Chapter 1: The Weight of Tomorrow
The first thing Tony Stark noticed when he woke up wasn't the blonde draped across his chest or the empty champagne bottles scattered around his Malibu workshop. It wasn't even the splitting headache that felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to his skull. It was the dream of dying.
He could still feel it, the Infinity Stones burning through his body like liquid fire, the weight of the gauntlet on his arm, the faces of everyone he was saving. Pepper's hand on his cheek, she whispered, "We're going to be okay." The taste of copper in his mouth, his arc reactor flickering out like a dying star.
and then...
Nothing.
"What the hell?" Tony muttered, carefully extricating himself from the sleeping woman whose name he couldn't remember. As his bare feet hit the cold concrete floor, more fragments crashed through his mind. A cave with harsh fluorescent lights. A little girl with dark hair, calling him "Daddy," running into his arms with a smile that lit up the world. Standing in a circle with heroes he'd never met, holding a shield that wasn't his. The weight of saving everyone, the terrible price of being the one to make the hard choice.
But he'd never been a hero. Never been captured. Never had a daughter. Never even worn armor, for Christ's sake.
Tony pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to shake off what had to be the most vivid nightmare of his life. Death dreams weren't unusual after a night of heavy drinking, but this felt different. Real in a way that made his chest ache with phantom pain and his heart clench with grief for people he'd never met.
He grabbed a wrench from his workbench and turned his attention to the Audi R8 engine he'd been modifying. Except the moment his fingers closed around the tool, they began moving with a purpose he didn't recognize. Instead of adjusting the carburetor, his hands reached for different components entirely—copper wiring, electromagnets, palladium from a previous experiment, a small power source he'd been experimenting with.
Within minutes, he'd assembled something that looked suspiciously like the core of a miniaturized arc reactor.
"Okay, that's..." He set the device down, staring at it. "That's definitely not a carburetor."
The woman stirred on his couch. "Tony? What are you doing?"
He forced his trademark grin. "Just working on something, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."
But his eyes remained fixed on the device. It looked exactly like the thing from his dream the first arc reactor that had kept him alive, that had powered an armor he'd never built, that had channeled the power to save the universe.
Technology that wouldn't be possible for almost anyone else for another couple decades, minimum.
Three days later, Tony sat at the head of the Stark Industries boardroom table, watching twelve of the most powerful men in the defense industry argue about quarterly projections. The discussion centered around their latest contract with the military—advanced missile systems that would, according to their projections, increase profits by thirty percent over the next fiscal year.
A week ago, Tony would have been delighted by those numbers. Today, every mention of weapons specifications made his stomach clench with inexplicable dread.
"The Jericho missile system alone," Obadiah Stane was saying, "represents the future of precision warfare. Clean, efficient, devastating."
Devastating. The word echoed in Tony's head, accompanied by flashes of memory that couldn't be real: cities in ruins, his own technology turned against innocent people, the weight of knowing that every weapon he created could be used to hurt those he was supposed to protect.
"What if we diversified?" Tony interrupted, his voice cutting through the discussion.
The room fell silent. Obadiah raised an eyebrow. "Diversified how?"
"Consumer electronics. Mobile communication devices. Personal computing." Tony pulled up a holographic display technology that was cutting-edge even for Stark Industries in 2004. "The military market is stable, but it's limited. Consumer tech is where the real growth potential lies."
Board member Harrison Cole leaned forward, his expression skeptical. "Tony, with respect, we're weapons manufacturers. It's what we do. It's what your father built this company to do."
Howard. The name hit Tony like a physical blow, accompanied by a rush of memory that definitely didn't belong to him: a grey-haired man with tired eyes, a car accident that wasn't an accident, the Winter Soldier. Tony gripped the edge of the table, fighting not to show the wave of grief and rage washing over him.
"My father's been dead for thirteen years," Tony said carefully. "Maybe it's time for new ideas."
"New ideas are fine," Obadiah said, his voice carrying the patient tone of a man explaining basic mathematics to a child. "But abandoning our core competencies would be foolish. We have contracts worth hundreds of millions—"
"And we'll honor them. But we can also explore other markets." Tony's mind raced, pulling from memories that felt like borrowed knowledge. "Mobile phones are about to explode as a market. Personal computers are becoming household necessities. Clean energy technology—"
"Clean energy?" Cole laughed outright. "Tony, oil companies have been our partners for decades. You want to alienate them for some hippie environmental nonsense?"
Tony felt his temper flare, but the anger came with flashes of memory: Sokovia falling from the sky, Ultron's mechanical voice, the faces of people who'd died because of choices he'd made. People he'd never actually met but somehow remembered failing.
"It's not environmental nonsense," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "It's the future. And we can either lead it or be left behind."
The room erupted in murmurs. Tony caught fragments: "—gone completely soft—" "—not the Howard Stark we remember—" "—stock prices will tank—"
But it was Obadiah's expression that sent chills down Tony's spine. The older man's eyes had gone calculating, predatory. Tony had seen that look before, though he couldn't remember when or why it filled him with the sudden urge to run.
"We'll table this discussion," Obadiah said smoothly. "Give everyone time to... process these revolutionary ideas."
After the others filed out, Obadiah lingered. "Tony, a word?"
"Sure, Obie." But every instinct Tony didn't know he possessed was screaming danger.
"Your father understood that peace is maintained through strength," Obadiah said, closing the door. "Superior firepower keeps America safe. Howard built this company on that principle."
"And look where it got him," Tony snapped, then immediately regretted the words. Where had that come from?
Obadiah's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. I just..." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking a lot lately about legacy. About what kind of world we're building."
"The same world we've always built. One where the good guys have better weapons than the bad guys." Obadiah moved closer, and Tony caught a whiff of expensive cologne mixed with something else—ambition, maybe. Hunger. "Tony, you've been acting strange lately. The board is starting to notice. Some are even saying maybe you're not ready for this level of responsibility."
The threat was subtle but clear. Tony's jaw clenched. "Are you questioning my leadership?"
"I'm questioning your judgment." Obadiah's smile was sharp as a blade. "But I'm sure it's just a phase. Young men often go through periods of... idealism. You'll remember who you really are soon enough."
After Obadiah left, Tony remained in the conference room, staring at his reflection in the polished table. In the glass, he could almost see another man—older, wearing impossible armor, surrounded by people who looked at him with respect instead of barely contained concern.
A man who had earned that respect through sacrifice.
Through the windows, a news ticker scrolled past: "MAGNETO STRIKES AGAIN: Military Convoy Destroyed in Upstate New York. Calls for Enhanced Individual Registration Act Grow Louder."
Enhanced individuals. Mutants. These were terms that meant nothing to his original memories, but his alternate self's knowledge provided context—a world where genetic evolution had created a new species, where fear and prejudice drove policy, where people with extraordinary abilities lived in hiding or fought for acceptance.
Tony rubbed his temples. What kind of world had he woken up in?
Six weeks after his awakening, Tony stood outside Pepper Potts' office, trying to work up the courage to knock.
Through the glass, he could see her exactly as he remembered and completely different. Same auburn hair catching the afternoon light, same efficient grace as she moved between her computer and filing system, same way she tucked a strand behind her ear when concentrating. But there was no warmth in her expression when she looked his way, no familiarity in her smile.
Because she didn't know him. Not really. Not the way he remembered knowing her.
Tony knocked and entered without waiting for permission—a habit that would have earned him an eye-roll and fond exasperation in his memories, but only got him a look of mild irritation now.
"Mr. Stark," Pepper said, not looking up from her tablet. "I have those quarterly reports you requested."
"Mr. Stark." The formal address felt like a knife between his ribs. "Pepper, how long have you been working for me?"
"Three years next month." She glanced up, eyebrows slightly raised. "Is there something specific you needed?"
Three years. In his borrowed memories, she'd been with him much longer. She'd known him before he became... whatever he'd become in that other life. Before he'd learned to be better than the man sitting across from her now.
"What do you think of me?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. "Honestly."
Pepper set down her tablet, studying him with those sharp blue eyes that could see through any lie he'd ever told. "You're asking for my honest assessment of you as a person?"
"Yeah. I am."
"You're brilliant," she said after a moment. "Possibly the smartest person I've ever met. You're also reckless, self-absorbed, and have a concerning inability to take anything seriously." Each word was delivered with clinical precision. "You treat people like entertainment, make decisions based on impulse, and seem to believe that intelligence excuses behavior."
Tony felt each criticism like a physical blow, because she was right. That was exactly who he was, who he still was in this timeline. The man who hadn't learned to put others first, who hadn't discovered what it meant to sacrifice for something greater than himself.
"But," Pepper continued, and Tony's breath caught, "you've been different lately. More focused. Less..." She searched for the right word.
"Less of an asshole?"
The tiniest smile tugged at her lips. "I was going to say 'scattered,' but your assessment is accurate."
Tony wanted to tell her everything. About the memories of loving her so completely, it felt like drowning in sunlight. About their wedding day, about Morgan's laugh, about lying in a hospital bed and knowing the only thing that mattered was making sure they were safe. About the weight of knowing how precious time was, how quickly everything could be taken away.
Instead, he said, "What would you think if I told you I was considering making some major changes to the company?"
"What kind of changes?"
"Moving away from weapons. Focusing on technology that builds instead of destroys."
Pepper studied him for a long moment. "I'd say that's quite an evolution for someone whose idea of philanthropy used to be writing checks to make tax problems disappear."
"People change."
"Do they?" Her voice was soft, curious. "Because in my experience, Tony Stark doesn't change. He just finds new ways to be the same person."
The words cut deeper than they should have, because she was right about who he was now. But she was wrong about who he could become who he'd been, in another life, in another timeline where she'd believed in him enough to build a family together.
"Maybe," he said quietly, "I'm ready to surprise you."
Something flickered in Pepper's expression urprise, maybe even hope. "That would certainly be a first."
After she left, Tony sat alone in his office, watching her through the glass walls as she returned to her desk. She moved with the same grace, typed with the same rhythm, answered phones with the same professional warmth. But she was a stranger wearing the face of the woman he loved.
The woman who had never loved him back. Not in this timeline.
Not yet.
By month two, Tony had developed three certainties:
First, the memories weren't dreams. They were too detailed, too consistent, too emotionally devastating to be anything his subconscious could manufacture. He'd lived another life—a full life—complete with love, loss, heroism, and the ultimate sacrifice.
Second, someone was watching him.
It had started as a feeling, the subtle sensation of eyes on him during his commute, at business dinners, even in the supposed privacy of his own home. Tony's original personality might have been oblivious to such things, but the borrowed memories carried knowledge of surveillance, of professional-grade observation, of the kind of people who could make themselves invisible in plain sight.
Third, whoever was watching him was very, very good at their job.
Tony had caught glimpses—a woman with red hair in the lobby of Stark Industries, speaking to security with credentials that looked legitimate. The same woman in the background of a café across the street during his lunch meeting with a clean energy consultant. A figure on a motorcycle maintaining perfect distance during his drive up PCH, skilled enough that he only noticed because some part of him had apparently been trained to spot professional tails.
The realization should have made him paranoid. Instead, it filled him with something unexpected: hope.
Because if someone was monitoring his changed behavior with this level of sophistication, then maybe just maybe he wasn't alone in remembering things that had never happened.
Tony threw himself into work with unprecedented focus. The consumer electronics division that had been a vague suggestion became a passionate crusade. Late nights in the workshop yielded breakthrough after breakthrough touch screen interfaces decades ahead of Palm Pilots and Pocket PCs, battery technology that could power devices for days instead of hours, miniaturized processors that made current computer chips look like stone tools.
Every innovation felt like remembering rather than inventing.
The board grew increasingly restless. Obadiah's smiles became more strained, his questions more pointed. During one particularly tense meeting in month three, Cole had openly suggested that Tony's "recent behavioral changes" might indicate he needed a medical evaluation.
"Stress can do strange things to the mind," Cole had said, his voice dripping with false concern. "Perhaps a leave of absence—"
"Perhaps," Tony had replied, his voice carrying an edge that surprised everyone including himself, "you should worry more about market projections and less about my mental health."
But the threat was clear. Push too hard, change too much too fast, and they'd find a way to remove him from power. Just like in his memories, though those involved a cave, not a boardroom coup.
The drinking stopped almost entirely. The parties became memories. The endless parade of meaningless encounters ended so abruptly that several gossip magazines ran speculative pieces about whether Tony Stark was sick, in rehab, or secretly in love.
If only they knew he was mourning a wife who didn't know him and a daughter who would never be born.
Three months after his awakening, Tony was reviewing security footage when he spotted her clearly for the first time. Red hair, black jacket, moving through the Stark Industries lobby with the casual confidence of someone who belonged there. She'd spoken to security, shown credentials, smiled at the receptionist—all perfectly normal except for the way she'd glanced at the camera.
Directly at him. For exactly one frame too long.
Tony rewound the footage, studying her face. Beautiful, professional, forgettable in the way that probably required considerable effort to achieve. His alternate self's memories provided no recognition, but something deeper stirred. A sense of importance, of destiny.
Of family.
The word came from nowhere and felt completely right.
Month four brought news that made Tony's borrowed memories scream warnings he couldn't understand.
"Breaking news from NASA," the anchor announced as Tony ate breakfast alone in his too-large kitchen. "Four scientists remain missing after a catastrophic accident aboard Baxters new prototype space ship. Reed Richards, Susan Storm, Johnny Storm, and Ben Grimm were conducting experiments on cosmic radiation when communication was lost..."
The names meant nothing to his original memories, but Tony's alternate self had apparently met them at various scientific conferences. Reed Richards brilliant, ambitious, pushing the boundaries of dimensional theory. Susan Storm biomedical research, something about cellular regeneration. Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm, engineer and pilot respectively, along for the ride on what should have been a routine mission.
Tony found himself gripping his coffee mug hard enough to crack the ceramic. Something terrible was about to happen to those people he could feel it in his bones, though he had no idea what or why.
The strange certainty followed him to the office, where Pepper briefed him on the day's schedule with her usual efficiency. She'd been warming up to him over the past months, their interactions growing less formal as he demonstrated consistent change in behavior. Not warm enough to bridge the gap between professional and personal, but enough that she occasionally smiled when she thought he wasn't looking.
"Your three o'clock cancelled," she said, scrolling through her tablet. "Something about the Enhanced Individual Registration hearings in Washington."
"Enhanced Individual Registration?"
Pepper glanced up, surprised. "The Mutant Affairs Committee? They've been all over the news lately, especially after that Magneto incident last month."
Mutants. Enhanced individuals. Magneto. Terms that should be science fiction but felt like warnings from his borrowed memories. Tony nodded like he understood, but made a mental note to research everything he could about this aspect of his new reality.
That night, alone in his workshop, Tony spread out newspaper clippings and internet articles about the "mutant crisis." Genetic anomalies granting superhuman abilities. A man who could control metal, terrorizing military convoys. Reports of a school in New York where "gifted youngsters" learned to control dangerous powers. Government committees debating registration, regulation, control.
It read like a blueprint for fear-driven oppression, and somewhere in his borrowed memories, Tony knew with absolute certainty that fear of enhanced individuals led nowhere good.
His hands moved across the workbench, assembling components with automatic precision. Another arc reactor prototype, this one smaller, more refined. As he worked, fragments of memory surfaced: standing with a shield-carrying soldier, fighting alongside a god of thunder, leading people who could do impossible things.
People like the ones this world was trying to register and control.
Tony set down his tools and stared at the reactor humming softly on his bench. Whatever this was—whatever had given him these memories, this knowledge, this terrible weight of future history—it hadn't been random. He was being prepared for something.
The question was whether he was brave enough, good enough, to become the man his memories suggested he could be.
Four months and three days after dreaming of his own death, Tony was alone in his workshop at three in the morning when she finally made her move.
He'd been working on the arc reactor again, the device that haunted his dreams and occupied every spare moment. The latest prototype was clean, efficient, powerful—everything his borrowed memories insisted it should be. But as he fine-tuned the electromagnetic field generators, Tony found himself thinking about the deeper questions that plagued him.
Why had he been given these memories? Who had died to give him this chance? And most importantly, was there anyone else carrying the same impossible burden?
"Impressive work."
Tony spun around, and there she was. Red hair, black tactical gear that probably cost more than most people's cars, standing in his supposedly impregnable workshop like she'd simply stepped through the walls. Up close, she was even more striking than the surveillance footage had suggested—beautiful in the dangerous way of expensive weapons, with eyes like green winter and the kind of perfect stillness that spoke of violence held in careful check.
"How did you get in here?" Tony asked, though he was more curious than alarmed. His security system was military-grade, but she'd bypassed it without triggering so much as a proximity alert.
"I'm very good at what I do." She moved closer to the workbench, studying the arc reactor with professional interest. "Though apparently, so are you. This technology shouldn't exist for a while."
Tony's heart began to race. "I'm sorry, who are you exactly?" trying to keep the hope from his voice
"Someone who's been watching you make some very interesting changes lately." She picked up one of his sketches—armor schematics he'd drawn during a particularly vivid memory-dream. "Anthony Edward Stark. Thirty-four years old. CEO of Stark Industries since your parents' deaths. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist." She set the sketch down and looked at him directly. "Except lately, you're only three of those things."
"Which three?"
"Genius, billionaire, philanthropist." Her smile was sharp as a blade. "The Playboy died about four months ago. Right around the time you started pushing your board to abandon weapons manufacturing and invest in consumer technology that won't be profitable for years."
Tony felt his mouth go dry. "And that interests you because...?"
"Because four months ago, I woke up screaming." She moved to examine his AI framework designs, her fingers tracing the holographic displays with surprising gentleness. "Screaming about falling from a cliff, about choosing to die so someone I loved could live. About a room that was red in every way that mattered, and all the blood on my hands."
The workshop fell silent except for the hum of machinery. Tony stared at her, understanding flooding through him like ice water.
"I've been having dreams too," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Dreams about a man in red and gold armor who called himself Iron Man. A man who saved many, the Earth's greatest asset according to some." She looked up from the designs, and Tony saw his own desperate recognition reflected in her eyes.
Tony's legs gave out, and he sank onto a workshop stool. "You remember."
"I remember dying on an alien planet to save my best friend's life. I remember a little girl who never existed and a man who loved me enough to let me go." Her voice cracked slightly. "I remember being better than I am now. Being worthy of the sacrifice."
"Natasha." Her name came from his lips without conscious thought.
She nodded, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "Hello, Tony."
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other—two people who'd died saving the universe, somehow given another chance in a world that desperately needed saving again.
"So," Natasha said finally, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Did we win?"
Tony thought about Thanos turning to dust, about the Blip being reversed, about billions of lives saved by their sacrifice. Then he thought about this world—about mutants being hunted, about enhanced individuals facing registration, about the Fantastic Four's accident that was probably creating new heroes or new threats.
"We won that war," he said quietly. "But I think this world has different battles to fight."
"Good thing we remember how to fight them."
Outside, the first dawn light was beginning to break over Malibu, and somewhere in space, four scientists were probably just beginning to realize that their routine mission had changed everything.
Tony Stark looked at Natasha Romanoff—spy, assassin, hero, the woman who'd died for the soul stone and somehow been given another chance—and realized that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.
"So," he said, standing up and extending his hand. "Partners?"
Natasha looked at his hand for a moment, then clasped it firmly. "Partners. But next time you want to revolutionize an entire industry, maybe give me more than four months' notice?"
Tony laughed, the first genuine sound of joy he'd made since waking up in this impossible life. "Deal. Though I should warn you—I have some ideas about that registration act that are probably going to piss off a lot of powerful people."
"Good," Natasha said, and her smile was sharp and dangerous and absolutely perfect. "I was getting bored anyway."
As they stood in Tony's workshop, surrounded by technology that shouldn't exist and carrying memories of a war they'd already won, both of them understood that their second chance was just the beginning.
The world was about to need Iron Man and Black Widow.
It just didn't know it yet.