Artificial Suns In Alternate Galaxies

Chapter 1

He’s in his workshop when he gets the call.

A quick glance at the nearest holotable informs him it’s nearly 3 a.m. when FRIDAY, using her best “let’s not startle Boss while he’s handling the cold welder” voice announces Mr. Everett Ross on the line, and Tony wonders what he’s done to upset the careful balance they’ve been wobbling along since the Rogues’ return to the Compound. Ross has been downright vigilant in his avoidance of stepping on any toes since the presidential pardons came through – especially when it comes to the toes of a certain billionaire whose financial aid could still cripple the Avengers, should he decide to withdraw it – and middle-of-the-night calls are definitely shattering some of those eggshells he insists on walking around Tony these days.

The sudden, calculated distance makes Tony feel icky and he would very much like to ask the man to tone it down between just the two of them, but he’s also pretty sure his old teammates are planning to use the UN liaison against him at some point or another, so covering their bases by overt professionalism is actually a smart move. It puts both of them above reproach in equal measure, but still, not many people would willingly do something that benefits Tony Stark nowadays, so the gesture is appreciated, if somewhat annoying.

“Mr. Ross, what can I do for you at such an… interesting hour?” he asks with mild humor, but his gut slowly clenches when instead of the expected, half a dozen stammered apologies, Ross starts the call with a heavy beat of silence.

“Um… Mr. Stark.”

Tony waits for a few seconds but his increasing panic makes his throat itch, and the nervous babbling starts up before he can convince his brain that not every silence means potential world threatening danger. He always tries, but he seems to have lost that particular ability somewhere around the time he flew into a portal above New York City with a nuke on his back.

“Okay, you didn’t sound the alarm so it can’t be that bad, right? At least it’s not aliens. Is it aliens? Please tell me it’s not aliens, I can’t deal with another talking raccoon, we just got rid of the last one and I’m busy with—”

“It’s not aliens.”

Tony lets out a relieved breath, but the sight of his trembling hands suddenly makes him staggeringly glad this is not a video call. It’s not that he has anything against the ragtag group that landed on his property a few months ago – and why is it always his property with all the aliens – and proclaimed themselves to be the Guardians Of The Entire Goddamn Galaxy, but the news they brought still haunt his dreams on the rare occasions he dares to attempt getting some shut eye.

“I mean, it is aliens—“

Oh god, Tony can’t breathe, he can’t—

“—but they are… not the… bad kind?” Ross tries to reassure but he sounds dismayingly undecided, and Tony just knows this will be the conversation that leaves him with the aneurism that will drop him dead before Thanos even has a chance to come anywhere near the planet.

At this point, Tony is dismayingly undecided about whether that would really be such a bad thing.

“Okay, see, this is not helping, you can’t just go and say—“

“It’s alright, they are not even here yet, we have time to—“

“Jesus fucking fuck, who—“

“It’s fine, I swear! They seem to be friendly, no need to panic over—“

“I panic when I damn well want to Kenny, I have a heart condition you know—”

“—need to stop spiraling Mr. Stark, you’re—“

“—not twenty anymore, you can’t just—”