So I know I should be working on Witchling (which, btw, should be updated soon) but I love time travel fics and because Endgame was horrible (I flat-out refuse to acknowledge MCU without Tony) I decided I needed to fix it so here we are! Updates will be sporadic, I literally have no idea when the next one will come, so keep that in mind.
ALSO I was watching the snap scene in Endgame over and over for this in order to get in the mood and literally sobbed all over my keyboard as I wrote this lol (think of the emotional pain I went through, guys, just for you)
Disclaimer: The fact that Stark died is proof enough that I don't own MCU bc believe me that shit wouldn't have even been allowed as a ghost of an idea if I were in charge.
i'd trade all my tomorrows (for just one yesterday)
Chapter 1
Thanos' hand was still raised from his unsuccessful snap, his confusion clearing as soon as his head whipped around to face Tony. His rage was apoplectic as the stones settled into Tony's gauntlet.
"And I," Tony panted out, gritting his teeth against the pain that thrummed within his veins, "am…Iron Man."
Snap.
It was finally over.
He staggered on his feet, the pain radiating throughout his body with every movement. He was on fire – no, he was fire. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry, and his mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood and what he imagined lighting would taste like. Every twitch of a muscle was a million years of agony, every breath he drew brought a new wave of suffering. His vision blurred, his eyes couldn't focus. The ringing in his ears grew louder with every second that passed. He fell, bracing against something with his arm, then collapsed to the ground.
It was all over.
It was all over.
Peter let himself sigh in relief as the enemy turned to dust. They had won, Thanos was gone – everything was going to be okay.
He scanned the battlefield for Mr. Stark. He wanted to celebrate, wanted to catch up after – what had Dr. Strange said it had been, again? Five years? Jesus, May was gonna kill him.
His eyes fell on that familiar red and gold armor, watching as it collapsed against a rock. Wait, collapsed? His breath caught, and he ignored the burn in his muscles as he raced over to Tony, who looked – god, he looked terrible. His face was grey and burned, the metal along his right arm scorched black. Dust and blood covered his face, and his armor was melted in places, warping oddly around his skin.
"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice was small. No. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. Not him, not when he just got back to him. Anybody but him. Peter stumbled over to the man who lay propped up against a rock with unfocused eyes. His breath hitched. God, no, please – not him. "Hey," he said, his voice shaking as he knelt by his side. "Mr. Stark, c-can you hear me?" Peter could barely get the words out as his throat closed up. His breaths came unevenly as he struggled to draw in air – he can't go, he can't leave me, not when I just got him back. He desperately grabbed onto Tony's shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt to ground himself. "It's Peter." Tony's eyes slid over to Peter's, his gaze sharpening slightly on the boy who stared at him in despair.
"We won," Peter breathed. "Mr. Stark – we won, Mr. Stark." Peter's vision blurred as tears streamed down his bruised cheeks, and he started to shake. "We won – you did it, sir, you did it." His voice was almost incoherent as he struggled to breathe – in and out, in and out – he couldn't hear anything but the ragged breaths Mr. Stark took, couldn't see anything except for the burns that crept up the side of Tony's face and the glassy eyes that were locked with his own.
Peter choked on his salty tears and his fists tightened around the dying man. His breaths came faster and faster as he clutched Tony like a lifeline. "I'm sorry – Tony," he whispered, leaning over and pressing his forehead against the glowing blue Arc Reactor. Not him – he can't leave, not him. There was a gentle pressure as someone moved him over to the side – Pepper, he thinks, because she would want to see Tony too, before – before…
He can't even finish the thought, can't think of something that was never supposed to happen, that shouldn't be happening. He hears murmurs from beside him as Pepper speaks to her husband but he can't make out the words, focused only on the unimaginable wrongness of the entire situation.
And then–
And then the glow of the Arc Reactor, which had so faithfully saved Tony Stark all those years ago, flickered – once, twice, three times – before going dark.
He suspected that the heartbreaking, keening wail that Pepper made right then would haunt him until his own death – he had never imagined he would ever hear something so devastating come from the woman who had always been so poised, so strong and confident and always, always put-together.
There's a muffled sob, and it takes Peter a moment before he realizes that it's him making the noise, smothering it with a hand pressed tightly over his mouth. He can't stop the quaking of his body as he cries, can't see through the tears, can't seem to breathe – he drops to his knees, barely feeling the sharp pain that runs through them as they roughly meet the hard ground. He gasps for breath between sobs, and then he's blindly crawling towards his mentor, who stares unseeingly into the distance.
He grabs onto Tony, clutching at his shoulders so tightly he thinks he might have dented the metal, but he can't bring himself to care. He's as close as he can possibly be to the older man, his face turned into where his shoulder meets his neck, arms wrapped around him firmly. He mostly smells blood, the sharp, metallic tang stinging his nose, and he wishes he could smell Tony – motor oil mixed with some fancy cologne that somehow always smelled safe, like home.
"No, Tony – no, don't leave me," he begged, his voice cracking. He tried and failed to gulp down the painful lump in his throat before taking another shuddering breath. "Tony – Dad – come back, please, come back." He can't breathe, he can't breathe, because – because Tony was – his father was de–
No. No, Tony was going to get up, he had to get up. Because if he didn't then that would mean that Peter would never see him again, never complain to him about the unnecessary protocols he installed in his suit, never work alongside him in his labs, never see him suppress a grin at his snark, never fight with Iron Man again – because Iron Man was gone, Tony was gone, and he was never coming back–
Oh God, he was never coming back.
The small amount of control Peter had snaps, and the hoarse scream that he had been holding back finally burst out of him as he pulled Tony closer. Pepper's hand is pressed against his back; it shakes and trembles in time with her mournful sobs.
Peter breaks, and the only thing he can think is that he wants to go back – back to when he hadn't gone to space, back to when Tony was there, back to when the biggest problem they had were the Accords. It runs through his mind in a loop – I want to go back, I want to go back, I want to go back, I want to go ba–
The world explodes in a flash of green light. Someone – he thinks it might've been Pepper – screams his name.
The last thing Peter sees before his vision goes black is the dying, green glow of the stone set in the thumb joint of Tony's blackened, burned hand.
Tony falls to his knees, the metal of his suit clanking against the concrete. He's hunched over, his arms barely able to support his weight. He breathes heavily, blinking black spots from his eyes as he stares down at his undamaged, metal-covered hands.
This is wrong, he thinks, but doesn't know why.
What's going on? He can't remember, his thoughts are sluggish. He tries to think, blocking out the sounds of everything else around him. He thinks he hears Natasha, but that can't be right, because she was gone – dead.
Why was Nat dead?
He tries to remember, tries to think of what happened, of where he was before, but he can't quite recall–
Oh.
It hits him, all of the sudden, and if he wasn't already on his knees he would've fallen.
He remembers all of it – Titan, Thanos, the stones, Nat's sacrifice, snapping, dying, Peter–
Peter. He remembers Peter, who held him as he died. (Did he die? He thinks so. Maybe. He doesn't know anymore.)
"Peter." His voice is hoarse, but loud enough to gain the attention of those around him. He finally looks up, coming face-to-face with a very worried-looking Rhodey in his War Machine suit. The wrong War Machine suit, his mind supplies, but he isn't focused on that; he needs to know where Peter is, because god, it's been five years since he's seen his kid and he doesn't want to wait a second more. He stands, opening up the suit and stumbling out of it only to fall back down to his knees, wincing.
"Peter!" He says again, louder. His voice is rough, frantic. He looks around, ignoring as a beardless Cap takes a hesitant step towards him, and his heart stutters in his chest when he spots Natasha kneeling beside his kid. Peter's in the same position as Tony is, head bowed and on his hands and knees, his mask thrown aside.
"Pete!" He calls out one more time, and tries to get to his feet, but his legs won't cooperate for some reason.
Peter's head snaps up at Tony's voice. He dazedly blinks a couple of times before he croaks out "Dad!" and all but throws himself into Tony's arms (Tony barely hears the exclamations of 'Dad?!' in the background, all he can think about as his heart stutters and warmth fills his chest is that his kid is alive, alive and in his arms). Tony tightens his grip on Peter, reminding himself that somehow, some way, they're here – it's real.
"You were dead," Peter mumbled into Tony's shoulder. "You died – died." His voice trembled. "You died and left me a-alone," he whispers, and finally, the tears start dripping down his face.
And dammit if that doesn't break Tony's goddamn fucking heart, because the last thing he ever wanted to do was leave the kid – but there was Thanos, and the stones, and in the end – well, in the end it was never about what Tony wanted, was it.
"I know, kid," he whispers back, "I'm sorry – I'm sorry." He repeats those words, over and over, clutching Peter tightly against him, one hand curled into his hair.
They're interrupted by a soft cough, and it's Natasha who speaks up, her voice cautious – "Tony…what's going on?"
Both Tony and Peter look up at that, and, blinking tears out of their eyes, they finally get a good look at their surroundings.
They're outside an airport…a very familiar, German airport, where a very, very familiar Civil War took place.
Tony paled and whispered, "Oh, fuck."
Peter's brow furrowed, and his breathing quickened as he struggled to reign in his panic. "W-why are we here? Are…are we dead?"
And fuck, if Tony hadn't just figured out goddamn fucking time travel, he would think so too…but no. No, now he knows better.
"No, kid," he says, and then he gives a short, borderline hysterical laugh, because he knows he's gonna have to save the world all over again, and that the weight on his shoulders just got that much heavier. It leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but at least this way he gets to see Peter again, gets to fix things.
Save everyone.
He's still trying to process the fact that he's seven years in the past, but he's already got the bare-bones of a plan forming, and it sure as hell doesn't involve anyone dying.
"No," Tony repeats, and then he forces himself to look into Peter's red-rimmed eyes. "Peter, we're back."
"Back?" Peter croaks out, his forehead still creased in confusion.
"Kid…" Tony starts, and he sees the exact moment it hits Peter, the moment his kid understands that what should be impossible is most definitely not. Tony swallows, and as he stares into those wide, Bambi eyes that have seen too much, he says, "Peter, it's 2016…we're back."
Tony ignores the concerned muttering coming from Rhodey and Natasha. His eyes are locked with Peter's, whose mouth drops open before he closes his eyes, rests his forehead on Tony's shoulder, and echoes: "Oh, fuck."
