Tony sat back, the implications settling in like concrete.
So, he wasn't unique. There were other Tony Starks out there—variants with different faces, different lives, maybe even different facial hair. It was a bruise to his ego, sure, but it also confirmed his hypothesis: Only a Protagonist gets a Multiverse. NPCs don't get variants.
But before he could spiral further into narcissism, the invisible pen struck again.
June 10 (Continued)
Wait. If Gwen is this old, does that mean the Spider-Man of this universe is the 'Amazing' Spider-Man? The Andrew Garfield version?
If so... damn. That means the Tony-Peter father-son dynamic is dead on arrival. Without the Tom Holland version—the 'Dutch Brother' Spider-Man—Tony never gets that arc where he mentors Peter and finally learns to understand his own grumpy old dad, Howard.
Maybe that's for the best. The Holland Spider was a mess. The kid couldn't carry the Iron Man mantle, caused a ton of trouble, and basically got Aunt May killed. He was a disaster.
But... if this is the Amazing universe, Gwen is doomed. She dies. Broken neck. Clock tower. It was the moment that traumatized a generation of fans. At least in 'No Way Home,' during the Three Spiders crossover, Andrew's Peter managed to save MJ. It was a small redemption, but it didn't bring Gwen back.
Tony massaged his temples. The headache was back, and it was bringing friends.
"Information overload," Tony hissed. "Jarvis, are you getting this? 'Amazing Spider-Man'? 'Dutch Brother Spider-Man'? 'Three Spiders Crossover'?"
"Processing, Sir," Jarvis replied, his processors whirring audibly. "It appears the diarist is describing distinct iterations of the Spider-Man persona across different realities."
"And Gwen Stacy is the 'Official Pair' for this 'Amazing' version," Tony deduced, piecing the puzzle together. "But she dies. Horribly. And the other one... this 'Dutch Brother'... his girl is named MJ."
"Correct, Sir."
"What kind of name is 'Dutch Brother'?" Tony frowned. "Is he from the Netherlands? Is he a monk?"
"It is likely a nickname or a cultural identifier from the diarist's world, Sir. Perhaps referring to the actor's nationality."
"Right. Actors again." Tony waved a hand dismissively. "But look at the psychological profile here. He says I develop a father-son bond with this... Dutch kid. Me? A father figure?"
Tony laughed, but it was a hollow sound.
He thought of Howard Stark. The coldness. The distance. The belt. He had vague memories of a gentler time, but they were buried under decades of resentment and silence. The car crash on December 16, 1991, had sealed those wounds shut before they could ever heal. Tony had spent his life trying to prove he was better than Howard, yet terrified he was exactly the same.
Could he really mentor someone? Could he understand Howard's "tough love" through the eyes of a parent?
"It sounds... unlikely," Tony whispered.
"Sir," Jarvis interrupted, his voice dropping a decibel. "There is a more disturbing implication. The diarist mentions the 'Holland Spider' failing to inherit your mantle."
Tony froze.
"Inherit my mantle?"
"One does not typically require an heir unless one is... absent," Jarvis said delicately.
"Unless I'm dead," Tony finished the sentence.
The silence in the office was deafening.
He was thirty-eight years old. He was in his prime. He was rich, brilliant, and healthy (mostly). He expected to live to be a hundred, fueled by spite and scotch. Why would he need a successor so urgently?
"I'm the Protagonist," Tony argued, pacing faster now. "Protagonists don't die. They ride off into the sunset."
"Unless the narrative requires a passing of the torch," Jarvis countered. "In serialized fiction, the death of a mentor is a common trope to catalyze the growth of the next generation."
"A tool," Tony snarled, his fist clenching. "So I'm just a plot device? A stepping stone for some kid in spandex to learn a lesson about responsibility?"
The anger flared hot and bright. Tony Stark did not serve. He did not bow. And he certainly did not die for narrative convenience.
He took a deep breath, forcing the rage down. Panic was useless. Anger was fuel, but logic was the engine.
"This Lucas Chen," Tony said, staring at the notebook. "He gave me the cheat sheet. If I know the script, I can rewrite it. I don't have to die. I don't have to leave a mantle to anyone."
"And regarding the 'Three Spiders', Sir," Jarvis added.
"Right. Three of them. In the same room."
"It implies a multiverse collision. If the 'Amazing' Spider-Man saved the 'Holland' Spider-Man's girlfriend... it suggests a crisis where these dimensions overlap. A 'No Way Home' event."
"Three Spider-Men," Tony muttered, a spark of scientific curiosity cutting through the dread. "If they aren't clones... if they are distinct biological entities from different quantum realities... imagine the energy required to bridge those gaps."
He looked at the diary.
"Lucas knows how it happens. He knows the mechanics."
Tony's fear was gone, replaced by the cold, hard resolve of an engineer looking at a broken machine.
"We're going to fix this, Jarvis. We're going to fix the whole damn timeline."