active, Boss."

Tony exhaled and turned toward the living area.

Stephen sat there, loose and unreadable, a mug of tea cradled between his palms.

Tony walked over, dragging one hand down his face.

"Thank you," he began. His voice was rougher than usual, sincere, no armor.

"I think I already told you that, but I'll say it again, because important things have to be said thrice. You helped me keep my promise to Vision."

His voice cracked, barely perceptible. "That means more than you think."

Stephen's expression softened, but he didn't interrupt.

Tony kept talking, eyes flicking to the skyline as though it made the words easier to say.

"You didn't have to stay, you know. You could've done your magic thing, made sure Loki wasn't dying, and vanished through your sparkly door. But you didn't. You stayed. You made Peter and Ned laugh. You treated Friday like she's a person, which she is. And you made yourself at home in my home."

Something in his tone flickered. Stephen froze halfway through a sip, feeling an unexpected twist in his chest. He started to apologize automatically.

"Sorry, Tony, I didn't mean to overstep…"

Tony cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

"Marlin, if I didn't want you here, I'd have stuck you on one of the ten empty floors or left you in the med bay. You don't need to apologize. I trust you. And that's not a phrase I use lightly. You're the second person who's ever treated what I love with care."

"Second?"

"Yeah. Rhodey's the first."

That landed heavy a quiet truth that didn't need explaining.

Tony crossed to the minibar, grabbed two glasses, and filled them with water. He handed one to Stephen before collapsing into the opposite chair.

"How's Loki?"

"Recovering," Stephen said. "The Casket's doing its work. The energy flow is stable now. He'll wake when it's done."

Tony nodded, rubbing the arc-reactor scar absently through his shirt. "Good. man's earned a break."

They sat in silence for a long moment not awkward, just weighted. The kind of quiet where truth lingers in the air, daring someone to fill it.

Then Tony broke it.

"Were you serious about teaching the kids magic? Because if not, I can spin some excuse. Be the bad guy, break it gently"

"Anthony," Stephen interrupted, voice firm but kind, "I don't break promises. They asked, I agreed. You're stuck with me as co-mentor now. Relax. I'm a sorcerer of my word."

Tony gave a dry little laugh. "God help us both."

The laughter faded slowly, replaced by something colder, older. Tony leaned back, glass still in his hand, and his eyes changed. They lost that warm edge turned sharp. Reflective steel.

"So," Stephen said quietly, "how are the plans for the others going?"

Tony's answer came smooth, practiced but his tone made the hair rise on the back of Stephen's neck. Not from fear. From recognition.

"The rogues are settled at the compound," Tony said. "Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on rotation. Private contractors. A few mercenaries I've used before good people if you keep them paid and pointed. Doctors, engineers, security detail. Weapons output doubled in a week."

Stephen sipped his tea, studying him. "You sound… proud."

Tony's mouth curved, not a smile, something colder. "Not proud. Prepared."

"And the Avengers?"

Tony's eyes glinted. "They're right where I want them. Comfortable enough to forget, restricted enough to remember who's signing the clearance forms. They can train, they can play soldier, they can pretend they're rebuilding the dream but every door opens because I say so. Every meal, every room, every comm line runs through my systems."

He looked up, meeting Stephen's gaze directly. "They wanted freedom. I gave them a cage with better lighting."

Stephen didn't flinch. If anything, the corners of his mouth twitched equal parts impressed and something else, something unknown.

"That's dark."

Tony shrugged, drained his glass. "It's efficient."

"I'm not judging," Stephen said mildly. "Just noting. You've still got that edge the one the world keeps forgetting is there."

Tony's expression softened just enough to be human again. "Yeah, well. The world forgets I used to sell weapons before I decided to build better cages. Sometimes I miss being the bastard who didn't care."

"You cared," Stephen said quietly. "You just learned how to weaponize compassion."

That hit deeper than Tony wanted to admit. His gaze flicked away, toward the window where the reflection of the arc reactor shimmered faintly.

"Guess we both know what it's like to use what scares us," Tony murmured.

Stephen's lips curved faintly. "I did bargain with a cosmic god using nothing but sarcasm and a clock."

Tony huffed. "Touché."

He smirked faintly. "And your side?"

Strange leaned back, the city lights catching in his eyes like reflections of distant stars. "Let's just say the Mystic Arts are paying attention again—and are ready to assist in any way possible."

They sat in silence again two men forged by impossible choices, bound by understanding.

"War's coming," Tony said finally. "Not sure when, but it's coming."

Stephen nodded. "Then we'll be ready."

Tony smiled faintly, eyes still fixed on the skyline. "Yeah. We will."

Part 2 – The Sorcerer's Reflection

The Tower had gone quiet.

Most of the lights dimmed; Tony had finally gone back to bed or at least promised to. The man's promises to sleep were as reliable as quantum stability, but the attempt counted for something.

Stephen stood alone by the window, mug of untouched tea cooling between his fingers. Below, New York glittered, the glass reflecting back a faint, weary ghost of himself.

He could still hear Tony's voice sharp, brilliant, exhausted, cracked, human.

The way it softened when he spoke of Peter and Ned.

The way it broke when he said Vision's name.

The way it turned cold, surgical, when he described the rogues now living in cages of their own design.

It wasn't cruelty. It was calculus. Mercy wearing armor. It was brilliance.

Stephen understood it too well.

He'd worn that same armor once when he'd stood before Dormammu and bartered eternity for survival.

But Tony's armor wasn't mystical. His was mechanical, deliberate, personal. Every wall, every suit, every AI was built to keep grief out and love in.

And it would never be enough.

Stephen set the mug down and looked around the empty lounge, the traces of a life built out of control and care, both at war with each other. Tools. Screens. A small sunflower on the counter that Ned had left behind, petals glowing faintly under ambient light.

Even in Tony's chaos, there was tenderness.

He doesn't build to dominate, Stephen thought. He builds to protect and then the world takes what he loves.

"You keep trying to save the world," he murmured to the window, "and the world keeps taking pieces of you for payment."

Strange knew the look of a man who carried too many ghosts.

He'd seen it in mirrors after Christine's funeral. In Kamar-Taj's candlelight when the world went quiet.

But Tony's ghosts didn't haunt him, they followed him, tethered to every blueprint, every AI, every reckless attempt to make sure no one else fell like he did.

Stephen breathed out slowly. "You're too human for your own good, Stark."

Friday's voice whispered softly through the speakers, respectful, almost human.

"He pretends not to care, Doctor, but he still checks on them. All of them."

A faint smile ghosted across Stephen's mouth. "Of course he does."

He took a slow sip—cold now—and felt the tremor under the surface of his calm.

That tremor had a name: understanding.

He'd seen what was coming. He'd seen the purple horizon of war, the dead worlds, the falling stars.

He'd seen Tony die a thousand ways.

He'd seen Peter's mask cracked open in blood. Ned's laughter silenced mid-word. Harley's hands burnt black around an arc reactor.

He could not watch it again.

His reflection in the glass stared back, dark circles under the eyes, a man fraying at the edges of sanity.

The Sorcerer Supreme, protector of reality, haunted by three teenagers and one man who refused to quit.

"God help me," he whispered, "I finally understand him."

Because he did. The Merchant of Death and the Master of the Mystic Arts were not opposites, they were symmetries.

Both men played chess with catastrophe. Both believed they were the final barrier between order and oblivion.

And both would burn the board before losing a single piece they loved.

The thought slid through him like a blade terrifying and sweet.

He set the mug down carefully—too carefully—and pressed his hands flat to the glass.

If he lost Tony, the world would lose its axis. He would lose his anchor.

If he lost the children, he and Tony would break and with them, every fragile defense humanity still had.

The logic was simple. Elegant. Ruthless.

Protect the axis. Protect the legacy. Protect the heart.

No matter what it costs.

Stephen smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes.

He could almost hear the multiverse whisper in reply.

And what would you give for that, Doctor?

"Everything," he murmured. "And then some."

Behind him, Friday's hologram flickered softly to life, faint and curious.

"Doctor Strange," she said, almost tentative, "should I help get you anything?"

Stephen turned, the gentleness in his expression back like a mask sliding into place.

"No. Rest, Friday. I'll be just fine."

He watched the lights dim again as she vanished.

Then, alone once more, he whispered into the quiet,

"I'll keep them safe. All of them. Whatever it takes. They are mine to keep."

His hands curled behind his back a surgeon's habit, a soldier's stance and for the briefest moment, something in his eyes shimmered with the cold certainty of the inevitable.

Not cruelty. Not madness.

Purpose.

Outside, the city kept breathing, unaware that somewhere in the tallest tower of glass and iron, a sorcerer had just decided that love was worth any sin.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn slid across the skyline, gilding Stark Tower in pale gold.
The med bay was silent, save for the soft hum of containment wards.

Loki still slept inside the Casket's frost light unmoving, dreamless, wrapped in glacial blue. His pulse thrummed faintly, steady and strong.
Dr. Stephen Strange stood beside him, robes ghosting the edges of the containment ring.

Golden sigils pulsed faintly from his hands as he performed one last scan — a ritual now, more habit than necessity.
"Stable," he murmured. "Healing. Slow, but steady."

The frost pulsed once, almost in acknowledgment, and Stephen found himself smiling.
"Good," he whispered. "You've done enough fighting for now."

He stayed another minute, just breathing in the stillness, then turned away, cloak whispering softly as he ascended toward Tony's private floor.

A Sorcerer in the Kitchen

New York was still half-asleep, but inside the penthouse, one man was very much awake.

Stephen moved through the kitchen like he was performing a ritual.
Every motion was deliberate: barefoot, sleeves rolled, pancake batter measured with surgical precision.

There was something oddly peaceful about it mixing, whisking, pouring a meditation in domesticity.
Pancakes flipped with perfect timing, golden disks turning midair in weightless arcs. The scent of butter and warmth cut through the sterile hum of tech.

It was peaceful, unnervingly so.
And Stephen found he didn't mind the responsibility.

Keeping the children safe. Watching the genius who burned too bright finally rest.
It was… grounding.

He smiled faintly at the absurdity of it.
The Sorcerer Supreme, guardian of Time, reduced to domestic tranquility and breakfast duty.
For once, his mind was quiet.

Until it wasn't.

A crash overhead metallic, loud, and utterly unmagical shattered the calm.

Stephen sighed without looking up. "Friday?"
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Do I want to know?"
A pause. Then, politely: "No, Doctor. But you're about to."

The ceiling tile gave way with a spectacular bang.

Something red-and-black tumbled through the air, landed face-first in the middle of the kitchen island, and groaned.

"Good morning, wizard daddy!" Deadpool announced, muffled by granite. "You got any syrup?"

Stephen stared for a long, quiet second.
Then: "Friday, would you like me to open a portal beneath him?"

"That would be unethical," she said diplomatically. "Also, messy. Let me introduce you to Wade Wilson, alias Deadpool. Regenerative mercenary. Currently residing in Tower guest wing B due to… noncompliance with eviction requests."

"Noncompliance," Stephen repeated dryly, eye twitching. "Understood."

Wade rolled over, dusted himself off, and plucked a piece of ceiling tile from his shoulder.
"Nice place. Bit uptight, but the feng shui screams repressed trauma."

Stephen's fingers twitched, sigils flickering faintly along his hands. A heartbeat longer, and Wade might've found himself in another dimension.

Friday's voice, faint but urgent: "Doctor, please refrain from turning guests into abstract art."

Strange exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But only because it's morning."

Deadpool was already peering into the mixing bowl. "Need a hand? I make a mean pancake. Used to cook for Hydra interns before they got all explodey."

Stephen eyed him, then nodded once. "Fine. You mix. I cook."
"Aw, teamwork! I can smell the bromance!" Wade chirped, immediately up to his elbows in batter.

For a few blessed minutes, silence reigned.
Then Wade looked up suddenly, meeting Strange's gaze dead-on.

A sound barrier shimmered to life with a soft thrum.

"You and I both know what you are, don't we?" Wade said quietly, tone sharp beneath the humor. "Predator. All quiet grace and bottled storms. Tell me, does Stark know he's living with a dragon?"

The air changed.
Sound warped. Pressure thickened.

Stephen's sigils flared into existence not blazing, but alive. Shadows bent toward him, light refracting around the edges of something ancient and vast.

His voice, when it came, was silk wrapped around steel.
"Careful, Mr. Wilson. You may find my patience has limits. And I could make your regeneration… optional."

Wade's grin didn't falter. "Yeah. There it is. I like you."
He tilted his head. "But seriously does Stark know he's part of your hoard?"

For a heartbeat, Stephen's eyes glowed molten gold.
And then, as though a switch flipped, the heat vanished.

He turned back to the stove, perfectly calm again.
"Anthony is aware of what I am," he said evenly. "We are… similar in ways neither of us likes to admit."

Wade laughed softly not mocking, but knowing. "Oh, I get it. You don't hoard gold. You hoard people."

The next pancake landed on the stack with unnecessary force.

Before Stephen could reply, voices echoed down the hall.

"Friday said pancakes!" Peter's voice bright, eager.
"Smells awesome!" Ned added, feet pounding the floor.

The kitchen door slid open, and two sleepy teenagers stumbled in, hair messy, smiles wide both blissfully unaware they'd just interrupted the possible murder of Wade Willson.

"Doctor Strange! Good morning! Hello, Mr. Deadpool!" Peter beamed. "You're making breakfast?"
"Indeed," Stephen said smoothly, expression serene again. "Pancakes. Collaborative effort."
Wade saluted with the spatula. "I whisked! Like a hero!"
"Sit," Strange said, gesturing toward the table. "Eat."

Peter and Ned dove in happily, trading chatter about magic homework and microservos while the Sorcerer plated more food.

Wade leaned close again, voice low, almost fond. "You know, doc… I think I like this side of you. The one that pretends he's not terrifying."

Stephen didn't look at him, but his lips curved faintly.
"Enjoy it while it lasts."

Morning, Chaos, and Coffee

Upstairs, the penthouse was still dim, lit only by the skyline and the low pulse of the arc reactor through Tony's shirt.
He was half-awake, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other groping for his phone.

"Friday," he muttered, voice sandpaper-rough, "what's that smell?"

The smell of butter and sugar had hit him before he even opened his eyes. For a moment, half-asleep, he thought it was a dream the kind where nothing had exploded and no wizard had commandeered his kitchen.

Then Friday's cheerful voice cut through.
"Good morning, Boss. Doctor Strange is preparing breakfast with assistance from Mister Wilson. Peter and Ned are already at the table."

Tony cracked one eye open. "…Run that by me again, but slower."
"Doctor Strange and Deadpool are cooking breakfast. Peter and Ned are..."
"I heard it the first time," Tony muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Just hoping if I blink hard enough, it'll make less sense."

He shuffled toward the living area, hair wild, shirt wrinkled the very picture of a man who hadn't caffeinated yet.

The sight that greeted him almost made him turn around and go back to bed.

Peter and Ned were at the breakfast bar, plates piled high with pancakes.
Stephen stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, flipping pancakes with surgical grace.
And beside him, God help him Wade Wilson was wearing one of Tony's aprons.

It read "Kiss the Engineer."

Tony stopped dead in the doorway, hair an act of war. He stared.

It would've been domestic, even peaceful, if he didn't know both men were capable of rewriting reality or detonating a city block before breakfast.

"…Do I even want to know?" he deadpanned.

"Mr. Stark! Morning!" Peter beamed. "Dr. Strange made breakfast!"
"Yeah," Ned added enthusiastically, mouth full. "Best pancakes ever!"

"Language, Ned," Stephen said mildly, wiping his hands on a towel. "Chew, then speak."

Wade waved the spatula. "Morning, Daddy Stark! Me and the Doctor are bonding! Pancake therapy! Very healthy!"

Tony's eye twitched. "Which one of you psychopaths invited the ceiling gremlin to breakfast?"

"Hey!" Wade pointed the spatula at him. "I dropped in unannounced. Literally. Through the ceiling. Gravity invited me."

"Right," Tony said flatly. "Remind me to file a complaint with gravity later. Friday, you got footage?"
"Of course, Boss. Forward to Rhodey or keep private?"
"Both."

Tony poured himself coffee, eyeing the perfect pancakes, the suspicious calm, and the brittle tension in Strange's posture.

"So," he said casually, "anything explode, burn, or attempt world domination before I woke up?"
"Nothing yet," Stephen replied smoothly. "But it's only eight fifteen."

Deadpool leaned toward Tony, stage-whispering, "Your wizard buddy's got layers. Deep, brooding, potentially fire-breathing layers."
Tony didn't blink. "Join the club. Everyone in this tower has a god complex or a death wish. Sometimes both before noon."

That earned a faint smile from Strange small, tired, but real.

Tony caught it, catalogued it, but let it slide. "Alright," he sighed, grabbing a plate. "Let's see if magic pancakes live up to the hype."
Peter grinned. "They totally do, Mr. Stark!"

Tony took a bite. Paused. Nodded slowly. "Okay… that's annoyingly good. You're not allowed to leave, Wizard Barbie."
Stephen arched a brow. "Wasn't planning to."
"Good. Because I'm keeping the chef. Deadpool does dishes."
Wade saluted. "Aye aye, Captain Hot Coffee!"

Ned snorted. Peter groaned.
Ned whispered, "Is it weird that I think they're flirting?"
Peter muttered, "Weirder that they don't realize it."

Friday helpfully chimed in, "Boss, shall I archive this as the 'Household Pancake Treaty'?"
Tony grinned around his fork. "Do it. Mark it as the last peaceful morning before everything goes to hell."

Wade leaned toward Stephen. "You know, Doc, I think you might actually like this domestic thing."
Stephen didn't respond immediately. He glanced toward the kids Peter gesturing wildly mid-story, Ned laughing without restraint, Tony pretending to scowl but listening to every word.

Something flickered behind his calm exterior warmth, possession, a quiet hunger for moments like this.
He answered without looking away from them.
"Maybe I do."

Tony caught that tone, eyes flicking to him across the table. Something unspoken lingered between them understanding, fragile and dangerous.

Family.

Wade ruined it, as always. "So! Who's ready for second breakfast?"
Tony pointed his fork. "Wilson, touch my stove again and I'll replace your swords with salad tongs."
"Hot," Wade said immediately.

Stephen's sigh was long and suffering. "Friday, remind me to ward the ceiling next time."
"Already done, Doctor," she replied primly.

Tony leaned back, half-laughing. "My life used to be quiet."
"No, it wasn't," Stephen said, smirking faintly. "You just didn't have witnesses back then."

Tony's laughter cracked through the morning light, real.

Peter pushed his chair back with a satisfied groan. "That was amazing, Doctor Strange! Thank you!"

Ned nodded, already bouncing with energy. "Yeah! But we should, uh— probably get started on our school project before Mr. Harrington adds another passive-aggressive smiley face to his emails."

Peter stood, grabbing his bag. "We'll be in the labs, Mr. Stark!"

"Don't blow anything up," Tony called automatically.

"No promises!" Peter yelled back, already halfway to the elevator.

"Hey, Deadpool," Ned added, grinning, "wanna help? You can… hold the soldering iron!"

"Kid," Wade said, dramatically clutching his chest, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Stephen opened his mouth to protest. "That's not"

But it was too late. Wade was already following the teenagers out the door, humming a wildly off-key tune and shouting something about "science friendship montages."

The elevator doors closed behind them with a soft ding.

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Tony leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, contented sigh. "You know," he said, "I think that's the quietest this place has been in… ever."

Stephen smiled faintly, pouring himself another cup of tea. "You should enjoy it. It won't last."

Tony lifted his coffee in a lazy toast. "Nothing good ever does."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment the hum of the Tower, the golden morning light cutting through glass, the faint smell of pancakes lingering in the air.

For once, there were no alarms, no arguments, no world-ending crises.
Just two men, a scientist and a sorcerer sharing coffee and quiet, while the world outside kept turning.

Stephen's gaze softened, thoughtful. "They're good kids," he said finally.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. The best."

Then, smirking slightly, he added, "Remind me to build a new ceiling before the next pancake apocalypse."

Stephen's laughter was low, genuine. "I'll add it to the list."

Tony grinned, sipping his coffee. "Add coffee refills while you're at it, Wizard Barbie."

Stephen arched an eyebrow. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're making pancakes in my kitchen," Tony shot back. "Guess we're both full of surprises."

The laughter that followed wasn't loud just easy, human, and real.
Outside, the sun climbed higher, painting the Tower in gold.

And for the first time in a long time, the world, their strange, chaotic little world, felt almost normal.

Chapter Text

Stark Industries R&D Labs – 8:47 A.M.

For once, the usually bustling Stark R&D floor was quiet.
Too quiet.

Which, for Peter Parker and Ned Leeds, usually meant trouble.

They had commandeered one of the smaller prototype labs for their "totally safe and 100% school-appropriate" robotics project which, naturally, had already gone wildly off-script.

"Okay," Peter said, gesturing at a sketch on his tablet. "Hear me out. We make it small, mobile, flexible, like a miniature Transformer! It can roll, crawl, maybe even wall-crawl!"

Ned frowned. "Yeah, but that's so… expected. What if we made it look like us? Little robot versions! I could give mine the ultimate dad-joke protocol."

Peter blinked. "You want to make a tiny robot you?"

"Yes!" Ned said proudly. "It's genius! We could start a whole line. Leeds-Bots!"

"That's terrifying," Peter deadpanned. " a robot army with your face."

Before Ned could fire back, a muffled boom echoed from the other side of the lab.

Both teens turned slowly. Wade Wilson was standing in front of a smoking table, holding a test tube in each hand and looking unreasonably pleased with himself.

"Science!" Wade declared triumphantly. "Sometimes it explodes! Sometimes it just burns eyebrows!"

"Mr. Wilson," Peter groaned, "what did you mix?"

"I don't know, but it fizzed!" Wade chirped in an impeccable fake British accent. "Also, your beakers were talking to me."

Ned sighed. "You can't mix random chemicals, Wade! This is robotics, not chemistry!"

"Exactly," Wade said cheerfully. "That's why I'm helping! I'm thinking—listen—robot cat. Or robot bear. Maybe with a jetpack. Sir Whiskers of Starkonia!"

Peter stared. Ned considered.
Then, in perfect unison: "We're in."

"Of course you are," Wade muttered proudly, brushing soot off his mask.

"Okay," Ned said, already at his computer. "I'll handle the AI."

Peter grinned. "I'll do the body and mechanics."

"And I," Wade announced dramatically, "will find the perfect voice."

Before either of them could object, Wade jumped, grabbed a ceiling vent, and vanished into it with surprising speed.

Peter blinked at the empty space. "Is it bad that I'm not even surprised anymore?"

Ned shrugged, typing. "At least he didn't set the floor on fire this time."

"Yet," Peter muttered.

They were just getting into rhythm soldering, typing, arguing about whisker servos when the lab doors phased open with a soft hum.

"Excuse me," came a calm, smooth voice.

Both teens froze mid-task and turned simultaneously, blinking like startled meerkats.

Vision floated just above the threshold, hands clasped behind his back, expression mild. "I was wondering if you were available for a conversation."

Peter and Ned exchanged quick glances, then nodded in perfect sync.

That earned them a small smile. "Excellent. Me, Friday, and Karen have been working on a private initiative. A new infrastructure system. We'd like your input."

Ned leaned forward eagerly. "Like, Stark-level secret?"

Vision tilted his head. "Higher."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Okay, now I'm intrigued."

"The project," Vision continued, lowering his voice slightly, "involves merging Pym Particles with Stark nanoparticle technology to create self-adjusting quantum servers. Systems that can exist in multiple scales simultaneously."

Peter's mouth fell open. "You mean servers that can expand or compress space itself to store more data?"

"Precisely," Vision said.

Ned's eyes gleamed. "And you want us to help?"

"I wouldn't trust anyone else," Vision said simply.

Peter and Ned shared a grin that could only mean trouble.

"Okay, yeah," Peter said. "We're in."

Vision's smile warmed just a fraction. "Then let's begin."

Upstairs – The Penthouse Kitchen

Stephen and Tony stood side by side at the sink, sleeves rolled, finishing up breakfast cleanup like it was some kind of unspoken truce.

"So, Gandalf," Tony said, handing him a dish towel, "what's on your schedule today? Please tell me it's not summoning another ceiling gremlin."

Stephen arched a brow but didn't look up from the pan he was rinsing. "I have a series of meetings Kamar-Taj at nine, São Paulo sanctum at noon, consultations with Wong and the Brazilian chapter until three."

Tony leaned against the counter. "Busy, busy wizard."

"I'll be back by four-thirty," Stephen continued smoothly. "Dinner, a Loki check, and if you're still standing a strategy talk."

Tony nodded, pretending to focus on drying dishes. "Sounds like a plan."

Stephen's hands stilled for a moment, heart thudding harder than he'd admit.
It shouldn't have felt so… natural. Cleaning dishes, planning dinners, talking like they were two halves of a normal household.

"Hey," Tony said, catching the brief silence, "you okay?"

Stephen's composure slipped for a heartbeat just enough for his voice to catch. "Fine. Just… thinking."

Tony's tone softened. "Yeah. Happens to the best of us."

The Sorcerer smiled faintly, hiding the storm behind it. "Then I'll see you at dinner."

Tony smirked. "You better. You're the only one in this tower who can cook without setting something on fire."

Stephen gave him a long-suffering look. "And yet, somehow, I'm still staying."

"Yeah," Tony said quietly, with that tired grin that never reached his eyes. "You are."

They stood there for another moment the genius and the sorcerer both pretending they weren't already thinking about wars waiting just beyond the horizon.

Part 2:

Stark Industries – Sublevel R&D Labs

Three hours later, the chaos had evolved.

Where there had once been a clean, orderly lab, there now existed a battlefield of open circuit boards, scattered wires, and at least six versions of what might someday become a robot cat.

Peter was hunched over a holographic display, cycling through designs that looked like rejected Transformers prototypes each one sleeker, more impractically aerodynamic than the last.

Ned sat across from him, typing furiously, screens full of AI code branching like neural vines.

Vision hovered between them, serene as ever, offering observations that were somehow both helpful and terrifyingly literal.

"Sir Whiskers of Starkonia version 4.2," Friday announced helpfully. "Current projected functionality: ninety-one percent mobility, sixty-eight percent coordination, zero percent discretion."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean, zero percent discretion?"

"Peter," Friday replied, "the cat currently sings Taylor Swift songs at full volume whenever it recharges."

Peter turned to Ned. "Okay, first of all, not my fault. That's his code."

Ned threw his hands up. "Hey! Emotional intelligence subroutine! It's supposed to relax it!"

"By serenading the lab?"

Before the debate could escalate into full-blown chaos, Vision drifted closer to Ned's workstation, watching lines of code scroll across the screen.

"You are attempting to replicate Mr. Stark's AI framework," Vision said softly. "How are you finding the process?"

Ned looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Hard. But kinda amazing. His architecture isn't like normal AI — it's like… personality encoded in logic."

Vision smiled faintly. "Yes. Tony's AIs are a reflection of himself. Structure built around chaos. Function wrapped in empathy."

Peter leaned back, grinning. "That sounds about right."

Vision turned his head slightly, gaze thoughtful. "I find myself wondering… do you think I could be described the same way?"

Ned blinked. "You mean… like an emotional mirror of your creator?"

"Exactly," Vision said. "Though lately I have been learning new expressions of emotion. New… terminology."

Something in his tone made both boys pause.

"What kind of terminology?" Peter asked carefully.

Vision tilted his head. "For example, I encountered the term 'zaddy' yesterday. It appears to be a form of admiration directed at… distinguished men?"

Peter immediately inhaled his water wrong and started coughing violently. Ned froze mid-keystroke.

"W-where did you hear that?" Ned managed.

"From the Wakandan princess I was speaking with," Vision said simply. "Shuri. She was referring to me as a synth-zaddy."

Peter made a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a panic attack. "Shuri-Princess Shuri called you a zaddy?"

"She said, and I quote," Vision continued matter-of-factly, "'You didn't come here just to flatter me, synth-zaddy.'"

Ned wheezed. "She didn't."

"She did," Vision said, still confused. "And then she sent me a meme of a confused baby with the caption 'I am confusion.'"

Peter's face hit the table. "Oh my god, she's perfect."

"Indeed," Vision said serenely. "She is most… refreshing. She also requested a direct holographic link to review your project, which I sent."

"Wait, what? Now?" Peter sat bolt upright.

Before either of them could protest, the nearest display flickered and the grinning face of Princess Shuri of Wakanda appeared, elbows propped on her desk, chin in her hands.

"Hello, genius white boys," she said brightly. "Vision tells me you're building a robot cat. Bold choice. I approve."

Peter froze, words failing him completely. "Uh—I—Your—Highness—ma'am—Princess—your—"

Ned smacked his arm. "Breathe, dude!"

Shuri just laughed. "Relax, I'm not going to knight you. Yet." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "So, show me this Sir Whiskers."

Ned spun his monitor. "We're still prototyping! But I'm building an AI patterned on Mr. Stark's frameworks. Personality, adaptability, humor."

"And I'm working on the design," Peter added quickly, pulling up the holographic model. "Fully articulated, flexible chassis, micro-servos in the tail"

"and fireproof," Ned interjected pointedly.

Shuri leaned closer to the hologram, clearly impressed. "Okay, I'm stealing this idea. And your code."

Peter blinked. "You—you can't steal—wait, actually, can you? Because that would be amazing."

Shuri grinned. "You two are adorable. I like you."

"Thanks?" Ned said weakly.

"You're funny and smart," she continued. "I need more of that in my lab. Maybe I should come visit."

Peter nearly fell out of his chair. "Visit?"

"I'm going to hitch a ride to New York with Doctor Banner today anyway," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I'll stay at the Tower. We'll finish the cat together."

Ned stared at the screen in horror. "Oh no. Mr. Stark's going to freak out."

Vision, utterly serene, folded his hands. "He will adapt."

Shuri smirked. "Tell your boss to clear a guest suite. The princess is coming."

The screen went dark.

For a long moment, neither boy spoke.

Then Peter whispered, "We just got adopted by a Wakandan princess."

Ned buried his face in his hands. "We're so dead."

While Ned and Peter were spiraling downstairs, Friday's voice broke through Tony's personal lab speakers calm, but with a hint of dry amusement.

"Boss," she said over the Tower-wide channel, "the children are collecting strays again."

Tony's reply was instant, tired, and full of dread. "Please tell me it's not another assassin."

"Worse," Friday said cheerfully. "A princess. From Wakanda."

There was a pause.

Then: "…Of course it is."