Warning: character death that is loosely implied to be suicide
What If...Howard Stark Never Properly Grieved Arno?
Tony hated these stupid government galas. His father had been forcing him to attend since he was a young child, and they still hadn't gotten any more interesting. At least now he could drink his way through it, but not nearly as much as he wanted to. He needed to stay sober enough that he could schmooze with high-level government officials and military officers. Make a good impression so they were more likely to invest in Stark Industries developments. It was an all-around awful time.
He pulled at the tie which felt like it was slowly strangling him. Or maybe it was just the stifling environment in here. It reeked of money and power and expensive alcohol. Tony had been waiting his entire life to have one genuine interaction with another person at one of these things, but so far he'd been disappointed. Every conversation was slathered in three layers of false politesse and punctuated by forced smiles full of artificially whitened teeth.
Tony chased down a drink tray and swallowed a cocktail in two gulps. If he heard one more old white lady call him "Such a promising young lad" he was going to lose his shit. He found a quiet corner of the room and hoped nobody approached him to talk about when he was finding a woman to settle down with or when he'd take over the company. If Tony had his way, it would be never—to both of those. He preferred his current position in R&D, pretty much working on whatever he wanted and throwing in something applicable to weapons often enough to please his father.
He saw his dad talking to Colonel Rhodes. Howard looked less enthusiastic than he usually did at these sorts of functions. In fact, he looked like he had a headache. Tony remembered he had put up a fuss about the date of the event, but Tony didn't understand why. Yesterday wasn't anything special, so he didn't have much reason to be more tired than usual.
A couple caught his eye, namely because they were the only people around his age in the entire room. One was a white woman in an Air Force uniform, her blond hair in a bun so tight Tony imagined it would hurt, and the other a black woman with short hair and a sharp maroon pantsuit. Tony had never seen her in person before, but he recognized her. That was Maria Rambeau, the youngest director of S.W.O.R.D. in history. The Stealth Weapon Operations and Research Division was Tony's personal favorite (and one of the only tolerable) government organizations. Most of his designs ended up going through them. While his father worshipped creations like the atomic bomb, Tony preferred a more precise hand. Why waste the energy killing thousands of people when you could hone in on the one you wanted to kill, and escape without being spotted?
But who was the uniformed woman with her? Tony didn't get to spend any more time thinking over it. The man they'd been talking to bid them goodbye, and the woman turned around and looked directly at him. Her eyes lit up and she whispered something to Director Rambeau. Tony braced himself for any number of questions. Instead, the woman approached him confidently.
"I've been hoping I would find you here, Mr. Stark," she said.
"Mr. Stark is my father," he said reflexively. "Please, call me Tony."
"Tony," she continued. "I'm Captain Danvers, United States Air Force."
"Nice to meet you." Tony hoped she had a good reason for talking to him. His patience was wearing thin and it was only a matter of time before he said something…noteworthy…to someone of importance and got yelled at by his father for it.
"You saved my life."
Tony nearly choked. "Pardon?"
"The newest fighter jets are all equipped with your surveillance and automatic evasion tech, right?"
"Well…yeah." His first project after graduating MIT had been to create a system that automatically initiated evasion procedures when it detected incoming threats. It was far more sensitive and effective than anything that had been done before.
"In any other jet, I would have been blown out of the sky. I never saw anything incoming, but you did. Thank you."
"You're…you're welcome," he stammered. Was he supposed to salute? Captain Danvers nodded her head once and headed back to Director Rambeau. Tony didn't know what to think. He'd always been convinced that the better way to serve the military was to design ways to protect them, not better ways to obliterate their enemies—a point on which he and his father consistently disagreed. Danvers's story proved him right. A genuine smile actually appeared on his face. It immediately disappeared when he saw Howard approaching. Tony wanted to share with him what Captain Danvers told him, but as soon as he saw the look on his face, he thought better of potentially starting an argument. Howard looked exhausted, his gaze abnormally unfocused when it was normally sharp as needles.
"We're going to turn in for the night," he said bluntly. Mom, holding onto his elbow, nodded.
"Okay." Tony checked his watch. It was only eleven. Howard usually stayed until at least midnight. Strange. "Good night."
"I trust you'll continue to positively represent Stark Industries?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Without another word, he walked away. Tony braced himself for at least another hour and a half of schmoozing. Maybe he could wheedle his way into whatever conversation Danvers and Rambeau were having. They definitely seemed like the least intolerable people here.
He loosely tailed them the entire night, but never found a good opportunity to sneak into their little huddle. Tony did learn, from overhearing an introduction, that Captain Danvers was here because of her status as Director Rambeau's wife, not because of her military rank. That made much more sense. The party finally wound down around twelve thirty and Tony got into the shower as quickly as he possibly could to wash off the mix of god-awful colognes and perfumes that had soaked into his skin from hours in that room. At least he was in a better mood than usual after these sorts of engagements, thanks to Captain Danvers's grace.
He heard his phone ring while he was washing his hair, but didn't bother to check it until after he finished and dried off. The call had been from some number in New Jersey. Five minutes later, the same number called again. Tony ignored it. He didn't know anybody who lived in New Jersey, and there was good reason for that. When the number called a third time, Tony growled and flipped his phone over so he couldn't see it. He brushed his teeth and drank a glass of water to hopefully prevent a hangover in the morning.
His phone rang again mere seconds after he collapsed into bed. Tony picked it up with the intention of hitting "decline," but then he saw who was calling. Not the New Jersey number, but Jarvis. Why would his old butler/caretaker be calling him at one thirty in the morning? Reluctantly, Tony picked up.
A nervous gulp. Then, "Master Stark."
"Jarvis?" he asked blearily. "What's up?"
"Are you sitting down?" The familiar British lilt was tainted with fear.
Tony sat up, far more awake than thirty seconds ago. "Yeah. What's wrong?" Middle-of-the-night phone calls and fearful voices never spelled good news.
"There was an accident."
"What do you mean?"
"Your parents' car crashed on a back road in New Jersey."
New Jersey? What the fuck were they doing on a back road in New Jersey? They left the party two hours ago to go to bed, and instead decided to take an impromptu road trip? It didn't make any sense. At least he now knew what the New Jersey phone number had been all about. Maybe their phones had gotten smashed and they borrowed one from some random person.
"What are they doing out there?" he asked.
"I—I don't know sir."
"Can I talk to Dad?" Tony just wanted an explanation.
"I'm afraid not."
"Why? What's he doing?"
"Tony…" The use of his first name made him immediately suspicious. "They didn't survive."
"What."
"They didn't survive the crash."
Oh.
Oh.
Mom and Dad were dead. Tony just saw them a few hours ago. Their last conversation. He'd thought nothing of it at the time, but now it would be etched into his memory forever. That faraway look in his father's eyes that he'd thought little of in the moment…did it actually mean something? Had he known that this night would end like this? Tony's grief and shock were matched only by his suspicion.
He didn't sleep the rest of the night. It was kind of hard to wind down after being told your parents died in a car crash in a place they had no business being. His thoughts raced along at the speed of sound. Why were they there? Why did they crash? Which car were they driving? Was there another car involved in the accident?
Tony didn't get answers to any of his questions until the next morning. They'd been driving Howard's favorite Audi A5 coupe, which he only drove on "special occasions." Tony had never even been in the backseat of that car, and he had no idea exactly what his father meant by special occasion in this context. They hadn't had any sort of navigation running, so they knew the route they'd been taking. No other cars were involved. It looked like they just swerved off the road enough to crash headlong into a tree. A horrible, dark part of Tony's mind wondered if Howard hit it on purpose. The autopsy showed his blood alcohol content was well within the legal limit. None of it made any sense, until Tony saw the photograph.
They found a picture stuck to the inside of the car's visor. Apparently, said visor had been down when the car crashed, even though they'd been driving in complete darkness. Howard must've wanted to look at this picture on the way to wherever they were going. Tony saw that picture before he even saw their bodies. It was a child. About eight years old. A boy with dark hair and brown eyes, the same brown that Tony shared with his father. This boy was undoubtedly Howard's son. With that realization, Tony's world shattered for the second time in as many days.
Howard never loved him. Not once in his twenty-six years had Tony heard those words from his father's mouth. He'd always thought it was because Howard didn't want kids, and he'd made peace with that. He was content with the knowledge that Howard didn't dislike him, just children in general. But this proved that theory wrong. Howard clearly loved this boy, keeping his photo tucked into the visor of his favorite car. He didn't keep any photos of Tony, not that he'd ever seen, anyway. Tony had failed so horribly as a son that Howard went ahead and had another one. In fact, he'd probably been on his way to visit the kid when he crashed and killed himself, along with Mom.
That was the part that made Tony the angriest. He could live with knowing Howard had another son he preferred over Tony. The kid was probably great and deserved all the love and attention his father gave him. But there was no way Tony also shared a mother with this mysterious boy. Mom couldn't have hidden that from him. But if the kid wasn't hers, that meant Howard had cheated on her. Not only that, but he'd killed her by taking her along to see this kid, this physical representation of his infidelity. Whether Howard meant to or not, Tony couldn't forgive him for that. And he couldn't forgive himself for not figuring it out sooner.
This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I loved parsing out how the Arno situation might've gone down if Tony never got sick, and combining it with Howard and Maria's fate in the MCU.
Anyways, that concludes Without Gravesen! For now, at least. I know I fell in love with a lot of these versions of the characters and their families and am definitely getting the itch to write some more in this doubly alternate universe. Let me know which ones you'd like to revisit!