December 17th, 1990
Stark Mansion, Manhattan
Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed.
The mansion felt colder than ever.
Though the house was filled with people, they lingered at the edges, speaking in hushed tones. The hearth crackled in the main hall, firelight casting long, shifting shadows across solemn faces. Gloom saturated the air.
It had only been a day since the news of Howard and Maria Stark's death broke.
For Tony, it didn't feel real, not yet.
He sat in the living room, staring into the flames, trying to draw warmth from them, trying to chase away the cold tightening around his chest.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him. Endless regret. Pain. Loss. His thoughts drifted between disbelief and numb acceptance.
Beside him, Ethan sat unusually quiet, legs pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as he stared into the fire. He was almost four. He didn't understand the full weight of what had happened, but he knew, deeply, that something had gone terribly wrong.
Tony hadn't spoken much since the news hit. There wasn't much to say.
He had always shared a complicated relationship with his parents, especially with Howard. But now…
Now there was nothing left.
No arguments, no lingering expectations.
Just silence.
It was hard to even think about what came next.
Ethan felt the heaviness in the room even if he didn't understand it. Every time someone looked at him with pity, his chest tightened. It felt like something had broken, something important, and everyone else knew what it was except him.
Unable to hold back, he tugged at Tony's shirt with small fingers.
"Tony!"
His voice seemed to break through the quiet.
Tony didn't respond at first. Only when Ethan tugged again did he blink out of his thoughts and look down.
Wide, uncertain eyes stared back at him.
It was the first thing Ethan had said since they received the news.
"Yeah, Ethan?" Tony replied.
"Mom and Dad… are coming back, right?"
His voice trembled with hope.
Tony's heart clenched.
He didn't know what to say.
Even though the concept of death was foreign to Ethan, he was smart enough to know that they weren't coming back; they were gone.
He's just clinging to hope that it was all a dream.
Just like me.
Tony inhaled slowly.
Giving him false hope would only hurt him more. And Ethan would know.
Taking another deep breath, Tony felt the weight settle in his chest.
He wanted to say something to make it easier for Edward, to soften the blow.
But there was no sugarcoating it.
"No, buddy," Tony finally said, his voice low. "They're not."
It took all of his strength to say those words, both to Ethan and himself.
I need a drink.
The thought came unbidden. He wanted to drown it all, to numb the ache gnawing at him from the inside out.
But then Ethan started muttering.
"She made a promise."
"Mom wouldn't break her promise."
"Promise. Promise. Promise."
Over and over, like a broken record.
Tony exhaled sharply and placed his hand on Ethan's head, rubbing it a little too roughly—enough to snap him out of the spiral.
Ethan looked up at him—
And burst into tears.
Like a dam breaking.
Tony swallowed hard.
We're the only ones left.
The sound of crying drew Jarvis immediately. He knelt and wrapped Ethan in his arms, rubbing his back gently.
Jarvis's eyes were bloodshot. Even the small, ever-present smile he wore for the boys seemed strained, rigid at the edges.
He, too, was barely holding himself together.
*****
December 20th
Woodside Cemetery, New York
Rows upon rows of people filled the grounds.
Tony walked forward, Ethan's small hand clutched tightly in his. James Rhodes followed just behind them.
Rhodes had attended funerals before.
Never one like this.
Jarvis handled the arrangements with composed precision. Peggy Carter stood among the attendees. Obadiah Stane as well. Other friends and associates of the Starks approached.
Tony and Ethan did not respond.
Both wore hollow expressions.
Especially Tony.
His gaze was lifeless.
People called it the Stark funeral. They spoke of tragedy and legacy.
Tony didn't react.
He didn't flinch as he stood before the graves, watching the coffins of Howard and Maria Stark descend into the earth.
Rhodes grew uneasy.
Tony didn't move when Ethan began sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't move when Ethan fainted at the sight of the burial.
He simply watched.
Blank.
Rhodes didn't know whether to speak or remain silent, so he did the only thing he could.
He stayed.
Eulogies followed.
Family friends. Co-workers. Stories of brilliance. Of kindness.
Tony didn't blink.
He stared at the gravestones.
Howard Anthony Stark
August 15th 1917 – December 16th 1990
Maria Collins Carbonell Stark
January 29th 1940 – December 16th 1990
Jarvis gave a speech, sharing anecdotes about Howard, how great a friend he was, and speaking about how wonderful a woman Maria was.
He sobbed in between, his words becoming blurred at the end, and he had to be helped off the platform.
Even the steadfast Jarvis couldn't hold back his grief.
At the end, the priest invited mourners to lay flowers.
Rhodes stepped toward Tony, ready to speak—
A hand stopped him.
"Leave him," Peggy said quietly, appearing beside him. Pain flickered behind her steady eyes. "Grief only dulls with time. Just stay near him. He'll push you away—but stay anyway."
She squeezed Rhodes's shoulder and walked off.
Tony did not return to Stark Mansion for days.
He buried himself in work.
Distraction made it easier to numb the feeling.
*****
December 24th, 1990
Stark Mansion, Manhattan
Ethan sat at the dining table, picking at his dinner.
He ignored the birthday cake Jarvis had prepared.
He didn't want to celebrate.
There was no one left to celebrate with.
"Jarvis… won't Tony be coming back today?" Ethan asked softly.
Jarvis sighed.
Tony had locked himself away at headquarters, drowning in work. But Jarvis couldn't say that to a grieving child.
"Master Tony has been extremely busy at the company. He won't be able to return today, unfortunately."
"When will he come back?" Ethan asked.
His voice trembled—anger mixing with sadness.
It felt like everyone was leaving him.
His mother's warmth.
His father's stern but steady presence.
Tony's teasing.
He missed them all.
"You won't leave me too, right, Jarvis?"
Jarvis knelt and embraced him tightly.
"Never, young Master Ethan."
His voice did not waver.
But his heart ached.
Ethan eventually retreated to his room.
Jarvis could not reach Tony. Calls went unanswered.
Inside his room, Ethan collapsed onto the bed. Tears soaked into his pillow. Eventually, even crying exhausted him. He stared at the ceiling, hollow.
Then—
Something changed.
Heat surged through his body.
Scorching one moment. Freezing the next.
It felt as though his body were tearing itself apart from the inside. He tried to scream, but his muscles spasmed violently.
He passed out.
Next morning
Ethan stood in front of the mirror.
A tomoe spun within his red eyes.
Blood trickled down his cheeks.
A voice kept ringing in his head to keep all his changes secret and…
Study?
A flicker of confusion passed by his chubby face as he tilted his head.