In the very first future Stephen watched unfold, Thanos won. Five years passed, life found a way, what was left of the universe moved on or didn't, and then a rat released Scott Lang from his unwitting prison. Tony Stark invented time-travel, Clint Barton killed Natasha Romanoff on Vormir, Bruce Banner snapped his fingers and lost the use of his arm. Steve Rogers led an army against the only hiccup in the Avengers' plan, and Tony Stark killed himself to make sure their victory stuck.
It wasn't exactly a surprise – Iron Man wasn't an unknown quantity. Like everyone else in the world, Stephen Strange had watched him carry a nuke through a wormhole with no hope of returning. The thing was, the helmet was off, and it didn't look like Iron Man sacrificing himself; it looked like Tony Stark – the bastion of arrogance and jest and fury, whose company Stephen had been suffering for a few hours, and a few hours too many – making his most desperate choice to save the universe. To save his family.
There were tears in his eyes and pure terror in his features – but the peaceful look, when he finally passed next to his wife and kid, well, it spoke volumes. Stephen left this future, shaken and wondering about pain and fear and how heavy a relief Tony Stark needed to nullify it.
It didn't feel like a win, and if it was only the first one, then surely happier endgames awaited.
Stephen was very quick to realize death would chase them down every path they could possibly walk.
There was an astounding amount of possible outcomes where someone on Titan died before Thanos ever even stepped foot on the planet. Scenarios where Nebula arrived first and provided them with more information – the knowledge that Thanos was in possession of three stones already, on his way to the fourth, sent Stark into a panic, with no fight or task to distract him.
Panic, Stephen learned, was one thing Stark handled extraordinarily poorly.
He ranted about the Avengers, and Rogers, and Nebula became supremely unimpressed. Sometimes, she'd be annoyed enough to attack him – she'd never overwhelm him and Parker by herself, and the Guardians weren't any more inclined to back her up than they were to back Stark. Other times, she'd recognize him as the man from Terra who had destroyed her father's army years ago; and if Stark was keyed up enough, the admission she was Thanos' daughter would earn her his wrath too.
His and Quill's animosity always had the chance to escalate to terrible places, too. If it ended in a fight, they'd split themselves into the same teams – if Parker went down, Iron Man would put an end to the Guardians quickly; and if Mantis did, Quill became enraged enough to take down an enhanced human, a wizard, and a genius in indestructible armor practically all by himself.
There was a real chance that Quill would just slip on a rock and crack his head open before Thanos arrived, too.
Slowly, the full comprehension of their position solidified in Stephen's mind. They wouldn't all make it out alive. His job wouldn't be to find their win – it was to parse and explore all the outcomes to figure out what an acceptable loss might look like.
Stephen's choice then – Stark for the stone. He didn't know what possessed him to offer it up in the first place, but the math was simple. He would lose one or the other.
If he were not wiser for these visions, perhaps the decision would have felt simple too. Denial made him take up a very long search.
There were hundreds of thousands of futures where he let Stark die on Titan.
In a not insignificant fraction of those, Peter Parker turned on him right then and there, and Thanos went about his business while Strange had his injured hands full of enraged, grieving mutant teenager.
Eventually, the time stone would become involved – because Stephen managed to kill a child and couldn't live with himself – because Stephen caved and attempted to return Stark to the world of the living – because Thanos threatened to snap Parker's neck next to Stark's still-warm body, and the guilt suffocated and blinded Stephen instead.
Thanos took the time stone. Every time.
In some others, the kid had no fight in him left at all – he would collapse on his mentor and weep. Stephen would drag him back to Earth and join the forces fighting there, and then, instead of one overpowered teenager, he had to explain himself to the Avengers.
(Before this experiment – before the first timeline he saw, where he watched himself permit a veritable army onto the debris of what had been the Avengers' compound – Stephen hadn't known he could create a portal that would travel to an interplanetary level of far, but the information was useful.)
Parker always told on him the instant Captain Rogers asked, and Rogers always had a destructive reaction.
Either the man followed the kid's example and let the wind out of his sails, supporting himself against a nearby tree – made himself useless – let Thanos rampage through the battlefield; or he didn't, and his viciousness would peak and turn on Stephen instead.
(There were some rare, valiant attempts on Captain America's part to keep up the fight instead. They all failed and ended in his imminent death.)
There were futures where the rest of his team followed his example – there were futures where they sat back and watched it happen. There were futures where they actively tried to stop Rogers, and would either become ally-turned-enemy in his eyes or collateral damage. These were the ones where Stephen knew he'd gone too far outside the realm of possibility. The idea that Captain America could become this, could fling Black Widow over a waterfall, it was far too unrealistic for him to believe in the legitimate chances of this ending.
(Barnes was the only one who stuck by Rogers' side whatever happened.)
Thanos would take the time stone. And then the mind stone. Every time. Whatever they did, nothing stopped his inevitable achievement.
It was much worse when, for whatever reason, Spider-Man ended up trading places with Iron Man under Thanos' relentless and brutal attack.
It happened more often than Stephen cared to watch – it happened more often than surely Stark cared to watch, because the boy survived in not a single one of those futures. Those eerily similar, but varying wide-eyed looks of terror on a sixteen-year-old face, the last emotion it would ever display – they would be burned into Stephen's retinas for the rest of his life, regardless of what actually ended up happening.
The heartbroken way Stark would say his name when he realized – "Peter…" – that would stay with him, too. It was always the same sound, somehow.
Sometimes, Stark burned with white-hot rage. Stephen never survived in those instances either. Otherwise, he'd become lethargic. That was worse – that was an open invitation for Thanos' path of destruction.
Either way, the end of these futures invariably saw Tony Stark dying on Titan next. Stephen moved on.
Let Stark live, then, Stephen thought anxiously, what happens then?
He could simply open a portal and allow the Titan team back on Earth before Thanos ever arrived, heading directly into Wakanda, much to Stark's protest.
In a fair amount of these possibilities, Rogers and Stark got into an actual screaming match right in the middle of the fight. Several rotating allies would become infuriated at this behavior, and it would quickly deescalate to bitter in-fighting where no one had a team. Thanos would be free to make his disdainful and increasingly self-assured way through them, and with five stones, he had more powerful ways than torture or subterfuge or manipulation to force Stephen to give up the sixth.
In the rest, at least one of the two saw reason; Stark and Rogers would offer each other curt nods and hide their hurt, their mistrust and their rage. And when they needed to present a united front, to stand as a team, a solid wall of unbreakable steel – they would shake and crack and crumble instead, and Thanos would tear them apart without mercy.
Stark took a second too long checking the area behind his back after Rogers had already cleared it – in front of him, a beam from the power stone hit Parker square in the chest, and Iron Man was down for the count; too busy cradling the unmoving body of a sixteen-year-old to care about Thanos turning the beam on him next. Rogers ordered Falcon (and not Iron Man) to get the heat off Romanoff, who was slowly but steadily becoming overwhelmed, alone under the assault of dozens of outriders – Falcon wasn't fast or nimble enough, and the loss of Black Widow stopped the rest of the Avengers right on their tracks, for the rest of the battle.
In all of these futures, at least one of the six original Avengers fell. In all of these timelines, no one would ever fix what Thanos was destined to break, not like they'd fixed it in the first one he ever saw. Stephen could recognize a pattern when he saw one.
From then on out, he stopped pretending Thanos wouldn't snap his fingers in the end, and focused instead only on the futures that allowed the Avengers to live past it.
One fluke-ish future saw Peter Parker living past the snap of Thanos' fingers, but not his aunt. When Steve Rogers came knocking at the house on a lake, pointing at a cliff and asking Tony Stark to leap, Stark had only needed one look at Parker carrying his little sister back inside to say no, for good. That future wilted and festered under the colossal weight of half its souls missing, and no one ever brought them back.
A lot of the possibilities Stephen looked at were patently unfeasible, illogical, or highly improbable. They were there – they existed, they were possible – but they were the fleeting thought of the mad man or woman in someone's head.
The resentful whisper in Stark's head that might tell him that his arrival in Wakanda was the best time to pounce on Barnes again. The self-righteous one in Rogers', reminding him Tony Stark was a selfish, arrogant, untrustworthy showman, and nothing more, could have him banish Iron Man from the battlefield. The anger in both of their hearts, causing them to lash out as though they had no filter or self-control.
It could happen. But they usually knew better.
Stephen learned to ignore these futures. It was easier on his conscience as well.
Stephen tried to see what would happen if he stopped Peter Quill from ruining Stark's plan, once.
They could get the gauntlet off Thanos. Stark would be at a loss as to what to do with it next. Stephen would suggest the portal to Earth – Stark would agree.
"Funny how it only occurred to you now to let us know you can get us home anytime. Might have been a mighty big stressor, that one, if I wasn't such a chill kind of guy."
Parker would laugh. Mantis would remind them they needed to hurry up.
Future Stephen wasn't fast enough with the portal to stop Thanos from following them through it, once their alien empath let go. But that was alright – Iron Man flew away with the gauntlet, and there was an army waiting to greet them in Wakanda.
Stark still didn't know where to put the raw power in his hands, so he just put it on. It knocked him out of the air – Thanos took it from him easily. He added to it the stone he'd just stolen along with Vision's life, and Rogers knocked his arm out of the way before the titan was able to kill Stark, who was still lying dazed and disoriented on the forest floor.
The distraction proved enough – it seemed to remind Thanos of his primary goal. When he turned on future Stephen, present Stephen sort of already knew where this would go.
This time, Peter Parker survived Thanos' decimation, as did the Avengers.
Pepper Potts did not.
(There were no futures where Thor went for the head.)
Lila Barton survived, and her father refused to become involved with the Avengers again, afraid of what either of them could still lose. If Clint Barton was never brought on board, Natasha Romanoff would go to Vormir alone. She'd return with no stone, thinking they'd irredeemably failed because of her.
"Nat, it's okay," Stark would reassure with a grin. "We got more Pym particles."
And then Romanoff would explain the trade she'd been offered on Vormir, and the grin would wipe from his face.
"So," the raccoon (a raccoon) would ask, "which one of you dickheads loves another one of you dickheads enough to kill them?"
Rogers would protest immediately – Stark and Rhodes' gazes would cross just as quickly.
"We have to go back there."
"Yeah? Who? That a question you can look me in the eye and answer?"
"Whatever it takes, remember?"
"I remember. We don't trade lives."
"We're way past that and you know it, don't play stupid. Why do you think I'm even here? Jesus, you're annoying."
"And you're a martyr, what else is new?"
In the end, once they'd moved to another room to discuss it properly, nobody paid Nebula any mind as she brought Thanos forward in time.
The titan didn't have all the stones, but he could set fire to a five-year-bereaved world with what he did have. Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and Thor jumped into action first, and died first as well.
At one point, Stephen got irrationally angry at, well, everything.
How was it fair, he raged, that he had to be the one with his hand on the trigger? How was this, he fumed, this manipulation of destiny, this fickle control he was trying to grasp, how was it on him?
Why, he wondered, was Stephen allowed to play god? Every time another Avenger fell in his visions, he may as well be killing them himself.
(He never survived the snap of Thanos' finger. He was never there to deal with the fallout of his puppeteering.)
Stephen was the only one who saw it. The universe demanded payment for their failure; the price was Tony Stark.
He hated the universe. He hated the Ancient One. He hated Tony Stark, who seemed to die far more often and far more readily than he ever lived. He hated Mordo and his accusations of cowardice, of megalomania. Most of all, Stephen hated himself.
Morgan Stark was always the brightest spot of every future lucky enough to have her. In time, she became the most heartbreaking one as well.
Stephen ignored the fact that his fate universally hinged on a rat with true grit and diligence.
There was one timeline were Clint Barton got the better of Natasha Romanoff on Vormir.
Agent Romanoff returned, sick with grief and soul stone in hand, but when the situation demanded her sharp eyes, they were still there. She'd called the impostor Nebula out instantly, and Stark, who'd been closest, was the first casualty of that fight. Nebula pulled on the trusting hand he'd landed on her shoulder earlier and slashed at his neck before his eyes had even had a chance to widen.
The shellshock of Stark's body suddenly hitting the floor, bleeding out and cooling, fresh from finding out about the loss of Barton, threw the rest of the Avengers way off their game. Nebula, whose priorities were very well-set, triggered Thanos' entrance from two-thousand-and-fourteen midway through wrestling a distraught Natasha; her existence was brief afterwards, but the deed had been done.
Nobody got the chance to return the dead half of the universe in that one.
If Captain America or Iron Man were sent to gather Thor instead of Bruce Banner, Thor would not join them. While Steve Rogers was being slaughtered by a Thanos come from two-thousand-and-fourteen, the God of Thunder was playing Fortnite.
In one future, ten years of living happened, half the universe spinning on the graves of the other half, and one day, one of the Avengers broke.
Stephen found himself in a modest living room, sparsely decorated with as little color as possible. Steve Rogers was holding up the future's version of a phone, half-sitting on his couch.
"Steve," Stephen managed to hear, a garbled, choked up voice on the other end of the line – Bruce Banner, he realized. "Natasha- she-"
"Spit it out, Bruce," Rogers replied. His hand was denting the coffee table and his eyes were closed.
"You know what you're about to hear," Stephen murmured.
"Nat went on a suicide mission." That's the Hulk sobbing, said something delirious in Stephen's mind. "Got on a flight to Russia this morning. She stormed- pretty sure it was the place where she grew up. By herself. I think it ended the way she intended it to."
Rogers pressed his lips together very tightly. Someone's world was shifting and collapsing right in front of Stephen, but all he saw was a wooden expression. The table Rogers was holding onto cracked and splintered. "Does Clint know?"
"I don't know how; but turn on the news."
Rogers did – he scrambled for a remote, neatly positioned under the TV like it was never used, and the screen flickered to life. Stephen leaned forward in tense anticipation alongside the Captain. A breaking news banner was scrolling under the horrifying visage of Washington DC on literal fire.
"We've just had confirmation that the man responsible for the events in DC today – the last officially reported death toll puts the tragedy at eighty-seven casualties – is, in fact, Clint Barton, the former Avenger, code-named Hawkeye," a shaken newscaster was saying. "For a recap, we remind our viewers that there is footage of the Capitol Building being stormed – no one has come back out but for Barton himself, who proceeded in a vicious rampage – sensitive images of the destruction left in his wake – to the Wh-"
Rogers clicked off the broadcast. Stephen continued to stare at the blank screen.
"You need to call in Tony."
He'd forgotten that Banner was still on the line. From the colorless expression on Rogers' face, he'd had other things in mind too.
"No," he whispered. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. We're not dragging him away from his family. He doesn't deserve that. We'll handle this."
"Even with what's happening?!"
"Especially with what's happening," he insisted, resolute.
"This is insane – Steve, Natasha is dead and Barton is on a murder spree, you can't-"
"I SAID NO," Rogers roared. He seemed to freeze, as though he realized he was out of control. Stephen watched him take a deep breath. "Meet me in DC."
"Thor won't come."
"Wasn't expecting him to," Rogers muttered, and Stephen stared as he disconnected and grabbed his coat.
He fast-forwarded through the man's flight.
"Hawkeye," Captain America called sternly, dressed as Steve Rogers. What a picturesque snapshot they made – in a deserted four-lane intersection, surrounded by overturned cars and engines on fire, two Avengers faced off; one dressed like the enemy, one dressed like a civilian.
"You've got the wrong guy," Barton advised lightly, brandishing his bow in a characteristic flashy way. "By the way, did you know Tony never locked us out of the stashes the team had all over the country? Thank him for me, been ages since I've gotten my hands on a proper bow and arrow."
Rogers' tone was understanding, but tired. "You don't have to do this."
"Nobody has to do anything."
The Hulk made his entrance then, massive feet rumbling over the asphalt. He kept his distance – let Rogers have the floor, hanging back a couple dozen meters with an antsy expression on his face. His eyes flickered between his two friends uncertainly. Stephen supposed this was the downside of collecting the best of both worlds – sometimes they could use a little worse.
Clint grinned at him. "Whoa, big guy. Long time no see. Heard your girlfriend's dead."
Even from a distance, Stephen saw how the tears built under Banner's eyes. "Don't do this, please."
"That's better. Captain Truth and Freedom over here just told me I didn't have to. You seem more honest."
"Put the bow down, Hawkeye," Rogers said, retreating to his Captain America voice.
"Why?"
The expression on Rogers' face faltered for a second – Stephen thought he saw anger. "Because you need to move on."
Barton scoffed. "Right. 'Cause everybody dies."
"No. Because you're still alive."
"Yeah? And pray tell, what for?" Barton yelled. "What else could I possibly lose for no reason whatsoever, huh?!"
"Either you find something, or you give up," Rogers grit out.
Clint squared his shoulders. "First smart thing you've said so far."
"This is what you call giving up?"
"I never said I'd do it quietly."
"Clint," Rogers tried again, more urgent, more earnest, "you still have us."
"I don't want you. Get out of my way."
"Cap," Banner warned uneasily, taking a stuttering step forward. Barton's eyes were cold. Some alarm rung in Stephen's head too. "Maybe we should-"
Steve Rogers clenched his jaw and firmly planted his feet. Clint Barton drew on his bowstring.
"Move," Stephen whispered, but Rogers didn't budge. There was a fire to his eyes.
"No."
His last word, firm and unafraid. The arrow pierced Captain America in the heart, a perfect shot, and the man didn't let out a sound as he went to his knees.
"No," the Hulk yelled, but didn't make a move to harm Barton, choosing instead to hover above Rogers protectively. He turned bloodshot eyes on Hawkeye, and Stephen tried hard not to focus on the sound of the Captain coughing up blood. "Clint," he breathed, petrified, choking up, "how could you?!"
Barton didn't seem to have an answer. He was staring at his handiwork, and Stephen wished he couldn't see it dawning on him in full color too. The bow lowered slowly.
"Everybody dies," he said in a monotone. The Hulk gaped at him.
Rogers collapsed.
Banner scrambled over him, attention returned to his priority, and reached to check for a pulse with hands that couldn't do it anymore. It was pointless – Stephen knew it, the only other doctor on the scene knew it too. Hawkeye's aim was flawless – the wound would be fatal soon enough.
Barton sat on the floor, crossing his legs like a child. His eyes went skyward.
It wasn't over. Stephen looked up, following the archer's example. The Iron Man armor glittered against the clouds for a mere second before it was slamming down with the sound of thunder right next to Rogers' body.
The helmet retreated. Tony Stark genuinely didn't look like he believed what he was looking at. He dropped to one knee and the fingers of one of his gauntlets grazed over dead eyelids.
"What is this?" he hissed, a trembling undercurrent to his voice and his gaze. "What the hell did you do?"
Banner shook his head, still refusing to look down, leaning back against the wall behind him. Stark's eyes travelled further down, caught on the arrow still stabbing Rogers' chest all the way through. Then he looked around – at the destruction, at the fires, at the occasional body that Stephen had been pretending wasn't there.
At Clint Barton, waiting for his fate on the asphalt. At Captain Rogers' pale, prone form, once again.
"He was trying to help him," the Hulk said lowly. "He was trying to bring him home."
Stark swallowed drily and gently closed the dead man's eyes, not looking away from his face. Stephen didn't know how he knew where to aim, but his free hand found the trajectory to Barton's frozen form. There was a laser blast and Hawkeye was no more.
Problem solved. Stephen felt vaguely nauseous.
The expression on the Hulk's face had gone beyond horror. He'd become mute.
"You guys were right," Tony breathed, a heavy hand still pressing gently on Captain Rogers' forehead. It reminded Stephen, somehow, of the way he always cradled Parker's head as the boy turned to dust on Titan. "I should've never walked away."
There was a demented look on his face. Stephen hastened to leave; he didn't need to watch this unfurl further. There was no good future in store for such a place – he preferred not to find out what this Tony Stark could do to a universe without Steve Rogers.
In the future where the Avengers tracked Thanos down before he destroyed the original stones, the titan obliterated them with the gauntlet before they'd gotten anywhere near him. Captain Marvel went last, but went nonetheless.
There was a possibility that the Avenger team shuffle lottery would end with Steve Rogers and Tony Stark headed for Vormir.
Stephen knew this place – he'd now visited hundreds of thousands of times, however briefly – but he learned something new about its guardian, when Rogers froze abruptly upon landing eyes on him. Stark had given him a flying lift up the mount.
Learning of Red Skull's fate became far less interesting, however, when Red Skull called them son of Sarah and son of Maria, and then told of Vormir's purpose.
Rogers had sat down heavily on some long stretch of stone. Stark was characteristically fidgety, pacing all over.
"Well," he drawled at last – the thousand thoughts rushing quickly behind those eyes were becoming clearer and clearer to Stephen with every catastrophic future he witnessed, "I think there's only one way forward here."
"Yes," Rogers replied, a faraway note in his voice.
Stark glanced at him with casual, narrowed eyes. "Thing is, Cap, I don't love you."
Rogers' lips curled in a sad smile. "Liar."
"Rude."
"Thought it was time we let some truth shine between us, no ifs or buts about it."
"Do you love me?" Stark asked abruptly. "Since we're doing truth, now. Apparently."
Stephen watched Rogers exhale heavily. "Yes."
Stark patted his forearm awkwardly. "Would've worked in your argumentative favor to lie right there."
"Done lying to you, I think," Rogers said hollowly. He was sitting, staring straight ahead. Stark was avoiding his eyes, too. "For any reason."
Stark hummed as though that was a fascinating statement, and then abruptly turned and took a single step toward the cliff. It snapped Rogers out of whatever lethargy was consuming him, and he planted himself in Stark's path just as abruptly. Stark crossed his arms defiantly.
"You have a family," Rogers growled.
Tony pretended the man's words didn't faze him. "You're a polite, diligent guy. You'll say my goodbyes and tell them I love them, won't you? And when you get Parker back-"
The Captain seemed to do the strategic quick-thinking he was known for, then. He'd gotten a hold of Stark's arm, fighting stance at the ready, before Stephen had time to blink.
"You can't beat me in a footrace," Rogers warned. "Or in hand-to-hand."
The armor formed around Stark, forcibly releasing the man's fingers. Rogers swore under his breath. "You can't fly," Iron Man countered. Stephen could picture the smirk.
He blasted off, right towards the edge of the cliff, and Captain Rogers was quick to sprint after him. He managed to get a hand on a boot just as Stark crossed the threshold, and was dragged off the ledge right behind him. Stephen watched all of this, hovering just above them.
Stark was quick about it – they'd not fallen two meters before the nanotech in his boot had trapped Rogers' hand under the cliff-side. Stark's foot freed itself.
The look of realization crossed over Rogers' face at the same time as it crossed Stephen's. Stark's armor was retreating now – crawling away from its master to wrap around Rogers. Iron Man's look of smug triumph was worth a thousand words. Rogers thought fast, however, and he had a strong grip – his free hand reached for one of the gauntlets and crushed – the nanobots cracked and splintered under his fingers. He was gripping Stark's hand, now.
The suit of armor instantly began attempting to crawl in-between their joint hands. Stephen couldn't tell who was winning in this very unique game of tug-of-war.
"You can't outsmart me either," Stark added, and now his voice sounded gentle. The last of the nanobots left him. Stark was left dangling. "C'mon. It's over."
"Screw you."
"Not the nicest thing to say to a dying man."
"You're not dying."
Stephen watched Stark's expression falter for a second. Not regret – never regret, not once in all these sacrificial outcomes – but sadness. A little fear. "Steve. This is the reason I'm- The reason I made it out of that cave."
"Bite me. Since when do you believe in fate?"
"I don't. I believe in choices. I've lived the past fifteen years of my life by them. My own agency, and only my agency – this is my choice, Cap. Always has been."
"Don't talk like that – like this is inevitable. It can't - you're more than-"
"I won't let any of you- I'm supposed to save you, okay?" Stark interrupted, heat behind his words. "Okay?"
Rogers matched fire with fire. "You don't need so many words to tell me you have a martyr complex. I've known for years."
Stark smiled at him, small and quiet and nothing like Tony Stark. "Say farewell, and into the inevitable we go, Steve Rogers."
Rogers let out a strangled laugh. "You're a pretentious dick."
"Wow. I get the prize, then?"
Both men had unshed tears in their eyes, Stephen noted morbidly. "Thank you for being my partner," Rogers choked out. "Couldn't have dreamt up better."
"Honor was all mine," Stark replied, and the nanobots finally broke through Rogers' unbreakable grip.
When Tony Stark took his swan dive, no one made a sound. His body looked just as ugly as any body would, splattered and bloodied at the bottom of a canyon.
Stephen followed Rogers through time and space to the lonely pool where Vormir's losers eventually awoke. The man didn't look like he had the courage left to stand. The stone glowed dully in one hand, and Stark's metal heart winked out in the other. Rogers tried to pull himself up on all fours; he sobbed, and fell back down on his knees.
Stephen decided to fast-forward.
Barton and Romanoff hadn't known where to find more Pym particles, so now the universe's declared saviors were all out of fuel, and several alternate realities were doomed. Nebula summoned her father from two-thousand-and-fourteen and there was no one – and no way – to stop him from retrieving the gauntlet.
In this future, for the first time, Stephen allowed himself to see what exactly Thanos intended for the universe.
Something broke inside him. He could feel the hopelessness and inevitability of his choice coming.
Stephen tested what would happen should he tell Stark what he'd seen of the first future he'd visited, which was somehow the least catastrophic one so far.
He told him everything, and Stark listened attentively. This time, he invented time-travel on day twenty-ninth, instead of year five. He made Romanoff drag Barton kicking and screaming back to the compound. Banner didn't have time to turn into the new and improved version of the Hulk, so he had Danvers on standby. Thor hung around, emboldened by Stark's hope. He benched Nebula and explained the Pym particle problem in detail to Rogers, who would go back to retrieve them. He decided not to father Morgan so as not to make her grow up without him, and took Colonel Rhodes to Vormir.
That part didn't go according to plan.
("Cripples first, asshole."
"You don't look like a cripple to me. Here, why don't I just disable that-"
"Iron Man override code – James Rhodes, warmachinesux."
"Override successful. All systems on lockdown."
"Son of a bitch."
"Go home, Tones.")
Stark came back alone and decided he was truly done playing god. He wielded the gauntlet to destroy the stones, and killed himself in the process. The alternate reality problem never got solved, and neither did the universe.
Stephen tried telling Stark only parts of the tale instead. Romanoff still died on Vormir, and Stark gave up out of grief and because he decided if this was a future where they won, surely Doctor Strange would have told him about the soul stone so he could fix it. Nebula stayed behind in their time-travelling adventure, Stark ended up joining Rhodes instead; Rogers failed to retrieve the space stone, and without more Pym particles to return the other five, the spin-off timelines collapsed on themselves.
He told him to just ask Danvers or the Hulk to snap their fingers, and they were all so preoccupied with getting the gauntlet to her, it never made it past Parker's hands before Thanos snatched it back.
He told him he would end up snapping his fingers and dying, in those few seconds of interaction they always had on what remained of the compound, and left him to make of that what he would. Stark tried to do it sooner, prevent anyone else from dying on that battlefield, and Thanos cottoned on just in time to stop him.
Stephen told Tony Stark nothing and everything, and Iron Man still powered down in the end.
Stephen went back to the start. He let the scene play out – let Potts make soothing unkeepable oaths, let Parker air his grief the way only a child could. He watched himself remove the time stone from burnt flesh and metal and make use of it yet again, committed to memory the hopeful look in Peter's wide-eyed, tear-stained expression.
And then he watched as the dusted army came back to life, their leader wiser and faster and angrier. Taking advantage of Stephen's compassion, his guilt, came easy to Thanos – he murdered Pepper Potts and Peter Parker right in front of Tony Stark's still-living eyes, and then retrieved the stones the way an animal wrangler shook a pup loose from its mother – Tony's arm might have broken, might have snapped off, but Stephen didn't stay long enough to find out.
"How many did we win?"
I looked, Tony. I swear I did. For a future where you lived. Where Natasha lived.
Stephen looked directly into the weary, vibrant eyes intent on his face, searching for whatever clues Stark thought he could work out, and remembered all the ways he'd watched them glaze over – the brown dulling, the brilliance going still. In the blink of Tony's eyes, Stephen had seen millions of lifetimes.
There were none. Just some where you survived.
"One."
He hoped it sounded like an apology.