Chapter Text
Here’s the thing. In another world, the Arc Reactor glows a serene and powerful cyan. In another world, it does nothing more, merely similar to the Tesseract in terms of both energy and visuals.
In this world, it’s much stranger. The Tesseract is old and made out of one such thing that had created this entire universe. It’s not much of a surprise to see that it’s gained at least a little sentience. Tony Stark snaps his fingers in another world and that light flickers out again, goes dim in the resulting surge. It never shines again, afterward.
So, here’s the issue. The Tesseract does, despite it all, remember the imprint of a boy very young that had snuck into an old and worn workshop, curious of the mysteries inside. It does, despite, remember those eyes gleaming with not greed nor hunger but instead an incredible wonder. A gentle touch, perhaps, against its shell, the tender meekness of a mind so small and insignificant that it was as if it were a mere whisper in the wind.
Hmm, it would have said, if the boy were not so fragile and liable to insanity, I suppose you’ll do.
You see, there are things that happen when something that is still growing and learning comes into contact with something so… effervescent. The Tesseract is the domain of space, of endless distance, countless paradoxes and questions and incredible ideas. You could say, maybe, that it had given the boy just that bit more space in his skull. Just that nudge, that coaxing into a direction that would leave him seeing all too much without anything to filter it all out.
Perhaps Howard Stark walks into the room and watches, for just a moment, as his son grazes those little stick-thin hands against the surface of an object even he did not dare touch without using tools. Watches, for the short moment it takes, as that unspeakably powerful object pulses, slow and patient, almost gentle.
But then he’ll snap out of that haze, forget that moment in time. Maybe he’ll drag the boy out by his forearm, seething with a silent anger. And maybe, just maybe, the Tesseract will hum when the boy looks back at it with a terrible sadness in his eyes, hungry for more of its kindness. A low and pulsing wrr, trailing quietly as the door shuts.
It’s not sentient. Not really. But it’s close enough, close enough to judge and consider what would be good and what would be bad. And that boy, that boy, he’s one of the best.
One of the greatest goods it’s ever seen.