Chapter Text
This place is a shithole. Tony remembers distinctly—probably—that the last place he remembers being was not, in fact, a shithole. A battlefield covered with blood and sacrifice is one thing, but it is definitely not a dirty, grimy alleyway that has a sort of smell that Tony doesn't really want to put to words right now. He also remembers being sort-of-kind-of-definitely dead. He pinches himself on the cheek. He is neither dead nor half charred from the Infinity Stones. Strange. Did Strange bring him here? He didn't exactly doubt the sorcerer's abilities, but he's 99% sure this is beyond said sorcerer's ability. Especially without whatever Stone he'd need.
Tony hauls himself up to a sitting position and groans. Whatever brought him here did not have the courtesy of taking away all his pain, and he could feel probably a migraine creeping up the back of his neck. His suit was ruined, and he tapped his arc reactor to collapse it. He'd be able to fix it later. Probably. There's a lot of 'probably's in his life right now. Right. First thing is first. Figure out where he is. Then get some water and the biggest ibuprofen pill he can get his hands on, and finally make a plan.
He finds his glasses mostly intact, save for some scratches and a slightly bent frame that he carefully pulls back into place, and he almost sobs in relief. He needs to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y some very important questions. "F.R.I.D.A.Y? Where are we?" No response. "F.R.I.D.A.Y?" Still nothing. "F.R.I.D.A.Y?" He opts for a sing-song tone that does little to hide the wobble in his voice. Sure, act and sacrifice yourself just fine against some titan warlord, but waver the moment you can't access F.R.I.D.A.Y. in an alleyway all alone. Tony hates, loathes even, being in the dark and not in control of a situation. And he is definitely not in control of this situation. Why isn't one of his satellites working? Were any of them working? Probably not, that battle was definitely something, and Stark Industries' infrastructure was bound to get damaged, if not outright destroyed. Swallowing down the embarrassing panic, he reminds himself he needs to find his bearings before connecting to the internet, breaking down, or both.
He pulls himself up, careful to touch the walls as little as possible. Something about the walls doesn't make them seem very appealing to lean against. The ache in his body, nay, his bones, is etched right down to the bone marrow and absolutely everywhere. He slowly walks out of the alleyway, carefully glancing around, before sliding into the crowd as easily as one can as they ache and nurse an oncoming migraine. He needs to find a pharmacy, and fast. Even if he turns out to not be in the States, he could just use his card.
Tony stands by his opinion, although it's absolutely fact, that this place sucks. It's got an old vibe to it that doesn't mean old architectural charm. Sure, it's got a distinctly gothic feel, but the 'old' lent itself more to the vague sense of being held together with hopes and dreams. And then there was the smog. If they were trying to go for an Industrial Revolution vibe, they certainly have that down pat. He can hardly tell what time it is.
Tony finds a corner convenience-slash-pharmacy store and ducks inside. The harsh lighting is a somewhat welcome change from whatever is outside as he gathers what he needs and then, after a moment of contemplation, a cheaply made backpack and some snacks for the road to keep him sane while he orients himself. The prices are the painfully expensive ones he'd never been more grateful to be American. He pays for the stuff in cash, and the moment he's out the door, he takes a pill and chugs the water, only stopping when he feels like he's going to be sick to himself.
He tears open a granola bar to munch on while he walks. Internet… a library, maybe? He'd need a card, though, which could easily enough get arranged, or an Internet cafe. That would probably be more difficult to locate. Library it is… if he knew where one is. He takes a deep breath. The media would swarm him if he breaks down in the street. He's Tony Stark, the man who built stuff from scraps in a pinch. The man who saved the world multiple times. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.
The people walking on the street don't seem like the "stop and ask questions" kind, which, fair enough, but he wishes he had asked the corner store guy back there. A fast food place catches his eye. Kind of hard not to. 'Batburger,' it reads, with a, who would have guessed it, bat-themed logo. There are some other things he can't quite grasp as he enters, though. Like the weird patterns covering the windows, the dressed-up employees, or the names of the meals. He almost stops in his tracks. Is this place… superhero-themed? Despite it all, he bites back a chuckle, imagining a restaurant based around the Avengers and their allies. And foes, apparently, as he gets a closer look at the menu from his place in line, peeking through the family in front of him. He thinks of his own family, of Morgan, Pepper, and even Peter. He'd take them to some silly place like this. He'd order a kid's meal for Morgan and half the menu for Peter and his enhanced appetite. His heart pangs and he wishes so intensely to go back to New York and be with his family again that it floors him. They need him, especially after that battle and the definite destruction. The family steps off to the side to wait for their meal, and Tony steps up to the counter after a heartbeat.
"Welcome to Batburger. How may I help you?" Asks the tired employee dressed up in some weird bat superhero costume. Tony can only imagine what that superhero's name is.
Tony quickly glances at the menu again. "Just a Batburger, some fries, and Cola." And then, as an afterthought, because he can hear Pepper's chastising, "please?"
"…Would you like to jokerize those fries?" The employee asks warily, glancing at the family to the side.
"I'm sorry, what?" Tony asks.
The employee sighs. "A seasoning they put on it." Very unhelpful.
"I'll pass."
Tony pays for the meal and steps off beside the family, leaning a foot against the wall. He had been so taken aback by the fry jokerization that he completely forgot to ask about the library. He scrubbed a hand across his face. Shit.
He must've said that aloud, because one of the guys in the family looks at him. Tony really doesn't want to ask a stranger like this, but what choice does he have?
"Do you know directions to the nearest library?" He tries for a lighthearted tone. "Y'know, big city and all that."
The guy, who is absolutely built like a brick house, gives him a look that Tony interprets to say, 'I know you're not from around here,' but answers politely enough. "The central library is actually two blocks east," he points in said direction. "Kind of hard to miss it."
"Thanks." Tony nods.
"No problem."
Tony gets his meal before the family, given that he's only one person compared to the large group, and finds a table to sit at. He sits at a table and opens his meal. He removes his glasses, assessing them for damage as he watches the family sit down at the booth beside him out of the corner of his eye. He realizes that he'd be better off in a booth as he flips the glasses over in his hands, muttering curses as he fishes around for some tools in his pockets. He'll blame that on his pounding head. He alternates between taking a bite and tinkering away at his glasses, engrossed in his work before he hears the distinct 'clink clink' of silverware. One of the people in that family is using an honest-to-god knife and fork. He hesitates for a moment. What kind of person does that? He might be one of the richest people on earth, but you wouldn't catch him dead like that. The juxtaposition of the insane manner of eating a burger and a handful of the children goofing off is insanely amusing to Tony. He resumes his tinkering. Can he manually connect to the internet or a satellite?
The answer is no, and he curses again, and it takes everything in him to not chuck the glasses across the room. He sighs deeply and takes a long sip of his soda, placing the glasses on the table. He's tired and sore and almost at his breaking point. He can sense some stares, but he doesn't care anymore. Let the media take pictures, he'll deal with them later.
He finishes his meal, pocketing his tools and balancing his glasses on his nose once more. He bundles up the garbage and tosses it in a trash can as he passes. Hopefully the library will be more helpful. Tony guesses it's early evening as he makes his way down the two blocks. He looks up at the sky and spots a huge tower with 'Wayne' plastered on the side. He has never heard of any 'Wayne' company, and he's pretty sure he would have, if they have a tower this big. He'll look into it at the library.
That man had been absolutely correct when he said that he would not miss the library. It has towering architecture and an older, opulent feel. There are lion statues at the front, and it reads 'Gotham Central Library' in stone on the facade. What in the world is a Goth Ham? Tony carefully ascends the steps. The last thing he wants is to trip and tumble down the steps and not only make a fool of himself but also make his pains even worse. He pushes through the doors and looks around the library. It's as over-the-top as the exterior, because of course it is. Dark wood furniture and shelves, winding staircases to multiple floors, tables with lamps and everything else. He spots a librarian behind the front desk, and approaches. She seems to notice the stiffness of his gait, but makes no comment.
"Hello, how may I help you?" She asks with a smile.
"I need a computer, but I'll probably need a card for that, won't I?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's very easy, though. We just need ID and proof of your address. A driver's license will work just fine."
Tony nods, placing his driver's license on the desk. She picks it up and registers a card, squinting slightly at his driver's license. She also doesn't make any comment about who he is, which he appreciates. She slides the library card across the table. "Here, sign the back of this," she says as she holds out a pen for him.
"I don't like being handed things."
The librarian sets the pen down on the table, and Tony picks it up. He signs his name, and she places his driver's license beside his new library card.
"The computers are on the second floor."
He nods. "Thank you." Pepper would be so happy right now.
Tony makes his way to the second floor, looking out for the computers. He stops in his tracks when he sees them. They've got to be years out of date, with the chunky monitors. Guess this place isn't as well funded as he thought. He sits down at a computer in the corner, giving him a good view of everything around him. Booting up the computer and logging in with his new card, he immediately works on connecting F.R.I.D.A.Y. to the internet. That proves to be harder yet simultaneously easier than expected. The infrastructure is so old, but it's simultaneously so weak, and he manages to sort everything out in no time at all.
Putting the glasses back on once again, he whispers, "F.R.I.D.A.Y?"
"Hello sir," the ai responds, and Tony feels a huge weight off his chest. "Now connected to Wayne Enterprises' satellite." Wayne what? How has he not heard of this before? Surely he'd have heard of a big-time player such as this. Quickly, he opens up an internet browser, searching "Wayne Enterprises."
A multibillion-dollar, worldwide company. That had a hand in literally everything. Lovely. An observation deck at that tower he had seen earlier, open to the public for free on the weekends. It's Friday today. Tony has a plan for tomorrow. He finishes reading, before moving on to Gotham. He's in New Jersey, apparently, which means it'll be easier for him to get home, but he has also never heard of Gotham in his life. Slowly the pieces start to come together in the back of his mind, and he lets out a shaky breath. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., call Pepper."
"The number does not exist, sir."
"Happy?"
"Nothing there either."
"Uhh, Rhodey."
"Negative, sir."
Tony is a man of science. He has seen magic, but he does not like that he cannot explain it. Physics is behind everything in the world, but magic always seems to shake his knowledge of it. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.," he says shakily, not quite ready to confirm his suspicions, but unable to avoid it forever, "are we in another universe?"
"It would appear so, sir."
Tony Stark is dead. The Infinity Stones killed him, and now, instead of being laid to rest, he is here. In another universe, in a city that does not exist to him, with a company that he hadn't known about, because he had no reason to know about it until now. Borderline frantically, he searches his name. Tony Stark does not exist. Some random people with Facebook accounts, but no owner-of-Stark-Industries Tony. He swallows thickly.
"We're stuck here, F.R.I.D.A.Y., aren't we."
"For the time being, yes."
Can he even go home? He's dead there, it's bound to upset at least five natural laws. He has no money beyond his cash anymore, and it doesn't help that he'll need to sift through and seperate all the money minted after this year, and no real identity. The librarian lady will probably get on his ass now. He needs to leave, but he feels lightheaded. At least whoever decided to pull this cruel joke felt kind enough to give him some necessities, but Tony is sure that he's going to pay for it somehow soon enough.
He grips the edge of his table, breathing heavily. He has no idea what to do now. He can leave, but where to? He has no home, no job, or anything. Not like he can get a self-respecting job either without some valid ID. Tony is utterly and completely screwed. He wants to puke.