Clatter
The screwdriver slipped from Tony's greasy fingers and clattered onto the concrete floor, echoing like a gunshot in the silence of the basement workshop.
Tony Stark, ten years old and three feet something of frustration, let out a long, ragged sigh. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the workbench. Before him lay the scattered, smoking guts of Project Companion, Attempt Number 600.
It was supposed to be Baymax. The same warm, cuddly marshmellow friend from Big Hero 6.
In his mind, the concept was perfect. He could see the white, huggable, inflatable nurse-robot as clearly as he could see his own hands. He remembered the movie from his past life—a life where he had been a teenager, a kid who loved comics and sci-fi, who had potential but drowned in his own insecurities until a truck accident cut his life short. He hadn't been an old man when he died; he'd been just a boy, really. A boy who gave up too easily.
And now, reborn into the body of Anthony Edward Stark, with a brain that moved fast like a supercomputer, he was terrified that he was doing it again.
"It's just vinyl and servos," Tony whispered to himself, his voice cracking. He rubbed his eyes, smearing black engine grease across his nose. "Why is it so hard? I built a circuit board when I was four. Why can't I make him hug?"
He hopped off the high stool, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. He paced the length of the lab. Being ten was weird. He had the memories of a high schooler and the intellect of a futurist, but his emotions were still trapped in the biology of a child. When he got frustrated, he didn't want a stiff drink; he wanted to cry. He wanted his mom.
He looked at the pile of junk. He was trying to change the future. He knew who Tony Stark was supposed to become. The Merchant of Death. The man who sold weapons that ended the happiness of family, that brought pain and suffering to Wanda and Pietro. He didn't want to build missiles. He wanted to build something that healed. Something that said, 'I am here to help.'
But six hundred failures felt like a sign. Maybe he was just destined to destroy things, not fix them. After all even Superior Iron-man with his symbiote inspired armor and knowledge became evil and needed to be stopped.
"I give up," he muttered, kicking a stray washer across the room. "I'm done. No more robots."
"A rather dramatic proclamation for a Tuesday afternoon, sir."
Tony spun around. Edwin Jarvis stood at the top of the small staircase leading down to the lab, a silver tray balanced perfectly on one hand. The butler didn't look like a servant; in fact to Tony he was less a father and more a best friend. He was tall, thin, and impeccably dressed, with a face that held a permanent expression of dry amusement and deep, abiding care.
"I'm not being dramatic, Jarvis," Tony grumbled, crossing his arms. "I'm being realistic. It's trash. I'm just wasting Dad's money."
Jarvis walked down the stairs, the tap of his shoes steady and rhythmic. He set the tray down on a clear spot of the workbench. It held a tall glass of chocolate milk and a plate of apple slices—cut into perfect moons, just the way Tony liked them.
"Your father's money is, quite frankly, difficult to waste given the sheer volume of it," Jarvis said gently. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, crouching down so he was eye-level with Tony. "And I believe Edison failed a thousand times before the lightbulb flickered. You have four hundred attempts remaining before you are allowed to be this grumpy."
He dabbed the grease off Tony's nose. The gesture was so fatherly, so tender, that Tony felt a lump form in his throat. In this life, Jarvis was his rock. Howard was the mountain—huge, impressive, and sometimes hard to climb—but Jarvis was the ground beneath his feet.
"It's not just the robot, Jarvis," Tony admitted, his voice small. "I just... I feel like I'm not good enough. Everyone thinks I'm this genius, this 'Wonder Boy.' But what if I'm just a fraud, what if i'm just a failure?"
Jarvis paused. He didn't dismiss the boy's feelings. He never treated Tony like a child who didn't understand the world; he treated him like a person.
"Anthony," Jarvis said, placing a warm hand on Tony's small shoulder. "I have changed your diapers. I have watched you dismantle a radio at age three and rebuild it better. I have seen you solve equations that make Stark Industries engineers weep. But do you know what the most brilliant thing about you is?"
Tony sniffled, looking up. "My brain?"
"No," Jarvis smiled, and it reached his eyes. "Your heart. You are trying to build a machine solely to make people feel better. That is not the work of a fraud. That is the work of a good man. Or, in this case, a very good boy."
Tony leaned into the touch, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, J."
"You are quite welcome. Now, drink your milk. You need the calcium. Your father is asking for you."
Tony stiffened. "Dad? Is he mad?"
"He is packing," Jarvis said, standing up and straightening his vest. "And he requests the pleasure of your company. And your mother's. We are going on a trip."
The Stark Industries private airfield was buzzing with activity. The sun was dipping low over New York, casting long, orange shadows across the tarmac. The family jet, The Stark One, gleamed silver and blue, a beast of engineering that Howard had designed himself.
Tony walked hand-in-hand with Jarvis, dragging his small suitcase. He saw his parents standing by the stairs of the plane.
Howard Stark was pacing, a brick-sized cell phone pressed to his ear, shouting something about titanium alloys. He looked sharp in his grey suit, his sunglasses perched on his head. He was a force of nature—loud, brilliant, and constantly moving.
Maria Stark was the calm in the center of the storm. She was standing by the landing gear, holding her sun hat against the wind. When she saw Tony, her face lit up like he was the only person in the world.
"There's my little genius!" she called out.
She didn't wait for him to come to her. She walked briskly across the tarmac and scooped him up into a hug. Tony might have been ten, and mentally older, but he would never be too old for this. He buried his face in her neck, smelling her perfume—roses and vanilla. It was the scent of home.
"Hi, Mom," he mumbled into her shoulder.
"Look at you," she pulled back, cupping his face. "You've been in that cave all day. You look like a panda with those dark circles." She kissed his cheek loudly. "Are you hungry? Did Jarvis feed you?"
"I fed him, Madam," Jarvis said, appearing beside them with the luggage. "Though I suspect he will claim otherwise to secure sweets."
"Snitch," Tony whispered, grinning.
Howard clicked his phone shut and retracted the antenna. He walked over, clapping a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder. It wasn't a hug, but Tony knew the code. The squeeze meant I missed you.
"Ready to roll, sport?" Howard asked, his mustache twitching with a smile. "California is calling."
"California?" Tony asked as they walked up the stairs into the jet. "Why are we going there?"
"Expansion!" Howard declared, entering the plush cabin of the jet. He tossed his jacket onto a leather seat. "Hollywood, Tony. The land of dreams. And, more importantly, the land of deep-water ports and massive airstrips. I'm buying land in North Hollywood. We're going to build a new facility."
Tony climbed into his favorite seat—the one by the window facing the wing. He buckled his seatbelt, his mind racing. He knew the history of Stark Industries. He knew that the California expansion was the prelude to the massive weapons testing of the 80s and 90s. This was where the "Jericho" missile would eventually be born.
The fear bubbled up again. The image of sand, blood, and shrapnel.
"Dad?" Tony asked quietly as the engines began to whine.
Howard was already pouring himself a scotch at the bar. "Yeah, Tony?"
"What are you going to build there?"
"Everything," Howard said, gesturing broadly. "Aviation. Repulsors. Energy grids."
"And... guns?" Tony asked. The word hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
Howard paused. The ice in his glass clinked. He turned to look at his son. Maria, who had been arranging a blanket over her legs, stopped and looked between them. She hated this part of the business.
Howard sighed, walking over to sit across from Tony. He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes that looked tired. "Tony, we've talked about this. It's a dangerous world. You know about the war. You know what happens when good men stand by and do nothing."
"But weapons hurt people," Tony said. He tried to sound like a kid, but the conviction in his voice was old. "They hurt families. What if... what if we made things that just helped? Like medicine? Or clean energy?"
Howard looked at his son, a mix of pride and frustration on his face. "We do those things too, Tony. Stark Industries is the future. But to have a future, we have to protect the present. We build the shield, Tony. We make sure the bullies don't win."
"But what if we become the bullies?" Tony asked softly.
Howard didn't have an answer for that. He just stared at his drink for a moment, looking haunted. Tony knew his dad wasn't a bad man. He was a man trying to hold back the tide of a terrifying century with technology. He helped found SHIELD to save lives, but he was trapped in the machine he built.
"Howard," Maria's voice was soft but firm. She reached out and took Howard's hand, then Tony's, linking them all together. "No politics tonight. No business talk. We are up in the air. For the next five hours, you are just a father, and he is just a boy."
She looked at Tony with a sparkle in her eye. "And I believe I promised to destroy you both in a game of Monopoly."
Tony smiled, the tension breaking. "You cheat, Mom. You always hide the 500s."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Maria winked. "Jarvis, set up the board."
For the rest of the flight, they were just a family. They laughed when Howard landed on Boardwalk and had to pay Maria rent. They ate sandwiches cut into triangles. Howard even helped Tony with a sketch for a new engine design on a napkin, his eyes lighting up as he explained the intake valves.
In these moments, Tony could almost forget the looming shadow of the future. He could just be Tony.
The limousine ride to the hotel was a blur of neon lights and palm trees. It was 1989 (a few years before the big tragedy, Tony calculated), and Los Angeles was vibrant. The air smelled of salt and exhaust.
They arrived at a grand hotel that looked like a wedding cake made of stone. The Stark family suite was bigger than most houses, with a balcony that overlooked the sprawling city grid.
But as soon as the bellhop put the bags down, the bubble burst.
Howard's phone rang. He answered it, his face tightening into his "CEO mask." He listened for a moment, then looked at Maria.
"They moved the meeting up," Howard said, covering the receiver. "The Zoning Commission and the Generals. They're downstairs in the conference room. We have to go now."
Tony sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, his legs dangling. He felt a pang of familiar loneliness. This was the rhythm of his life. Work comes first.
"Now?" Maria asked, looking at Tony. "But we just got here. I was going to tuck Tony in."
"I know, Maria. But this deal... it's vital for the West Coast expansion. It'll only be a few hours."
Maria sighed. She walked over to Tony and knelt down. She smoothed his hair back, her hands warm and soft.
"I'm sorry, my darling," she whispered. "Daddy and I have to go do the boring stuff. But tomorrow, I promise, we are going to do whatever you want. Disneyland? The beach? You name it."
"It's okay, Mom," Tony said, forcing a brave smile. He didn't want to make her feel guilty. "I'm big. I can take care of myself. Plus, I have Jarvis."
"You do," she smiled, kissing his forehead, then his nose, then his cheeks. "My brave little genius. I love you more than all the stars."
"Love you too, Mom."
Howard came over, looking uncomfortable but affectionate. He squeezed Tony's shoulder again. "Be good, Tony. Don't blow up the hotel room, alright?"
"No promises," Tony quipped.
Howard chuckled, ruffled his hair, and then they were gone. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving a silence that felt very loud.
Tony sat there for a moment, staring at the door. The teenage memories of his past life mingled with the child's feelings of the present. He hated being left behind. It made him feel small.
"Well," a British voice cut through the gloom. "That leaves us to our own devices."
Tony looked up. Jarvis was loosening his tie, a rare sign of relaxation. He looked at Tony with a conspiratorial grin.
"I seem to recall," Jarvis said, "that there is a rather famous establishment nearby that specializes in char-grilled hamburgers. And, if my intel is correct, they serve milkshakes thick enough to stand a spoon in."
Tony's eyes lit up. "Burgers?"
"And fries," Jarvis added. "But we must be stealthy. If your mother asks, we ate steamed vegetables and recited poetry."
Tony laughed, sliding off the bed. "Deal."
The night air was cool and crisp as they walked down the boulevard. North Hollywood was alive. Cars cruised by with windows down, music blaring.
They found the burger joint—a classic spot with red vinyl booths and the smell of grease that made Tony's mouth water. They sat by the window, watching the world go by.
Tony felt a wave of gratitude for Jarvis. The man wasn't his father, but he was... something else. A guardian. In his past life, Tony didn't have anyone like this. He had been alone.
"Jarvis?" Tony asked, dipping a fry into ketchup.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you think... do you think I'm weird?"
Jarvis paused with his burger halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully. "Weird? No. Exceptional? Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Because I know things," Tony said, playing with his food. "Things kids shouldn't know. About science. About the world. Sometimes I feel like I don't fit in my own skin."
Jarvis reached across the table and covered Tony's small hand with his own. "Anthony, fitting in is vastly overrated. The people who change the world never fit in. They stand out. And while your mind is older than your years, your heart is exactly where it should be. You are a wonderful boy. Never doubt that."
Tony smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the food. "Thanks, J."
"Eat up," Jarvis nodded toward the window. "I noticed a Blockbuster Video across the street. I thought perhaps we might rent a movie for when your parents return. Star Wars, perhaps?"
Tony turned to look. Across the four-lane road, the blue and yellow sign of BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO shone like a beacon. It was a Friday night, so the parking lot was full. Families were walking in and out, holding stacks of VHS tapes.
"Yeah!" Tony said, excited. "Maybe they have Empire strikes back!"
"Let us hope," Jarvis said, sliding out of the booth. "Come along."
They paid the bill and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The street was busy. They waited for the light to change at the crosswalk.
Tony looked up at the sky. It was a clear night. You could see the stars.
Then, he saw it.
It wasn't a star. It was a streak of light, burning gold and orange, tearing through the atmosphere. It was moving too fast to be a plane. Too uncontrolled to be a satellite.
It was coming straight down.
Tony's heart stopped. His brain, processing information at a mile a second, calculated the trajectory.
"Jarvis!" Tony screamed.
"Sir?" Jarvis looked down, confused.
"Look out! UP!"
Tony pointed. Jarvis looked up, and his eyes went wide.
The streak of light wasn't silent anymore. A roaring, tearing sound ripped through the air, like the sky itself was being unzipped. It wasn't a missile. It was... a person? A fireball?
It was heading directly for the Blockbuster.
"Get back!" Jarvis shouted.
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed Tony by the back of his jacket and hauled him backward, throwing himself over the boy's small body just as they hit the pavement behind a parked station wagon.
CRASH.
The impact shook the ground like an earthquake. It wasn't an explosion of fire, but of kinetic energy. The roof of the Blockbuster didn't just collapse; it was obliterated. A shockwave of dust, shingles, and shattered glass blasted outward across the street.
The windows of the burger joint they had just left blew out. Car alarms began to wail in a chaotic chorus.
Tony lay curled on the concrete, his face pressed against the rough grit. He felt Jarvis's heavy weight shielding him, protecting him. He could hear the hiss of debris raining down—chunks of drywall, plastic videocassettes, metal shelving.
For a moment, there was silence. Just the ringing in Tony's ears.
"Jarvis?" Tony coughed, the air thick with plaster dust. "Jarvis, are you okay?"
The butler groaned, shifting his weight. "I... I believe I am intact, sir. Stay down."
But Tony couldn't stay down. The curiosity—the scientist in him—was screaming. He squirmed out from under Jarvis's arm.
"Anthony, no!" Jarvis rasped, trying to grab him, but Tony was already peeking around the bumper of the station wagon.
The Blockbuster was a ruin. The center of the roof was gone, a gaping hole open to the stars. Inside, amidst the rubble of the comedy section, something was glowing.
It wasn't fire. It was a pulsing, golden energy. Photon energy.
Tony squinted. In the center of the crater, a figure was standing up. It was a woman. She was wearing a green and black suit—military, but alien. Her fists were glowing. She looked confused, hurt, and terrifyingly powerful.
She looked up, her eyes scanning the destruction she had caused. For a split second, her gaze locked with Tony's across the street. Her eyes were glowing too.
Captain Marvel.
Tony's breath hitched. He knew this. He had seen the movie in his past life. Carol Danvers crashing into the Blockbuster in the 90s. But he was ten. It was the late 80s. The timeline... the timeline was shifting. Or maybe he just remembered the dates wrong. It didn't matter.
Aliens were real. Superheroes were real. And she was right there.
"Sir!" Jarvis grabbed Tony's arm, pulling him back violently. "We must move! That structure is unstable!"
Tony looked at Jarvis. The butler had a cut on his forehead, blood trickling down his temple. His suit was ruined, covered in white dust.
"Jarvis, you're bleeding," Tony said, his voice trembling.
"A scratch," Jarvis said, his voice shaking but firm. He pulled Tony into his chest, shielding his eyes from the glowing woman across the street. "Don't look, Anthony. We need to get out of here."
Tony pressed his face into Jarvis's dusty vest. He could feel the man's heart hammering against his ribs.
He thought about his failed robot. He thought about the weapons his father built. He thought about the woman glowing with the power of a sun across the street.
The world was so much bigger, and scarier, than he had realized. Baymax wasn't going to be enough. A nurse couldn't stop a woman who fell from the sky, not unless he managed to build an armor for him as well.
Tony gripped Jarvis's hand tight. I have to be better, he thought, the gears in his mind spinning faster than ever. I have to build something that can protect us. I have to build the suit.
"Yeah," Tony whispered, watching the golden light reflect off the broken glass on the street. "But...Jarvis she looks lost, maybe we can help her."
Please consider helping me out guys, as many power stones as I can get to make this story as famous as Tony Stark, chow !