Chapter Text
The battlefield was breaking apart.
It was chaos incarnate.
The ruined compound lay smoking in the background, craters and fire cutting the earth like open wounds. The air was thick with ash, screams, and the screech of metal. Every Avenger was locked in combat, gods, soldiers, sorcerers, raccoon, all standing between a monster and the end of everything.
Blades clashed, spells flew, energy blasts scorched the sky. Thunder roared as Stormbreaker and Mjolnir danced in the hands of a god. Hulk was pinned beneath debris. Captain America stood bloodied but unbowed. And in the heart of it all, Thanos, grim and inevitable, forced his way to the one thing that still mattered — the gauntlet.
Tony’s eyes tracked every movement as Thanos pushed Captain Marvel aside with a surge of Power Stone-fueled rage. She had been their best shot — but even she wasn’t enough. And now the Mad Titan loomed over the gauntlet like a reaper claiming his scythe. The custom-made Stark Tech gauntlet, glowing ominously with the raw power of six Infinity Stones.
Thanos reached for the gauntlet.
Tony froze. Not out of fear, but calculation. There were no more backup plans. No clever distractions. No tricks left.
Except one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Doctor Strange. Standing still amid the chaos, cloak billowing in the wind, blood running down one side of his face.
Strange met his eyes.
And raised a single finger.
One.
Tony’s breath caught in his throat.
Everything blurred. The battlefield, the noise, the pain — gone in a blink.
He went supersonic.
The nanotech responded instantly, forming an aerodynamic cocoon around his limbs. He rocketed forward in a thunderous sonic boom, the world slowing as he tore through space and shattered physics. He was a streak of red and gold light, a final comet.
He hit Thanos like a missile.
The two collided like thunder.
Metal scraped against metal. He latched onto the gauntlet as the Titan snarled in surprise, trying to shake him off. Tony twisted, maneuvering with pure, desperate precision. The nanotech slithered from his suit like a living organism, tendrils sliding into gaps between Thanos’s fingers, subtly syncing, searching, stealing. Fingers clawed for control. For one, desperate, brutal moment, Iron Man and the Titan wrestled for godhood.
Thanos roared. He slammed Tony away like a ragdoll, sending him sprawling across the ruined landscape. With a triumphant grunt, Thanos lifted the gauntlet.
Tony didn’t rise.
He staggered to his knees, barely conscious, right arm trembling as the backup gauntlet on his suit took form.
Behind him, Thanos stood tall, gauntlet raised.
Snap.
Nothing happened.
His smug smile faltered. He turned his hand over.
Empty.
The stones were gone.
A metallic click echoed behind him.
Tony inhaled sharply, raising his own arm slowly, parallel to his face. The nanotech glimmered — and one by one, the stones clicked into place. The right side of his Mark 85 suit shimmered and shifted, the nanotech swirling to reveal a new gauntlet—his backup.
Click.
Power. Rocket, sitting atop Scott’s shoulder in Giant-Man form, squinted. “Oh crap.”
Click.
Space. Bruce, still in Hulk form, winced. “No, no, no… Stark, you suicidal maniac.”
Click.
Reality. Steve paused mid-swing, eyes locking onto Tony. His breath caught. “...Don’t do it.”
Click.
Soul. Peter Parker turned slowly, confused. “M-Mr. Stark?”
Click.
Time. Thor lowered Stormbreaker, mouth dry. “Tony, what are you—”
Click.
Mind. Strange closed his eyes. “He’s doing what he always does.”
Tony grit his teeth. The heat was unbearable now. The gauntlet lit up with all six Stones, glowing like a miniature sun. Pain tore through his right arm. The suit was melting. The metal cracked. Skin burned.
Each one seared into his skin with a heat beyond heat. His body shuddered. The strain of a universe compressed into six points of blinding pain.
And then-
The world slowed.
Everything blurred. The screams, the wind, the rumble of war, even the light dimmed as the gauntlet pulsed with cosmic judgment.
His mind screamed,
'What the hell was I thinking?!'
'It’s too much...I can’t... it’s tearing me apart....'
'I didn’t make this gauntlet for me, it was for Thor or Carol...'_
'I’m not built for gods. I’m just a guy in a can.'
He almost collapsed.
And then-
The pain focused. Not gone. But channeled.
His mind cleared.
'This is it, huh?'
'Not with a suit of armor around the world, but with me… holding it all in my hand.'
'Funny. Spent most of my life trying not to take responsibility. Now I’m literally holding the fate of the universe.'
'Okay. Breathe. Think.'
'Step one: Wipe out Thanos and his entire army. No resets, no mistakes.'
The Stones pulsed brighter.
'Step two… if there is one…'
He turned his head, barely.
Steve. A brother in war. Regretful eyes met his, and a thousand unsaid words passed between them.
'Cap… together, huh?. I should’ve told you sooner. I was wrong. You were right.'
Thor. Battle-worn. Loyal. Desperate for redemption.
'You weren’t the only one who failed to protect the ones they loved.'
Bruce. Friend. Monster. Genius.
'Still mad you made me do yoga for two years, but you kept me grounded.'
Strange.
'You knew. Damn sorcerer. You knew this was it.'
Peter.
'Kid… I wasn’t ready to be a dad. But you made me want to try.'
Pepper.
She was running toward him. Her eyes wide with grief, but her pace slow... because she already knew.
'You gave me peace. You gave me-us a daughter.'
His daughter’s laugh echoed somewhere deep in his mind. Morgan. Cheeseburgers. A lakehouse.
'I love you 3000.'
His gaze lifted.
Thanos stood before him, still unaware, still waiting to understand.
'Mom. I never even got to say goodbye. Dad..'
'Howard. Damn it, I wish we had more time.'
'I wish… I could do it again. Better this time. Not just save the world. Save the people in it. The ones I failed. The ones I pushed away. The ones who needed me and got my walls instead.'
'Give me one more shot. One more try. Let me fix it.'
'Let me fix… me.'
Tony’s lips parted.
He whispered.
'Please…'
“I… am…"
'...let me fix it all.'
Snap .
"Iron Man.”
Light tore across the battlefield like divine judgment. Thanos’s army screamed as it crumbled. Chitauri ships disintegrated midair. Outriders vanished into dust. The Black Order collapsed, silent and broken.
Thanos sat down slowly.
Defeated.
Undone.
Erased.
Silence.
And then the world fell back into sound.
Tony slumped sideways, arm limp, face half-burned, eyes flickering.
Peter stumbled to him first. “Mr. Stark?! Mr. Stark! Hey—hey, we did it, you did it, you—”
Steve knelt beside him, voice choked. “Tony. Just hang on. Help’s coming.”
Thor stood over him like a fallen warrior’s guard. His shoulders sagged. “He… may we meet again in Valhalla, warrior.”
Bruce looked away. Tears fell silently.
And Pepper finally arrived. She took his ruined hand, kneeling beside him with shaking fingers brushing his chest plate.
“You can rest now,” she whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”
Tony blinked once. Just once.
Playboy. Billionaire. Genius. Philanthropist. Inventor of the Arc Reactor. Founder of Stark Industries. Consultant of the Avengers Initiative. Avenger. Defender of Earth. Commander of the Iron Legion. Breaker of Thanos. Savior of the Universe. Husband. Father. Iron Man.
Life flashed through his eyes one last time.
And the world went dark.
There was no pain.
No screams. No fire. No crumbling worlds.
Only the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Darkness lifted.
It wasn't sudden. More like the slow bleeding of color into a black-and-white film. The quiet came first, serene and absolute. Then scent... earthy, floral, faintly wet. A cool breeze tickled his skin. Something warm bloomed against his cheek.
Tony Stark opened his eyes.
A trickling sound echoed somewhere close... water bubbling through stone, maybe a fountain. Above him stretched a canvas of pale lavender and dusky blue. The air shimmered with early morning mist, soft as silk and tinged with dew. Rays of gentle light diffused through high garden trees, filtering in with that pre-dawn hue between dreams and daylight... the kind you never quite remember, but always feel.
The world was… calm.
Warm sunlight filtered through his lashes. The air was fresh, unnaturally so, without the tang of ozone or burnt metal. It felt wrong.
Which was alarming, because the last thing Tony remembered was pain. Blinding, cosmic, bone-deep pain. The snap. The light. The screaming fire in his veins. He remembered the way the Stones had gripped his soul like a vice and how the cost of his final act had begun to shred him apart from the inside out. He remembered Peter. Pepper. A whisper: “You can rest now.”
But now there was no fire. No agony. Just… the smell of lotus.
He sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it.
SPLASH.
"—Ack, cold, cold, cold!" he yelped, flailing backwards into the shallow water.
A cluster of fat koi scattered from his sudden intrusion, flapping indignant fins before disappearing beneath the surface. Petals floated lazily across the surface. A pale pink lotus drifted nearby, blooming like it had been waiting for him. A dragonfly hovered for a breath before darting away. He blinked, sputtered, and wiped pond scum off his face with all the grace of a hungover frat boy. The water was only ankle-deep, but the shock of it felt like being dumped into a bathtub filled with existential confusion.
He paused.
His hands were small.
His arms were… not his arms.
"Oh, hell."
The voice that left his mouth was lighter. Younger. Higher.
"No, no, no. This is not happening." He scrambled to his feet, barely, slipping once on a mossy stone and catching himself on a nearby lily pad in what could only be described as an extremely undignified squat.
He stood there, soaked to the bone in lotus water, wearing a child’s silk nightshirt, staring at his reflection in the fountain’s surface.
A child stared back.
Tony Stark.
Maybe seven years old.
Same dark hair, now plastered to his forehead. Same sharp jawline (toned down by baby fat). Same eyes, but filled with a wide-eyed panic he hadn’t felt in decades.
He touched his face. Then again. Then both cheeks.
Slap.
Slap slap.
“Ow.”
Still here.
He sat back down, slowly this time, onto a dry stone at the fountain’s edge. His feet dangled above the surface, making tiny ripples in the water.
He stared at them for a while, breathing in the strange mix of fresh grass, cool water, and... home?
The place felt familiar now that he took a longer look. The garden, the white-stone archways, the old wrought iron bench under the elm tree. The way the lotuses floated perfectly still, like they knew their significance but weren’t about to spell it out.
It hit him.
Stark Manor.
Not the Malibu pad. Not the Avengers facility. No. The Stark family estate, his mother’s pride. Maria’s garden.
This had been his haven once. A long, long time ago.
The recognition sent a shiver down his spine.
“Okay, so… definitely not dreaming. Or if I am, this is a wildly vivid stress hallucination brought on by… death?”
He paused.
He remembered it. Everything.
Thanos. The Stones. The Snap. Peter’s voice. Pepper’s eyes. The pain. The silence.
He gasped, water rippling as he clutched his chest. But no arc reactor. Just skin. Smooth, unmarred.
Tony sat there in the pond, soaked and stunned.
What the hell is going on?
His brain kicked into overdrive. Memory check? Full access. Engineering principles? Sharp as ever. Sarcasm protocol? Online, but hesitant. This wasn’t time for jokes. Not yet.
The sun shifted above him. He shielded his eyes and stood up, shaky on smaller legs. The garden stretched around him, marble benches, pebbled paths, ivy-covered stone walls. And at the center of the pond, rising above the water, was a massive lotus in full bloom.
White with the faintest blush of gold at its heart. Unnaturally large. Radiant.
He stared at it, breath caught.
He swallowed hard. “Okay. Subtle.”
Tony stepped out of the pond, dripping, and trudged toward a bench. His limbs felt awkward. Center of gravity was off. But he moved with a determined sort of grace — the kind that came from too many near-death experiences.
“Alright. Let’s assess,” he muttered. “Either I’m hallucinating post-death because my neurons are misfiring on the way out, or.... and I hate this theory... I’ve actually reincarnated. Somehow. Somewhere. As a kid.”
His eyes narrowed.
Infinity Stones.
The snap. It hadn't just ended a war. He remembered what he'd been thinking when the power surged into him, not carefully plotted wishes like some cosmic genie ritual, but raw instinct. Protect them. End Thanos. Make it right.
He hadn’t been precise.
He hadn’t asked to live.
But maybe, somehow, the Stones had interpreted his intent. Not as resurrection... but… correction? Rebirth, even. A do-over.
“God,” he muttered, rubbing his face, “I forgot to read the damn Terms and Conditions.”
A frog plopped onto a lily pad next to him, as if in agreement.
He looked at it.
“Don’t judge me, Kermit. I’m processing.”
The frog blinked.
Tony blinked back.
“I really need caffeine.”
He sat heavily. A small splash echoed behind him as koi surfaced again.
He looked at his reflection in the pond. Familiar. But different. Younger, innocent. Untouched by war, by legacy, by guilt.
“Just a guy in a can… again. Except no can. And no idea where the hell I am.”
A breeze stirred the trees.
And then... a sound.
A soft rustle broke the silence. Grass crunching under polished shoes. Tony whipped his head around.
A man in a dark three-piece suit stood a few feet away. Clean-shaven. Elegant. Silver hair slicked back like a 1950s film star. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a noir film — all poise, but with the kind of warmth behind the eyes that made you want to tell him your life story.
Tony’s breath caught.
Jarvis.
Not the AI. The Jarvis.
The original. Edwin Jarvis. His father’s butler. His mother’s confidant. The man who raised him more than Howard ever did.
But younger. Thinner. No more than thirty-five.
He knelt beside Tony, not saying a word at first. Just gently offered a folded towel from under his arm.
Tony stared at it.
Then took it with shaking hands.
Jarvis finally spoke, voice as calm as a morning bell.
“You’ve had quite the fall, Master Anthony.”
That voice.
Tony hadn’t heard it in decades... not since before Jarvis died alongside his parents by the Winter Soldier. Yet here it was. Perfect. Soft. Reassuring.
“I...” Tony croaked. Then cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. Something like that.”
A beat passed. Jarvis said nothing, just began unbuttoning his coat, offering it like a shield.
Tony pulled the towel closer around his shoulders, half-drying, half-hiding behind it.
It was too much. Too strange. Too… impossible.
And yet, his heart ached in a way that couldn’t be faked.
Jarvis gently placed the coat over Tony’s shoulders. Not heavy. Just warm.
“Shall we get you inside, sir?”
Sir.
Tony blinked fast, eyes burning.
“Yeah. Let’s… let’s go home.”
Jarvis smiled.
They walked in silence, the morning mist curling around their feet as the lotus pond stilled behind them. Somewhere, a large pink lotus turned slowly in the breeze, blooming wide to greet the dawn.
The Stark Manor dining room hadn’t changed.
High ceilings, golden chandeliers, and a long mahogany table that gleamed like a still pond under morning sunlight. The silence was crisp, broken only by the occasional metallic clink of silverware being laid out by unseen hands, thanks to Jarvis, of course.
Tony Stark sat at the far end of the table, legs swinging slightly above the polished floor, encased in soft woollen trousers that were too neat for his taste. He tugged at the collar of his white shirt. Jarvis had insisted on dressing him properly after the bath. Apparently, breakfast at the manor was still a formal affair, even for seven-year-olds.
The bath had been... quiet. A blessing, really. No AI voices, no HUD projections, no metal arms handing him towels. Just steam, silence, and a boy staring into a mirror at a face too young to bear the weight behind his eyes.
He hadn't spoken much. Let the butler do his work. He’d needed that moment to think. Recalibrate.
Now, he waited, small fingers drumming an uneven beat on the table.
Jarvis entered precisely at 8:01 a.m., bearing a silver tray with a folded linen napkin, orange juice, a soft-boiled egg in a porcelain cup, toast with strawberry preserves, and oatmeal.
"Your breakfast, Master Anthony," he said in his ever-dry British tone, placing the tray before him.
Tony offered a faint smirk. "I see the oatmeal conspiracy continues."
Jarvis paused for a beat. "I have been advised by your mother that fibre remains an essential part of a growing boy’s diet."
"Remind me to write her a sternly worded letter," Tony muttered, spooning some of the oatmeal with exaggerated reluctance.
Jarvis didn’t laugh. Of course he didn’t. But his right brow did twitch. Slightly.
Tony watched him carefully now, waiting for the real reason he’d stayed quiet this long. Jarvis, like clockwork, cleared his throat and began.
"Today is Tuesday, May 8th, 1977. The weather forecast predicts fair skies with a high of 73 degrees Fahrenheit."
That confirmed it. Seven years old. Still living at Stark Manor. Howard and Maria were still alive. He was back before everything went to hell. And still two years away from blowing up his high school chemistry lab.
He gave a nod, casual, cool. “Nice to know the sun still rises. I was starting to have doubts.”
Jarvis, unbothered, continued. “Your mother is at the Metropolitan Garden Club meeting in the city. Your father is in New York this morning, meeting with Mr. Stane."
Tony’s spoon paused.
“Stane?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard that name in decades.
Jarvis looked at him curiously, one brow lifting in perfect British restraint. “Yes, sir. A frequent guest of your father’s, as you know.”
Tony caught himself. “Right. Of course. Uncle Obie.” He flashed a toothy grin, just a hair too wide. “He always did love his grand entrances.”
Jarvis paused for a fraction longer than necessary before stepping back. “Indeed.”
Tony returned to his egg, thoughts swirling. 'Gotta be careful. That one knows how to read a room.'
Jarvis tilted his head just a fraction, an almost imperceptible twitch of suspicion in the otherwise unshakable mask. But Tony had already gone back to munching, eyes blankly scanning the day’s agenda like he hadn’t just internally recoiled at the thought of a future betrayal.
'Pull it together, Stark. You’ve got years before that particular backstabbing happens. Plenty of time to rewrite the ending'.
Tony leaned back slightly. Obadiah Stane. His old business partner. His future murderer. The man who tried to steal his legacy and left him to die in the desert. And right now? Sitting in the Stark boardroom with Howard, likely sipping brandy and talking mergers.
Well. That just complicated things.
"Any other visitors?" Tony asked, trying to keep his voice level.
"None that I am aware of, sir. Aside from the morning mail." Jarvis gestured vaguely toward the side console. "A few packages arrived. Mostly correspondence."
For a moment, Tony’s mind drifted. He couldn’t get distracted now. He had to stay sharp. Stane was a problem, and Tony knew how that story played out. But for now, he needed to lay low, keep up appearances, and figure out how to keep Stane’s involvement with Stark Enterprises from turning into the disaster he knew it could become.
"What’s on the calendar for me today, Jeeves?"
"Jarvis, sir. Not Jeeves."
"Right, right. British, but not fictional."
"Quite. As for your calendar..." Jarvis flipped open a small leather-bound planner and read:
"...you have a reading session with your tutor, Miss Clara, at ten. Drawing practice at eleven-thirty. Lunch at noon. Followed by a piano lesson at two and then fencing drills at four."
Tony blinked. "That’s... a full day."
"Your parents believe in structured intellectual development."
"I believe in strategic naps."
Jarvis almost smiled again
Tony leaned on his elbow, stirring the oatmeal idly. The familiarity of it all was beginning to get under his skin. The food. The formality. The polished perfection of the house.
He’d forgotten what it was like to have no freedom. No armor. No arc reactor thrumming in his chest. Just a schedule someone else had written and a butler who called him “Master Anthony.”
And yet... he wasn’t powerless. Not really. He had the one thing no one else here did: hindsight. He knew what was coming.
“And Mrs. Potts reminded me to mention your new shoes are still in the box upstairs.”
Tony perked up at the name...not Pepper, obviously, but her. Another Mrs. Potts, one he’d half-forgotten. Probably a housekeeper. Still, the familiarity made something ache.
He pushed the feeling down. “Right, new shoes. Because clearly these legs weren’t short enough.”
Jarvis gave the faintest twitch of a smile. “You’ve had a recent growth spurt, sir. Relatively speaking.”
Tony leaned back, tapping his fingers against the porcelain plate, eyes scanning the room with the kind of focus that said he wasn’t really seeing it. “Tell me something, Jarvis.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you ever feel like the world’s shifted a few degrees to the left when you weren’t looking?”
Jarvis blinked. “Only when Sir Howard drives, Master Anthony.”
Tony actually laughed, short and sharp. “Good answer.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of cutlery and the rustle of newspaper as Jarvis unfolded it with care.
It should’ve been a normal morning. For everyone else, maybe it still was. But for Tony, he started thinking, reviewing, and planning.
'Well, so I'm back to being 7 years old. Most probably due to the somehow Infinity Gauntlet misinterpreting things. Or maybe I did wish for something like this, probably, maybe. Nonetheless, Very Fun.'
Tony started thinking about his previous life, Pepper, Morgan...
'Shit...Morgan...I'm really sorry, sweetheart. I.-'
Tony just took a deep breath to get his thoughts and emotions together. Morgan would be safe. Pepper said so.
“We’re going to be okay.”
Another deep breath.
'Well...it's not like this is my first time going back in time. I did invent time traveling in the first place. Even though I could do without being a literal kid again in this timeline, but no point whining now that I'm already here.'
'And somehow...I feel like this in not the one in 14 million possibility Strange was talking about. '
'But I'm really missing all of them so bad right now. No Friday, No Steve, No Bruce, No Scott, No Avengers and certainly no Armor Suit.'
'First order of business would be to get back Friday, She's essential and I seriously need her.'
'Second order of business would be to reconnect with Howard- Dad again.'
'Third order-'
The moment was interrupted by a sudden thunk against the windowpane.
Tony blinked. “Was that...did a bird just commit suicide on our window?”
Jarvis immediately shifted, glancing at the window. The tapping came again, louder this time, accompanied by the soft flutter of wings. “An owl, sir. It appears to have a letter.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's not normal."
The owl appeared outside, flapping against the glass. It glared at him with its piercing, beady eyes. Slowly, the creature hovered closer to the window and, with surprising precision, landed on the sill.
“Uh...” Tony said, standing up. “Is this a... bird problem, or is someone trying to break into my house?”
Jarvis looked more than a little perplexed. “I’m not entirely sure, sir. It is... unusual.”
The owl gave another sharp screech and flapped its wings impatiently, clearly demanding attention. Tony carefully approached, still unsure of what was going on, before reaching up to open the window and grab the letter attached to the bird’s leg. The parchment was thick and heavy, sealed with a wax stamp that wasn’t like anything Tony had seen before.
“Well, this is a bit out of the ordinary, wouldn’t you say?” Tony murmured to himself.
Just as Tony held the letter in his hand, another tap sounded against the window. A second owl appeared, even larger than the first, its wings barely missing the walls as it swooped inside, its own letter tied to its leg. The bird landed with an almost deliberate grace beside the first owl.
Tony stared at the two owls, his mind racing. “Okay, okay... what in the hell is going on here?”
Jarvis blinked, still standing by the window, looking perplexed but not quite alarmed. “Sir, are you... expecting visitors of this nature?”
“I don’t even know what ‘nature’ this is, Jarvis,” Tony muttered, his heart skipping a beat. “We’ve got owls delivering letters, and no one told me I was signed up for some magical post service.”
Tony reached for both letters, one from each owl. The first had a neat wax seal with an unfamiliar crest. The second was even stranger—its wax seal looked like it belonged on some archaic parchment, not something he’d ever seen on a Stark document.
“This is…” Tony started, his thoughts muddling. “Well, that’s definitely not a standard memo.”
Jarvis, to his credit, did not comment further, though his confusion was palpable. “Master Anthony… the owls, they appear to be delivering letters. I don’t understand.”
Tony couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. “That makes two of us, Jarvis. Makes two of us.”
Author's Note :-
Well, well, well...would you look at that? As you can see, I'm not dead.
Brand new stuff. Was bored, had time off from exam over the weekend and got an itch to write. Presenting you the result of my itch.
It should be very clear now that I don't really write regularly anymore, so updates and all would be rare, as usual.
Don't worry, I won't be abandoning my other works, it's just that I haven't had the time nor the mood to write anything new for them. You ask why/how I wrote something entirely new out of the blue? well...honestly I don't know. This idea just clicked and well here it is. I am just writing this down as a proof of concept that I'll work later on. I don't have the entire plot ready so anyone who wishes to have their ideas implemented, please let me know in the comments or just dm me.
What else? Right, you can find on AizenTheGoat's discord server. Here's the link https://discord.gg/nvbAM8Sx5U or simply the code nvbAM8Sx5U
And well...I'll try to get back to writing regularly as soon as I can.
That about covers it up, right? Anyways,
Until next time.