Hey there! So, this is my first attempt on writing Avengers fanfiction. Also my first try on writing Frostiron and doing so in English. It's not my first language, so I hope that I'll be forgiven eventual mistakes. As for the story: Enjoy! :) Feel free to leave any kind of thoughts or criticism.

Sparks of Prometheus

Act 1 – The Pledge

Prologue: The regrets of an old man

"Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called "The Pledge": The magician shows you something ordinary, a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course is probably isn't. The second act is called "The Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret but you won't find it. Because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled. But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough. You have to bring it back. That`s why every great magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call "The Prestige". It is the part with the turns and twists, where there are lives on the line and you will see something shocking, something you've never seen before." – Christopher Priest, "The Prestige"

"There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." – Leonard Cohen, "Anthem"

Every historian will confirm that there comes a day in the story of every great hero, when his time is officially over. No more heroic battles, no damsels in distress, no nemesis with an evil plan for world domination. God, not even a simple bank robbery to foil. Because, there is an enemy to mankind that even the greatest heroes cannot defeat: time.

What has once been young and full of strength grows aching and painful with age. And with age comes oblivion. Once you don't appear to be rescuing the world every other Saturday of the month, people start to forget your name and face altogether. All the glamour, all the fame of being a superhero ceases to dust. All that is left are blunt medals, rusty helmets and useless gauntlets.

And memories.

Well, in case of Tony Stark – genius, billionaire, (former) playboy, philanthropist – the latter were recently giving him grief. He still was a genius and requests from students and scientists from all over the world studying his lifework were piling his desk on a daily basis, asking for insight on his theories and inventions on the generation of alternative energy and for permission for their further development. He was still a billionaire (which made his retirement pretty comfortable), and even if he wasn't the womanizer he used to be anymore, he was still somewhat popular with the ladies. He supported charity organizations, sponsored an educational program for socially deprived and gave out scholarships to the worlds future geniuses who were in need of some financial help.

His days as an Avenger, as one of earths mightiest heroes, however, were done and over with and his suit and armor had been chucked in a long time ago. But he could still call himself one of the good – he still was a hero.

If only there weren't these problems regarding his memory.

Every morning JARVIS woke him up in time for the nurses arrival at 7:30 a.m. Every morning he woke disorientated in his room at the most exclusive, most renowned residential care home for the elderly in New York City, and it took ten minutes for him to recall how the hell he had gotten there. Beginnings of dementia, said the doctors. Unstoppable, no chance of attenuation. Someday he would not be able to remember anything anymore.

"Good morning, sir." JARVIS voice broke through the mist of thoughts occupying his mind. Tony had spent the last few minutes considering the age marks on the backs of his hands.

"Good morning, JARVIS", he murmured absentmindedly and blinked as his AI opened the shutters on the windows of his dorm room to leave in the morning light. JARVIS had been one of Tony's conditions, before he had agreed to be moved into a retirement home. This was an abridged version of JARVIS, of course, and when he had been compressed Tony could have sworn he had heard his AI groan in frustration a few times. But nevertheless, this was the compromise he had gotten out of those responsible at S.H.I.E.L.D. and the management of the retirement home: Tony wouldn't go anywhere without his AI. A lifetime of JARVIS watching his back and supporting his every move simply made Tony's existence without him impossible. That had been something they hadn't known how to argue with, so they gave in, but had him reduce JARVIS's system to a local unit with access to the dorm rooms network only.

Tony had agreed, not telling them that he had already written a program for JARVIS to hack into the buildings network without being noticed by the systems firewall, to gain information on the other patients and the staff.

"Sir, the nurse is on his way. Should I get the door for him?"

Nurses. Another condition of his. Tony had fought for the right of picking the nurses himself. Naturally this led to an enormous wastage rate, because Tony liked to fire people in a burst of anger, who would bring him the wrong flavor of coffee, deny him alcohol (which the doctors had suggested), or, even worse, turn down his music. His body count was up to 35 nurses by now.

The newest was a teenager called Parker. Young, somewhat around 19, Tony suspected – but one of a kind, actually. He always showed the right amount of respect and assertiveness needed to keep the retired Iron Man in line. He didn't bow to him, which somewhat impressed Tony. He sometimes caught himself developing fatherly feelings for the boy. He really liked him, although he would never admit it.

The list of visitors to patient Starks room was rather short. Rhodey dropped by as often as his tired bones let him out of the house. And Pepper showed up on a regular basis, the now grey hair still tucked up into an elegant knot, a hairdo that radiated authority and thoroughness, even after all these years in which she had ceased to look after the matters of business and privacy of one Anthony Stark.

Pepper. Why in the world had he let her go? Sure, things had gotten complicated between them after the battle of New York, but with a bit of work surely they could have…

Who was he kidding? He was a loner, a hermit. Someone who was hard living with. There was a reason his closest friend was an AI-System based off the personality of his former butler. No one put up with him for long. Eventually Pepper had married Happy. Whatever she saw in the indulgent driver was beyond him, even though he owed Happy Hogan his life and hadn't ever met anyone as sincere as him. Well, except from Captain Rogers maybe.

"Sir?"

Tony winced. He had drifted off again. That had happened a lot lately. "Yeah, JARVIS? What were we talking about, again?"

"Should I open the door for Mr. Parker?"

"Yeah. Let him in." He rubbed his tired eyes and proceeded to look at the backs of his hands. Why hadn't he noticed those age marks before?

With a slight "swoosh" the entrance door opened and a young boy in skinny jeans and red sneakers stepped into his patients' room. "What's up, Mr. S.? Had a good night?"

"Hello, Peter", replied Tony with a tired voice, examining the boy. "No jailers frock today?"

Peter Parker, who had been tugging a box of donuts and two cups of coffee out of his backpack (donuts – god, tony loved that guy), froze and looked at him in confusion. Then his frown turned into a guilty smirk. "You're talking about my clothes? Yeah, I ran late this morning and I hate taking the subway in my uniform. Sorry Mr. S.! I had hoped to get changed in your bathroom?"

Tony snorted. "Don't mind me. The less I see of this gross pink stuff, the better."

"Actually, it's lilac, Mr. S.", corrected Peter, still grinning. "I'd call it a deal, just don't rat me out to Miss Palmer!"

Christine Palmer was the director of the retirement home and valued proper representation in every detail, especially concerning the wardrobe of her subordinates.

"Never", said Tony and crossed the ARC-reactor on his chest. "I vow by all things I consider sacred!"

"Which aren't much", Peter replied laughing, shoving his backpack into a dresser by the door. "Might as well kiss my ass goodbye then…"

Tony smirked. That boy really was one of a kind.

"Did my old, weary eyes spot donuts there? I mean real, greasy, unhealthy, wonderfuldonuts? Or was that just my dementia playing me?"

"No, those donuts are quite real, Mr. S.!" Peter folded down the little table attached to Tony's bedside and served a box of four cream donuts, two with pink frosting, two with chocolate. Cardiac infraction at its most beautiful!

Even the coffee smelled wonderful. How long had Tony been going without a decent New York strong brew instead of the homes painted water they insisted on calling coffee? He took a sip and sight. Brilliant. How had he even managed to survive on this taste-mellowed gnat piss without caffeine?

"You really have to have a word with your boss, Peter", he pondered, holding the warm cup in his hand. "Tell her nothing is serving the health of our respected older citizens better than a good brew, straight from the shawarma palace!"

Peter cut down the donuts into smaller pieces so Tony would be able to chew them better. Even with food, age took a toll on you.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure anyway?" asked Tony while shoving a piece of chocolate donut into his mouth. "Any special occasion?"

The teenager regarded him with a raised brow, a soft smile on his lips. "Today's your birthday, Mr. Stark."

Tony went silent. Then he said: "That's impossible. JARVIS, what's today's date?"

"Today is Wednesday, 29th May 2064. It is your 94th birthday. Congratulations, sir."

Tony blinked in confusion. "When did I turn 94?"

"Approximately 7 hours and 46 minutes ago, sir."

"Rhetorical question, JARVIS", Tony groaned and rolled his eyes, while Peter snorted into his coffee. "And why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Pardon me, sir. I merely recalled your aversion to birthdays. Especially to the last twenty of them."

"Well, how are you supposed to celebrate birthdays when you're 94? You're old, unable to go to the loo on your own, not to mention no longer being able to do the things that make life worthwhile." Tony pushed the box away. He had suddenly lost his appetite. 94 years – that couldn't be right. He could have sworn he had only turned 43 a day or two ago…

"Hang in there, Mr. Stark. You've managed to stay around quite a while longer than my uncle", said Peter with a soft laugh. "He died being only 65, you know. And he still had a whole lot planned."

Tony mentally kicked his ass for being that self absorbed. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm a self-centered asshole."

Both of them fell silent for a while.

"Don't get all worked up about that", Peter said eventually, being his easy-going, happy self again. "I bet you've seen more shit hitting the fan than the rest of us combined."

"Still no excuse for behaving like a dickhead", muttered Tony and looked at his Hands. "But, you know… Sometimes I just ask myself what happened to all the time."

"What do you mean?"

"I woke up this morning, suddenly being 94. When I had only been 43 years old yesterday. And I haven't got the slightest clue what happened within those past 51 years…" He clenched his fists. His strength had left him. Had he been shoving big metal blocks around his room in his forties, he now barely managed to hold up the cup of coffee Peter had gotten for him. Time was an asshole.

Peter laughed. "Most people feel that way, Mr. S.! Remember you sometimes can't even remember going to the loo."

"Is that a way of talking to your poor, senile patients, Mr. Parker?" Tony asked pretending to be scandalized, which owned him an amused grunt from Peter.

"You're neither poor nor senile. But if you insist, then I guess that I'd better not be pouring this fine shot of brandy into that birthday coffee of yours", he retorted, waving a small hipflask under Tonys nose.

The old man beamed at him. "Have I ever told you, that I am madly in love with you, Peter Parker?"

"No, you haven't", laughed Peter, crooking his brow while pouring a generous shot of brandy into the cup. "And you better don't, or else I'll get my ass kicked out for abusing my ward."

"So I'm at an age where they wouldn't sue me for seducing minors, huh?" Tony took a sip from the cup, coughed and then smiled. "Good stuff!"

"The best I could find", Peter solemnly agreed while sliding the hipflask back into his sweater-west. "Happy Birthday, Mr. S.!"

Tony toasted him and took another sip. Then his eyes drifted to the window. From his room he overlooked the 55th Street where it crossed 7th Avenue. New York City was already drowning in rush-hour traffic again. The city that never slept and that he had rescued more than once from complete and utter destruction in the past, went on to a new bright day of work and play, without him. He sighed.

"Everything alright, Mr. S.?" Peter regarded him sternly.

"Of course everything's alright", said Tony and tried for a cheerful tone. Then his eyes fell back to the backs of his hands. Big, light brown marks stretched all over the wrinkled skin. "I just have the feeling that…" He stopped and sighed again.

"What do you feel, Mr. Stark?" asked Peter, putting a hand on his arm in a comforting manner. Tony frowned. It was something he had woken with. Something that had woken him even before JARVIS had given his usual wake-up call. A feeling of discomfort. Something that just wasn't right…

"I have a feeling, that I've forgotten something important. Something that I mustn't forget. I…" Frustrated he flung his hands to his face and pulled his hair. "Aargh! I don't know. Those damn memories!" The heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, he let his bony old shoulders sink.

"Stay calm, Mr. Stark!" said Peter, sounding nervous. He rose and walked to a monitor on the other side of Tony's bed that constantly checked his vital signs. "You mustn't get all worked up. Maybe you should pass on the rest of the coffee."

Tony snorted. "You'll have to pump it out of me then, sweetheart!" He quickly lifted the cup to his mouth and drank a few big gulps, nearly choking himself in the process. Peter jumped to his side and patted his back, while Tony coughed up the last gulp of coffee and brandy.

"Christ", Peter grumbled. "I swear to god, you're going to get us both killed!"

"Would suit you, wouldn't it?" Tony wheezed shaking his hand off. "I'm fine! Stop using my back for a drum or I might as well die from internal bleeding!"

The patting stopped. "Sorry."

"Yeah, yeah", muttered Tony still hoarse from the coughing. "Where do you get this incredible strength from anyway? Steroids?"

Peter snorted. "I didn't even hit your back hard. You're really sensitive today."

"Oi, don't get cheeky! If I were fifty years younger, I'd fling your ass out of that window over there in no time!"

Peter chuckled.

"Oh, so you think that's funny, huh? You're laughing at the man who saved the world countless times by using his brain only?" His offendedness was fake, but his voice challenging.

"You didn't use just your brain", replied Peter with a shrug. "You had your suits."

"And where do you think those suits came from, you greenhorn?" Tony asked cockily, tapping a finger to his temple. "You don't grow them on trees, ya' know? There's a lot of mental work I put into them. I even constructed a suit that got me into an orbit around the earth."

Peter laughed out loud. "Now you're trying to take the piss out of me!"

"Not at all!" Tony insisted, suddenly remembering the story. "In 2013, after the battle of New York, I had begun to work on a suit that would function even under non-atmospherical conditions. I tried to divert myself from the misery with Pepper at that time and then I had this idea…" He stopped mid-sentence. There was more to that. Memories, lying in the shadows. The story of that suit had been a big one. One of the biggest stories ever.

Peter pulled a chair to the side of his bed with its seat facing away from Tony. Then he sat down the wrong way round, each of his legs flung to either side of the chair, his crossed arms resting on the back. His eyes were alert, looking at him hungrily. "Tell it to me, Mr. S.!" While saying this, he was shoving a piece of donut into his mouth. "Let's see, what you can still remember!"

Tony looked at him for a long moment, not sure if he was really able to recall those things, or if his head was getting the better of him again. The pictures forming before his inner eye were all coated in grey mist and he couldn't grasp them. They flew from his hands like someone was trying to keep them from his grip. Still he felt the outline of an old familiar story forming in his head. Faces and names that were familiar to him. Old friends. And old enemies.

He thought hard about it. Searched for the right switch to let some light into the darkness. Light! It had something to do with light. If only his damn memory would work properly! The only things he was able to grasp, were sparks of memories, shards of images he couldn't quite stitch together.

Then, suddenly but with reluctance, the mist began to cease. The images fell into place like pieces to a puzzle and his view cleared up for what felt like the first time in forever.

He smiled at the curiosity in Peters eyes. Yeah, he could tell the story. Even if he wasn't quite sure if he got everything together right. But he could tell it.

"Well", he began, "I guess everything started with this damn nuke."

…to be continued…