Chapter 351: The Us We Grew Up Into
Young Tony wasn't at all impressed by Old Tony's performance on the battlefield, and honestly hadn't expected the older man to look this thoroughly wrecked fighting the Chitauri. Back in his own timeline, he'd torn through the Battle of Manhattan looking like an unstoppable force, riding high the whole way.
This universe's version of me really did lose the fight against time, Young Tony thought to himself, unable to hide his disdain. Does that mean I actually end up like this in ten years? No — absolutely not. I need to start taking better care of myself. This is not happening to me. The mere thought of himself withering into this state one day sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
No way. The second I get home, I'm dumping every dollar I've got into anti-aging tech and treatments. Full send.
What Young Tony didn't know, of course, was that even ten years from now, he'd never actually end up looking this weathered. Old Tony's age showed the way it did purely because of how much his world had put him through — and the sheer weight of responsibility riding on his shoulders.
Young Tony carried none of that burden. In his own universe, he had someone like Ethan standing in front of him, absorbing the worst of it, freeing him from ever having to shoulder anything close to that kind of responsibility or pressure.
His life ran comparatively easy — his biggest daily concern was figuring out how to one-up Ethan technologically, chasing bigger breakthroughs. Nothing close to duking it out solo against Thanos, or fighting his own Captain America to a standstill, the way Old Tony had had to.
"Get some rest, old man." Young Tony looked over Old Tony's exhausted frame with detached calm. "The rest of it's on us young folks now." With that, he turned without hesitation and headed straight back toward the battlefield, bracing for whatever came next.
Old Tony, naturally, wasn't about to accept that lying down — sure, this other universe might be stronger than his own overall, but there was a full decade separating the two timelines.
A lot could happen in ten years. He wasn't about to believe his ten-years-younger self had really been all that strong — and he certainly wasn't buying that Young Tony was somehow better than him.
Old Tony knew his own younger self's personality well enough, too — figured the kid was probably all talk. He was actually looking forward to watching Young Tony get humbled.
Meanwhile, Tony wasn't the only one disappointed by his own future — Thor felt the exact same way about his.
Thor genuinely couldn't process that this man in front of him was really a parallel-universe version of himself. Fat Thor stood there, gut wrapped in layers of soft flesh, beard scraggly and unkempt, not a trace of his old thunder-god swagger left.
Thor's eyes went wide, staring down this "fat ball" version of himself in utter disbelief, the shock of it almost too much to put into words.
"This... this can't be real!" Thor's voice trembled as he grasped for some — any — reasonable explanation for the absurdity in front of him. "Are you... one of my uncles? Some long-lost relative I never knew about? No — wait, are you my missing uncle from my mother's side?" He reached for humor, trying to mask just how rattled he actually was.
Fat Thor let out a rueful laugh at the question. "Yeah, look, I know it's a little embarrassing to say out loud — but I really am Thor. Just... circumstances happened, and this is what came of it. Don't let the look fool you, though. I'm still plenty strong."
Worried Thor might not believe him, Fat Thor pulled out Mjolnir and gave it a casual spin in his hand, just to prove the point.
Thor drew a long breath. Part of him wanted to argue, but seeing Mjolnir in this stranger's grip settled it — this round, jowly figure really was some other universe's version of himself.
He pulled Fat Thor into a warm, friendly embrace, then glanced around the battlefield. "Where's Loki? Isn't he fighting alongside you?"
At the mention of Loki's name, something dimmed behind Fat Thor's eyes. His grip on Mjolnir tightened.
Thor, oblivious, kept going. "Ah, I already know — he's off hiding somewhere, isn't he? Of course he wouldn't want any part of a real fight like this. Honestly, as long as he's not causing trouble somewhere, that's a win."
"So — how's Mother? And the rest of Asgard? You must be King by now, surely," Thor pressed on eagerly, practically bursting with excitement. He'd volunteered to come support this fight partly out of genuine curiosity — he wanted to know how this other version of himself, and everyone around him, had turned out ten years down the line.
Every question Thor threw at him landed like another blow. Fat Thor found himself utterly speechless, no idea how to even begin answering.
How was he supposed to tell his younger self that their mother was dead? That Loki was gone too? That Asgard itself had fallen, its people all but wiped out?
The words simply wouldn't come. Watching Thor's hopeful, expectant face only deepened the guilt gnawing at him.
It's my fault. I was too weak. I couldn't protect any of them.
Fat Thor stayed silent for a long moment before finally speaking, voice thick and barely steady. "Thor... I'm sorry... I can't answer that right now."
Terrified his younger self might start putting the pieces together, Fat Thor quickly changed the subject. "This really isn't the time to be talking about all that. Let's just focus on finishing this fight first."
With that, he turned and threw himself back into the battle.
He swung Stormbreaker again and again into Thanos's army, every blow carrying a weight far beyond simple combat — grief and rage he had nowhere else to put.
Thor noticed the unease flickering across his older self's face, but never guessed at the darker explanation underneath it. Straightforward as ever, he genuinely believed this simply wasn't the moment for that conversation.
He charged after Fat Thor, shouting, "Let's see who racks up the higher kill count!"
Unlike Thor and Tony's disappointment in their own futures, Wanda felt no real pull toward Scarlet Witch — her own future self didn't especially concern her.
She spared Scarlet Witch a single glance, then walked straight over to Ethan, worry plain on her face. "Ethan, are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere? Your clothes are a mess."
Wanda's entire attention was fixed on Ethan — Scarlet Witch simply didn't register at all.
Ethan shook his head, offering reassurance to a woman visibly more anxious than he was. "I'm fine. You didn't need to come rushing over — it's genuinely dangerous out here."
Truthfully, after all this fighting, he hadn't taken a single lethal wound. And even if he had, he had Deadpool's own regenerative genes running through him — the man simply couldn't be killed.
"Don't give me that. Look at your clothes, they're filthy, and there's dust all over your face."
Scarlet Witch watched the two of them, expression tangled with complicated emotion, quietly enduring the display of affection playing out in front of her.
Part of her was genuinely glad — this younger version of herself had found love of her own, and clearly, thanks to Ethan, had built a good life for herself.
But thinking of her own path — her brother dead, her love dead too — filled her with a bitter, aching grief.
And now, she no longer had any way to bring the man she loved back.
Just as Scarlet Witch sank into that grim reverie, she suddenly felt a wave of dizziness wash over her — and the next instant, she collapsed.
The last thing she heard before going under was a voice.
"You didn't actually think a bunch of little spiders was enough to beat me, did you?"
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