Chapter Text
Tony Stark became self-aware at the tender age of five.
Assembly lines, vast stretches of wondrous machinery, had just come into the public eye. He had listened, utterly fascinated, as a bewildered news host quizzed a Ford technician on the new invention. The man clearly had his questions set up for him.
Tony didn't understand the confusion. Everything the technician said made sense. It sounded just like the wooden puzzles he was given for Christmas, only a lot bigger. And made of metal.
In fact, Tony bet it was simple enough that he could do it too. And he would!
His mother and father weren't as happy as he thought they would be. Not because it didn't work, oh no. The radio that had given him the idea lay across the lounge room, into the kitchen, all reconstructed into a shining, if miniature, assembly line. He tried his very best to explain, that it would work if all three pulled the levers at the same time, and look, it makes wooden blocks for puzzles. None of that mattered.
In the end, neither did his parents' scolding. He never remembered what exactly they were upset about, whether it was about the family radio in shambles ("It was nearly new, and cost a pretty penny-") or his weird fascination ("Any other boy would be out playing cowboys-"). All Tony remembered of that day was their refusal to look, and listen. And that the first, his very first creation never had the chance to work properly, because it needed three people to function.
---
A very important man, or so the world was led to believe, had been assassinated in Bosnia.
Chaos reigned as countries tore each other apart. Tony's father left at the beginning and didn't return until the end, not long after his fourteenth birthday.
The world celebrated its' great victoy, but Tony was angry. The war had happened so quickly to him, and the four years seem to pass too soon. He had wanted to join. Not as an enlisted man, not like his father, but as a Scientist. Tony wanted the glory promised by the news reels, he wanted to save the day with the inventions that grew in scope and design by the passing hour.
Any guilt he had was pushed down, down deeply below memories of a miserable childhood, his sore and belittled ego, and an abiding, aching lonliness.
---
"And...five hundred. There's my half."
"Your half, little man, comes out of that glorious skull of yours. But if you're going to toss money my way, that's just fine by me."
Tony smiled at the other young man. It felt strange.
"This will be our company, Obie. I'll meet you halfway with everything you put in."
---
"And Stark Co. has yet again made headlines with their newest creation, but how will this weapon impact an already fragile global climate..."
---
His father was dead. Obadiah had clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder and asked if he wanted company to the funeral. He refused. They both knew he wasn't going.
---
"Dad?"
Tony coughed and waved away the billowing smoke.
"Yes, sorry, small accident. Nothing to worry about. Isn't your show on?"
His son frowned up at him.
"It's after four in the morning."
It was, in fact, four twenty. Time had lost all relevance for Tony in the past decade, as days and people slipped in and out of his memory. His parents were gone, his wife was gone, any old friends outside the company long disappeared. Tony found he didn't care very much. His inventions, on the other hand...
This new one was a secret. He couldn't work on it in the lab properly, but if he succeeded...
Forget the upcoming war that was obvious to anyone with eyes. Forget the constant badgering from the fretting government agents that were growing to fear his company. This...this was what his life had been leading to. Once the prototype was done, he would induct Obie into the secret. His partner always wanted a guaranteed success, but Tony was happy to take the risks.
"Dad?"
Tony sighed. It would have to hold three hours or so, when Howard was at school.
---
A stern man with a strong German accent walked into Tony's office one day with an offer.
Tony had a suspicion on the man's identity. As curious as he was on possibilities, he couldn't very well be associated with a future rival. Besides, sociopaths had a tendency to undermine their more intellegiant allies. Narcisstic streaks and all that. Tony could relate.
---
"It's happened."
Obadiah was breathless with excitement, almost dancing on the sheets of paper Tony was trying to fix in better order. He frowned.
"It's what-" He caught on. "They've done it? We're back in?"
"Yes!" Obadiah laughed. "America has joined World War II!"
---
"Iron Man, the well known persona of American genius and arms dealer Tony Stark, has again intervened in war efforts across France and Germany. While many soldiers are thankful for his timely aid, French officials are reporting loss of crucial data they claim was stolen by Stark himself..."
---
"You've got to be more careful, Tony" Obadiah, as usual, showed his worry by cuffing Tony across the head.
"Yes, Obie, keep jostling me. My concussion thanks you."
"Serves you right, crazy bastard. You're not shoving off and leaving me with this monster to run." He yanked the bandage tighter.
Howard was nowhere in sight. He hated the sight of blood.
---
It came to a head inside a smelting factory. Of course it did.
And for the record, he was absolutely correct about that German man.
There were bombs, because there was always bombs, and many men with guns. Not that they could touch him. Energy and circuits flowing together at his fingertips, these were more ants than men-
Except for one. Taking his eyes off the Red Skull was a bad idea. He would remember not to do that again. If his head ever stopped ringing, he would. Remember that. Yes.
Three bombs left. Obadiah was relaying their coordinated over the radio. He could find them easily, even with this maniac on his tail.
There was one. Grab it, disconnect the right parts, toss it in nearest fire-
Two left.
Obadiah was shouting. Tony could barely hear it over the roars of machinery and angry men and his own throbbing head, but the way his voice strained meant he was shouting.
Tony deciphered it in pieces. A detonation switch, an energy spike, something Obie's never seen before-
A detonation triggered by an unknown energy? That sounded right, and logical.
It was quite logical, and utterly wrong.
He defused the second bomb before he realized where he was wrong.
Red Skull had stopped pursuing him. He was standing, fixed in place, gripping a-blue cube? The man's face was a rictus of fury and frustration. The thing he held was pulsing energy, sending literal shockwaves through the air.
The sheer power rippling out-was impossible.
The last bomb. Tony had to get the last one. Whatever this was, it could wait a minute, unlike a lethal explosion that would destroy the town this factory resided in.
Tony wasn't used to being wrong. It wasn't fun.
The bomb was gone, the Red Skull was still frozen in place, and Obie was still shouting.
Actually, the man was screaming. Hysterically.
"-LEVEL THE FUCKING CONTINENT TONY THAT THING IS THE BIGGEST FUCKING NUKE-"
The cube was a nuke? Maybe by Obie's radar it looked that way. The ripples were widening, moving sluggishly through-everything.
The waves were affecting everything. Concrete crumbled, metal melted, and the men still inside-
Tony moved without forming a plan. A very bad idea in it of itself.
He seized the misshapen mass that was once Red Skull, and flew. Higher, higher. It was hot in his arms. This was a horrible idea.
He was a genius. He should be able to come up with better than this. What could he do?
Tony kept flying. Obie's voice was fading and scratching out. He wondered if Howard was in the same room, watching the two (three?) blips move out of range. The mass grew hotter still.
He could feel it seeping into him. That should scare him. He's a dead man, with all this radiation, just because the genius couldn't think of a better plan. He had so many plans...
Blue. Was it the sky or the cube? Burning.
Black.
---
Tony Stark woke up.
His throat burned, his chest burned, everything was still too hot, he had to drop-
"Easy, Mr. Stark. You are not dying, and you're in a safe location."
Tony looked around himself. At the monitor still attached to him, beeping irratically. At a machine attached to the wall pouring out cold air. At the towering black man, whose eye appraised him in his bed.
He cleared his throat, and spoke hoarsely.
"What year is this?"