Chapter Text
The sky was burning.
The scent of scorched asphalt and smoldering wreckage choked the air as black smoke twisted against Manhattan's skyline. Fires crawled across shattered cars. Broken glass glittered across the streets. Chitauri corpses lay tangled among crumbling concrete and twisted metal while explosions rippled through the city canyons, swallowing the distant screams of civilians trapped in the crossfire.
High above, a gaping wound in the sky pulsed with eerie blue light. Loki's portal hung over Stark Tower like an open vein, pouring out wave after wave of alien invaders. Their grotesque, armor-plated forms rode sleek hovering chariots through the smoke, swarming over the city like insects spilling from a torn nest.
And in the middle of it all, the Avengers fought.
"I got three incoming at your eight o'clock! Eyes up, Cap!"
Tony Stark's voice crackled through the comms as he twisted in midair, repulsors flaring beneath his palms and boots. The Mark VII responded to every sharp adjustment, battered plating shifting under stress as he banked through the fire-lit skyline. Three Chitauri riders cut between buildings ahead of him, weapons glowing as they locked onto the man on the ground.
Captain America barely had time to turn before the shots streaked toward him.
"Oh, hell."
With a shriek of metal and fire, Tony dove, weaving through a skeleton of crumbling scaffolding before releasing a pair of micro-missiles. The explosions burst in the air, turning two of the alien riders into burning wreckage. The third broke off, swerving erratically, and Steve took the opening. He vaulted onto an overturned taxi, hurled his shield, and caught the last Chitauri square in the chest. The alien dropped from its craft and struck the cracked pavement in a crumpled heap.
"You're welcome!" Tony quipped, banking hard left as his thrusters roared.
"Was handling it," Cap answered through gritted teeth, already retrieving his shield from the wreckage.
"Sure you were, old-timer."
Tony barely had time to smirk before Jarvis cut in.
"Sir, I'm detecting an energy spike from Stark Tower."
Tony twisted in the air, his red-and-gold armor flashing against the burning skyline. His gaze locked onto the source of the madness: the Tesseract. Alien energy pulsed above his tower, its radiant glow feeding the widening portal overhead. Beneath it, Loki stood on the platform, watching the chaos unfold like some twisted conductor pleased with the music.
"Thor, you seeing this?" Tony asked, climbing altitude.
Across the battlefield, Thor spun Mjölnir in a blur of silver and lightning. Blue-white bolts cracked through the swarm of invaders around him, dropping Chitauri from the sky.
"Aye, Stark. I am inbound."
Before Tony could answer, another voice broke over the comms.
"We've got a problem!"
Black Widow sounded tight, clipped, and far too serious for Tony's liking. He flipped into a hover and scanned the battlefield.
"Bigger than the whole aliens-invading-Manhattan thing? Please tell me it's an easily fixable problem, like Hulk lost his pants or something."
"It's worse," she snapped. Gunfire cracked behind her words. "SHIELD just launched a nuke. It's inbound. New York is the target."
Tony's smirk vanished.
"Run that by me again?"
"They've decided we're a lost cause. Missile's coming in from the east."
Tony's HUD flared to life, and there it was: a single blinding-hot object streaking through the sky, cutting through cloud cover like a steel death sentence.
"Stark." Steve's voice came in firm and steady. "Can you intercept?"
Tony exhaled.
"Well, now's a great time to find out."
He did not wait for a response.
With a full-throttle burst, Iron Man shot into the sky, rocketing past the Chrysler Building and twisting through incoming Chitauri fire. He accelerated hard, the armor groaning around him as plates shifted and locked to cut drag during the climb.
"Jarvis, how much time do I have?"
"Approximately sixty seconds until impact."
Tony gritted his teeth.
"Plenty of time."
The wind tore past him. The city shrank beneath his boots as he climbed higher, pushing the damaged suit to its limits. The missile came into view, sleek, steel, and merciless, hurtling toward millions of people who would never know how close the end had come.
"I got it. I got it," he muttered.
He primed his repulsors, stretched out both hands, and caught the missile casing with a violent jolt that nearly ripped his shoulders out of their sockets. The sheer velocity shuddered through the entire suit. Alarms screamed across his HUD.
"Sir, this is an incredibly bad idea."
"You don't say?"
The missile resisted him, momentum dragging him along as the city rose too fast below. Tony fought the pull, thrusters burning at maximum output. Heat warnings flashed. Servo strain spiked. His teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
"C'mon, c'mon…"
With one final burst, he forced the missile upward. His vision blurred at the edges, and his muscles screamed beneath the armor as the trajectory shifted just enough toward the portal.
"Alright," he rasped. "Next stop, ugly alien central."
The portal shimmered with unstable blue energy as the missile climbed into it. Tony tightened his grip and pushed through the maelstrom.
Then everything changed.
The chaos of New York vanished. No sirens. No screams. No thunder of collapsing buildings. Just the vast, empty silence of space, where stars burned cold against the black and the enormous Chitauri command ship loomed ahead, its surface crawling with movement.
Tony barely had a second to process it before gravity disappeared.
His body, still accelerating, drifted weightless as the missile tore free of his hands and continued its death march toward the alien mothership. His thrusters sputtered, fighting for control in vacuum. The edges of his vision darkened.
"Jarvis…"
The missile struck.
A blinding, sun-bright explosion tore through the void, consuming the Chitauri command vessel in a tidal wave of fire, shrapnel, and collapsing structure. The blast rippled outward, and feedback surged through the portal behind him, twisting its blue light into violent static.
Tony Stark was alone in space.
No comms.
No backup.
Just stars, wreckage, and the last traces of a wormhole beginning to collapse behind him.
His HUD flickered. Power systems stuttered. Oxygen readouts flashed warnings in angry red.
"Not… great…"
The portal should have pulled him back.
Instead, something inside the collapsing light tore open.
A second rift yawned wide in the depths of the wormhole, darker, sharper, wrong in a way even Tony's exhausted brain knew did not belong. Energy rolled through it in jagged coils, nothing like the Tesseract's glow, nothing like anything his sensors could name.
"Sir," Jarvis said, voice suddenly strained. "I am detecting an additional spatial distortion."
Tony's fingers twitched inside the gauntlets.
"Define additional."
The rift swallowed him before Jarvis could answer.
A voice echoed through the darkness.
"Sir… Sir, you need to wake up."
Tony's mind felt packed with cotton. Heavy. Slow. His body refused to cooperate, and his thoughts came in broken pieces, none of them useful.
"…No, thanks," he muttered, voice scraping out raw. "Hit snooze. Five more minutes."
"Sir, I must insist," Jarvis chimed in, calm but persistent. "You are in an unfamiliar environment."
Tony cracked one eye open, only to slam it shut when blinding light stabbed straight through his skull.
"Nope," he mumbled. "Hard pass. Light bad. Too bright. Turning back off now."
"I'm afraid that is not an option, sir. I need you fully conscious."
Tony groaned and forced his eyelids open a sliver. The world came in blurred gold and tan, all haze and glare. His throat felt like he had swallowed sandpaper, then chased it with battery acid. His head pounded like he had spent twelve hours drinking with Thor and lost every round.
"Where…?" His voice came out rough, barely more than a croak. "Did I get hit by a truck, or did I go another round with Hulk?"
"You were caught in a collapsing wormhole," Jarvis corrected helpfully. "You have been unconscious for approximately three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-six seconds."
Tony smacked his lips. Dry. Dusty. His tongue felt like it had been marinated in salt.
"That explains the headache." He swallowed thickly, grimacing. "Okay, let's get a status check. Where am I?"
There was a pause.
"That," Jarvis said, "is an excellent question."
Tony frowned, his vision still adjusting.
"Not exactly the comforting answer I was hoping for, buddy."
"I am unable to pinpoint our location," Jarvis admitted. "There are no recognizable satellite networks, no GPS signals, no Stark Industries beacons, and no Earth-based radio traffic. Furthermore, celestial positioning does not match any known star charts."
That got Tony's attention.
His brain was still rebooting, but that one sentence sent a cold spark through him. He forced himself upright with a groan, limbs sluggish and muscles aching inside the suit. Sand shifted beneath him, warm and loose and everywhere, and it took him another few seconds to understand that he was not lying on pavement, rubble, or even solid rock.
No.
He was sitting in sand.
A lot of it.
Blinking hard, he finally got his first real look at his surroundings. Endless dunes stretched in every direction, rolling hills of golden-brown nothing beneath a white-hot sky. The sun, wait, no, two suns, blazed overhead, making the air shimmer. Sparse rock formations jutted out in the distance, dry and lifeless as old bones. No buildings. No roads. No cars. No helicopters or jets buzzing overhead.
Just desert.
And heat.
So much heat.
"Okay." Tony swallowed again, wincing at the scrape in his throat. "So… where exactly did I miss my exit?"
Jarvis, ever the professional, answered without humor.
"Based on the environmental conditions, this appears to be an arid desert biome with extreme temperatures. Given the atmospheric composition, gravitational constants, stellar arrangement, and the absence of any identifiable Earth infrastructure, I can confirm that this is not Earth."
Tony slowly turned his head toward his right shoulder.
"Say that last part again?"
"This is not Earth, sir."
Tony stared at the sand.
Then at the two suns.
Then back at the sand.
"…Right."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For one ugly second, the jokes stopped lining up in his head. New York was gone. The portal was gone. The Avengers were gone. Pepper was on the other side of a universe he could not even find.
Pepper.
His fingers curled against the sand, metal grinding softly as the gauntlet clenched. Then he opened his eyes and forced air through his teeth.
"Okay. Okay, yeah. That tracks. Definitely not the weirdest thing that's happened to me." He shielded his face with one gloved hand against the glare. "Still, I feel like this is something you could've led with, J."
"I attempted to inform you upon waking, but you insisted on hitting snooze."
Tony let out a short, dry laugh.
"Alright, fair point. But you know what? I'd still like a second opinion on the whole not Earth thing. Maybe we just landed in Arizona. It has deserts, unbearable heat, and at least three places that feel like alien planets. Got any radio towers around here? WiFi? Starbucks?"
"No detectable wireless networks, no recognizable Earth-based radio frequencies, and no fixed settlements within current scan range. Heat distortion and mineral interference are limiting long-distance resolution."
Tony drummed his metal fingers against his thigh.
"No Google Maps, huh?"
"Negative."
He sighed.
"Well. That's mildly inconvenient."
Another thought struck him, and his stomach dropped a little lower.
"…How's the suit?"
"Armor integrity is at fifty-six percent. External plating suffered significant superficial damage during atmospheric entry. Internal systems are stable, but we have a larger concern."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Primary suit capacitors are at seven percent. Arc reactor output remains active, but the wormhole disrupted power distribution and forced multiple emergency system resets."
Tony froze.
"Seven percent? Why the hell are we that low?"
"The wormhole disrupted energy flow, and atmospheric entry forced emergency thruster deployment to prevent fatal impact. Environmental factors are also causing strain on cooling systems. This desert heat is accelerating internal overheating."
Tony exhaled and rubbed both hands over his faceplate.
"Great. So not only am I stranded in an alien desert with two suns like I crash-landed onto a rejected Star Trek set, but I've got seven percent usable power before my multi-billion-dollar survival pod turns into a metal coffin." He let out a humorless little laugh. "Just perfect."
"Emergency seals held during brief vacuum exposure," Jarvis added. "Barely. Oxygen reserves were depleted, thermal regulation is compromised, and the suit was not designed for prolonged independent operation in space."
Tony paused.
"Good to know my space program is currently built on barely."
"An accurate assessment, sir."
He struggled to his feet, the armor's servos whining softly as he pushed himself upright. His legs felt sluggish, probably dehydration, exhaustion, and the complete lack of every support system the suit normally used to keep him functional after doing something stupid.
"Alright, Jarvis, what's the plan?"
"I would recommend finding shelter to avoid further overheating. Additionally, securing a source of hydration would be ideal."
Tony squinted at the horizon.
It was all sand.
"Yeah, good luck finding a 7-Eleven out here."
"I will continue scanning for potential points of interest."
He took a step forward, his boots sinking into the warm, shifting terrain. He scowled as grit scraped into the armor joints.
"Great. Sand in the joints. Sand in the vents. Sand in places this suit absolutely does not have documentation for."
Jarvis did not dignify that with a response.
Tony sighed and rolled his shoulders. His throat was dry, his body ached, and his armor was one bad battery drain away from becoming a very expensive sauna. Still, he was alive. And if there was one thing Tony Stark never did, it was sit still and wait for things to get worse.
He tapped the side of his helmet, forcing the HUD to stabilize.
"Alright, let's play a little game, J," he muttered. "It's called Find Me Literally Anything That's Not More Sand."
"Scanning."
As Tony started trudging forward, already feeling heat bake through the damaged armor, he muttered to himself.
"Next time, I'm letting Thor handle the whole dying-in-space thing."
Tony trudged through the desert, his boots sinking into the sand with each step, the armor groaning around him like an overworked office printer. He had barely gone half a mile, and already he was considering lying down and letting whatever cosmic deity was running this simulation take the wheel.
"Jarvis," he rasped, blinking sweat out of his eyes, "remind me again why I thought walking was a good idea?"
"Because remaining stationary in a desert with no shade, no water, and two active suns would increase the probability of fatal heatstroke within the next three hours."
"Right," Tony sighed. "So I die slow instead of fast. Love the menu."
The heat pressed down on him like a physical weight. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck despite the suit's failing cooling systems, and the sand reflected sunlight like a giant heat lamp. Tony had once nearly died in a cave with a box of scraps. At least the cave had shade.
Then, through the shimmering waves of heat, he saw something move.
A giant, rust-colored, blocky monstrosity crept across the dunes in the distance, its treads kicking up thick clouds of dust as it lumbered forward like a slow-moving brick on tank tracks.
Tony squinted.
"Okay, either the heat is finally frying my brain, or that is one hell of a Winnebago."
"I detect a large mobile vehicle approximately eight hundred meters ahead," Jarvis confirmed. "Unidentified design. It appears to be composed of scavenged metal components, likely repurposed for trade or salvage operations."
Tony exhaled in relief.
"A moving junk pile. Perfect. Let's go make some new friends."
He picked up the pace and powered his thrusters for a brief hover, only to stumble midair as the low-power warning blared across his HUD.
"Yeah, no," he muttered, landing without grace. "No more fancy shortcuts."
After several more agonizing minutes, Tony got close enough to make out the details of the Sandcrawler. It was massive, fortress-like, and ugly in a way that suggested generations of repairs performed by people who believed symmetry was a personal insult. Its exterior was covered in dents, scorch marks, and patchwork plates. The treads churned through the sand at a crawl, grinding forward with the patience of a rusted mountain.
Then he spotted the little hooded creatures scurrying around the open hatch near its base.
"…Huh," Tony mused, watching them haul pieces of junk inside. "Didn't know this desert came with gremlins."
The creatures were short, wrapped in dirty brown robes, their faces hidden except for glowing yellow eyes. They were busy loading scrap into the crawler, completely unaware of the armored, exhausted billionaire approaching from behind them.
Tony stopped a few yards away, took a dry breath, and mustered what little charm he had left.
"Hey, uh… fellas?" His voice came out hoarse, but he managed to lace it with Stark confidence anyway. "I don't know what the protocol is for desert hitchhiking, but I come in peace. Mostly. Kinda. I might be a little dehydrated, so there's a solid ten percent chance I'm hallucinating you."
The Jawas froze.
For one second, there was only silence. Then one of them let out a startled, high-pitched "Utinni!" and all hell broke loose.
The entire group started screaming in rapid-fire gibberish, flailing their stubby arms as they scattered like panicked pigeons. Some dove behind crates. Others bolted into the crawler. A few pairs of glowing eyes peeked from the shadows as if Tony had rolled out of the desert specifically to haunt them.
One particularly bold Jawa pointed a blaster at him and chattered excitedly, sounding like he was trying to convince himself this was a good idea.
Tony raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Whoa, hey. Easy there, Shortstack. Let's not do anything we'll regret."
The armed Jawa hesitated, looking between Tony and his cowering companions. Then the others slowly crept back out, whispering frantically to each other while staring at the armor with growing interest.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "are they saying what I think they're saying?"
"One moment, sir. I do not have a linguistic match. However, based on tone, repeated gestures toward your armor, and the fact that one of them is measuring your gauntlet with his hands, I believe they are debating your resale value."
Tony blinked.
"Oh, hell no."
Before he could react, two Jawas darted forward and started yanking at his armor, chattering excitedly as they inspected the suit like fresh merchandise. One tugged at a wrist plate. Another grabbed at a damaged seam near his hip.
"Hey, no! Hands off the merchandise!" Tony swatted one away, only for another to start working at a loose gauntlet screw. "Are you serious right now? Jarvis, tell them I am not for sale."
"Attempting rudimentary communication."
Jarvis emitted a burst of clipped, distorted Jawa-like syllables through the suit's external speakers. The Jawas paused, listened, then immediately resumed trying to dismantle him, now arguing more loudly over who should keep what.
"Oh, for the love of, guys! Personal space!" Tony shook them off and stumbled back.
The lead Jawa, still gripping the blaster, tilted his head. Then he barked something to the others.
Jarvis spoke again.
"I believe the leader is asking whether you possess something else to trade. Local designation appears to be Jawa."
Tony stared at the glowing-eyed scavengers.
"Of course it is," he muttered. "Tiny scrap goblins with branding."
He looked down at himself, then at the pile of scrap they were hauling into the Sandcrawler.
"…You guys like broken junk, right?"
The Jawas nodded with immediate, almost religious enthusiasm.
Tony sighed and reluctantly unclipped a damaged auxiliary stabilizer module from his forearm. The casing was scorched, cracked along one side, and barely worth the pain it caused him to hand it over.
"This thing is only partly functional, but it is advanced tech. One-of-a-kind. Very rare. And I," he pointed to himself, "will trade it for one ride to the nearest settlement. Preferably one with food, water, and a bar that serves something that won't kill me."
The Jawas huddled together, whispering excitedly.
Then the leader turned back to him and held up two fingers.
Tony frowned.
"What, two? No. No way. One."
More chattering. The leader insisted, jabbing both fingers forward again.
Tony groaned.
"Ugh, fine. Two. But I want front-row seats, no funny business, and a strict no-dismantling-the-customer policy for the duration of the trip."
The Jawas cheered. One of them snatched a second damaged component from his hip before Tony could even fully approve it.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered as the Jawas scampered away with the parts, "I just got hustled by desert goblins, didn't I?"
"I believe the term is haggled, sir."
"Yeah, well, I feel haggled."
With a final sigh, he followed the Jawas toward the giant rusted Sandcrawler, preparing himself for what was definitely going to be the worst Uber ride of his life.
Tony Stark had been in many uncomfortable situations.
He had been stranded in a cave in Afghanistan with a box of scraps. He had been stuck in space after a literal alien army smacked him around like a piñata. He had flown a nuclear missile into another dimension, which, in hindsight, was probably why he was in this mess.
And now he was experiencing a brand-new level of discomfort, one that involved cramped heat, the overwhelming stench of rust and oil, and about twelve Jawas crammed into a metal box with him.
The inside of the Sandcrawler was somehow worse than he had imagined. The space was narrow, barely tall enough for him to stand straight in the armor. Pipes and wires jutted from dented walls, and every surface looked like it had been patched, welded, burned, stripped, and patched again by someone with no regard for human knees. The air smelled like burnt circuitry, engine grease, old metal, and, because the universe clearly wanted him to suffer, unwashed Jawas.
Tony let out a slow breath.
"Wow," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "And here I thought New York subways were bad."
One of the Jawas, seated on a stack of broken droid parts, turned to him and chattered something.
Jarvis answered after a beat.
"Based on repeated phrasing and posture, I believe he is boasting about the quality of this Sandcrawler."
Tony snorted.
"Yeah? Compared to what? A pile of flaming garbage?"
The Jawa clapped his hands together proudly and nodded.
"…Oh my god."
Tony grimaced as he tried to adjust himself, the suit groaning against the tight metal walls. The space was clearly not meant for someone his height, much less a fully armored six-foot-something guy. He sat cross-legged in an awkward position, knees nearly against his chest, while Jawas chattered and scuttled around him like caffeinated rodents.
The Sandcrawler lurched forward, and Tony's helmet smacked into a low-hanging pipe.
"Ah, son of a…" He grabbed his head, groaning. "Really? Really? This is my life now?"
A Jawa giggled.
Tony pointed at him.
"Oh, laugh it up, short stack."
Another lurch sent him sideways, banging his elbow against the jagged edge of a broken console.
"For the love of, can we get some shock absorbers in this thing? What is this, the off-road edition?"
The Jawa driving somewhere up front honked a horn in response.
Tony exhaled and rubbed his temple.
"Oh yeah, great. Thanks. That really improves the experience."
Shifting again, he flexed his fingers and focused on the suit readouts.
"Alright, Jarvis. What's still broken, what's about to break, and what can I duct-tape back together?"
"Current status: armor integrity remains at fifty-six percent. Primary capacitors are at six percent. Flight systems are non-functional. Repulsors are operating at limited capacity. Internal cooling is compromised. Communications remain down. Auxiliary power cells are critically low."
Tony leaned his helmet back against the metal wall and sighed dramatically.
"So basically, I'm one bad sneeze away from this thing turning into an oven mitt."
"An oversimplification, but not inaccurate."
One of the Jawas curiously poked his gauntlet, then tried to pry at the wrist seam.
Tony swatted his hand away.
"Oh no. No, no, no. Hands off, Swiper."
The Jawa squeaked in disappointment and scampered away.
"Jarvis," Tony continued, glancing around at the piles of discarded junk, "give me some good news. Is there anything in here I can use for quick and dirty repairs?"
A short pause followed.
"Scanning."
Tony watched his HUD flicker as Jarvis mapped the miscellaneous junk scattered across the dim interior.
"Analysis complete. Potential components detected: several damaged power converters, a partially functional servo motor, remnants of an outdated droid processing unit, and multiple unidentified metal components."
Tony squinted at the nearest pile.
"Alright, let's see what's under the hood."
He shuffled forward, grabbed what looked like a half-melted circuit board, and examined it. The thing was charred, dented, and barely holding together.
"…This is garbage."
A Jawa watching nearby nodded enthusiastically.
Tony sighed.
"Well, at least we're setting expectations correctly."
Rolling up his sleeves, metaphorically speaking, he set to work. The Jawas crowded around him, fascinated, as he pulled off damaged plating, jury-rigged a few stray components, and reattached loose wiring with the kind of focused impatience that had once built a suit in a cave. It was not much, but it was something.
The biggest win was salvaging a half-busted power regulator. It stabilized some of the suit's internal functions, meaning his systems were less likely to shut down the second he tried anything mildly strenuous. The servo motor was still partly operational too, so Tony tinkered with a minor actuator in his left arm and restored slightly better mobility.
And the best part?
He managed to squeeze out just a little more power efficiency, bumping his usable power up to a whopping six point four percent.
"…That's it?" Tony groaned, glaring at his HUD. "I risked tetanus for point four percent?"
"A negligible improvement," Jarvis admitted.
Tony tossed the remaining scrap parts over his shoulder.
"This is why I work with real engineers."
A Jawa immediately grabbed the discarded parts and ran off excitedly, as if Tony had just gifted him a pile of gold bars.
Tony shook his head.
"Okay, note to self, next time barter for actual spare parts instead of getting scammed into an extended warranty plan."
The Sandcrawler lurched again, sending a small avalanche of junk tumbling onto him.
"Ah, come on!" Tony sputtered, pushing a rusted metal plate off his lap. "How do you guys live like this? I feel like I'm sitting inside a sentient junk drawer."
A Jawa excitedly held up a rusted, half-functional droid head.
Tony stared at it.
The Jawa shook the head like a maraca.
"…Yeah, okay, that tracks."
Another bumpy turn made Tony's helmet bang against the ceiling pipe again.
"For crying out loud, how much longer?"
A different Jawa leaned in and chattered something.
Jarvis paused, then translated by inference.
"Based on repeated phonetic patterns, I believe we are approaching a settlement called Mos Eisley, located on a planet referred to as Tatooine."
Tony took a deep breath.
"Alright. Cool. Great. Because if I have to sit in this crawling tin can much longer, I might just sell myself for scrap and call it a day."
A Jawa perked up, clearly interested in that offer.
Tony shot him a glare.
"Not an actual offer."
The Jawa groaned in disappointment.
With another grinding lurch, the Sandcrawler slowed. Whirring gears and hissing hydraulics filled the cabin. The air shifted, bringing in dry heat and the faint stink of fuel, animals, machinery, and too many people packed into too little civilization.
Tony exhaled and stretched as much as the cramped space allowed.
"Alright, J. Time to see what kind of backwater space Vegas we just rolled into."
Jarvis hummed in agreement.
The hatch hissed open, revealing a sprawling, dusty settlement bathed in the light of two sinking suns. Tony cracked his neck and stepped toward the glare.
"Alright, Tatooine. Let's see what you've got."
The city stretched before him like an aged, sunbaked ruin. Domed buildings, narrow alleys, and stone archways rose from the dust, looking more like something from an old desert kingdom than a functioning spaceport. Grime-coated walls, rusted machinery, and sputtering vaporators lined the streets while battered speeders and unidentifiable alien vehicles hovered past, their drivers barely acknowledging the foot traffic.
And speaking of foot traffic, Tony stepped forward and immediately realized he was the weird one here, and not just because he was an Earthling in a galaxy he did not belong to.
The streets were packed with aliens. Some were tall and insect-like, multi-limbed bodies clicking as they shuffled past. Others were short and stocky, covered in fur, scales, or something in between. There were creatures with tusks, creatures with tentacles, and one particularly horrifying slug-like guy who gave Tony a slow once-over like he was considering buying him by weight.
"Jarvis," Tony muttered, trying not to make eye contact with a fish-headed vendor selling something that looked suspiciously like barbecued lizard, "I think I just walked into a bad acid trip."
"Sir, I would advise discretion," Jarvis responded smoothly in his earpiece. "You are already drawing attention."
"Yeah, you think?"
Tony glanced down at himself. Red-and-gold Iron Man armor, scorched, dented, and still glowing in places. Sand clung to the joints. One forearm plate sat slightly misaligned from Jawa interest and emergency repairs.
Yeah. He definitely stuck out.
Step one: fix that.
He quickly ducked into a shadowy alley between two crumbling stone buildings that looked about five bad decisions away from collapsing.
"Alright, let's lose the flashy getup."
With a hiss of hydraulics, the Iron Man suit unlocked along its seams. Plates shifted back in practiced sequence, servos whining as Tony stepped out of the armor like a man peeling himself out of a very expensive metal coffin.
"Man, I love modular deployment," he said, rolling his shoulders.
The suit remained in low-power mode, standing motionless in the alley with scorch marks across its plating and sand gathering in the joints.
"Alright, J, let's stash this thing somewhere inconspicuous."
"Scanning. The safest nearby location appears to be a concealed space beneath that abandoned cargo platform to your left."
Tony turned and spotted a half-collapsed structure, its foundation forming a makeshift crawl space.
"Eh. Not exactly Fort Knox, but it'll do."
He tapped the control on his wrist. The Iron Man suit responded immediately, stepping forward with a slow mechanical whir before crouching and sliding neatly beneath the platform, blending in with the scattered junk and shadows. With the suit secured, Tony slipped in his earpiece and activated his augmented sunglasses. His HUD flashed to life across the lenses.
"Alright. Now I just look like a mysterious off-worlder with expensive taste. How's my power level looking, J?"
"Still at six point four percent. Suit is in low-power mode and concealed."
"Good. Because if someone steals my armor, I will commit war crimes."
After one last glance at his stashed gear, Tony stepped out onto the main street and adjusted his sunglasses.
Step two: get the lay of the land.
Tony walked through Mos Eisley, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells. Aliens bartered and argued in front of makeshift market stalls. Some traded junked droid parts, others hawked weapons, and a few were peddling food items that looked one stomach flu away from murder.
He sidestepped a pair of bickering Rodians gesturing wildly at a blaster rifle and nearly bumped into a large, fur-covered brute that growled something unfriendly.
"Easy there, furball," Tony muttered, sidestepping.
The alien snorted and walked off grumbling.
"I gotta say, J, this place has got character."
"I believe the appropriate term is a high-risk trade settlement with limited law enforcement, active black-market commerce, and a remarkable number of armed patrons."
Tony chuckled.
"So, space Vegas with worse hygiene."
He took another step and immediately had to dodge a Jawa trying to pickpocket him.
"Hey!" Tony swatted the little thief away. "Hands to yourself, buddy."
The Jawa squeaked and scampered into the crowd.
Tony shook his head.
"I swear, if I ever make it back home, I'm slapping an anti-theft system on everything I own."
After a few more steps, he noticed a familiar buzzing sound in the distance. A cantina sat down the street, loud with music, laughter, and the low ugly murmur of people who probably kept blasters closer than wallets. Tony stopped in front of the entrance and eyed the dusty, weathered sign above the door.
He cracked a small grin.
"Jarvis, I think I just found my new favorite dive bar."
"Sir, I would advise caution."
"Relax, I just want to look around. Maybe get a drink. Not like I'm gonna start a bar fight."
Jarvis sighed, but Tony was already stepping through the entrance.
The cantina was loud, packed, and smelled like unwashed boots and desperation. Aliens of every shape and size occupied the tables. Some hunched over drinks. Others muttered over deals. A few lurked in the shadows like they were waiting for the next bounty to walk through the door. In the corner, a band of small, bizarre-looking musicians played a catchy but oddly repetitive tune that Tony suspected would still be stuck in his head during his autopsy.
Tony took it all in.
"This place is fantastic. I feel like I just walked onto the set of a seventies sci-fi flick."
He strolled over to the bar counter, squeezing between a bug-eyed alien and something that looked like a sentient walrus. The bartender, a gruff-looking human with thinning hair, glanced up without enthusiasm.
Tony flashed him a winning smile.
"So, what's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?"
The bartender stared at him.
"You got credits?"
Tony patted his empty utility belt.
"Ah, that would be a no. But listen, I am fantastic company. I promise, one drink, and you'll be telling your grandkids you once served a legend."
The bartender did not blink.
"No credits, no drink."
Tony sighed.
"Wow. Tough crowd."
Before he could formulate a new hustle, a large shadow fell over him.
Tony turned and found himself face to face with a big, angry, tusked alien who did not look like he was there for the music. The alien grunted something deep and guttural.
Tony frowned.
"Jarvis, wanna translate that?"
A brief pause followed.
"Contextual translation suggests: You are in my spot."
Tony slowly turned back toward the bartender.
"J, buddy, what are the odds this guy will just let me slide over?"
"Given his stance and demeanor, I'd estimate four percent."
Tony sighed.
"Awesome."
The alien growled and cracked his knuckles. Tony lifted both hands, offering a sheepish grin.
"Hey, big guy, let's keep this civil, huh? I'm new in town, just looking for a drink. No need for the welcome punch to the face."
The alien grunted again.
Jarvis spoke in his ear.
"He appears to have added an insult directed at your face."
Tony groaned.
"Well, that's just rude."
Tony had been in bars before. Fancy rooftop bars. Seedy underground bars. A bar inside a Helicarrier once, which had been a weird night for several reasons. But this cantina was shaping up to be the most memorable yet, for all the wrong reasons.
The tusked alien standing in front of him had about three hundred pounds of muscle, breath that smelled like fermented garbage, and a face that looked like it had lost a fight with a landspeeder.
"Alright, big guy," Tony said, raising his hands casually. "I get it. Your seat. No hard feelings. I'm happy to move. Let's keep those fists exactly where they are, preferably far away from my face."
The alien grunted, unimpressed.
Jarvis spoke again.
"Sir, he appears to be reconsidering whether or not to break your ribs."
"Fantastic. Let's hope he keeps reconsidering."
Then Tony did something unfortunate.
Not intentionally. Not maliciously.
He shrugged.
In doing so, his elbow smacked the alien's drink and knocked it over.
The liquid splashed everywhere.
Right onto the guy's fur-covered vest.
The entire cantina went dead silent.
Even the band stopped playing.
Tony slowly looked down at the spilled drink. Then he looked back up at the alien, whose eye was twitching like he was about to explode.
"…So, just spitballing here, but I'm guessing that's a problem?"
The alien roared.
Tony sighed.
"Yeah, that's a problem."
Before he could react, the massive alien grabbed him by the front of his undersuit and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Tony's feet dangled inches above the floor as the grip squeezed his ribs.
"Oh wow," Tony wheezed. "You work out, huh? Lifting routine? You got that strongman grip. Really impressive stuff."
The alien reeled back a fist the size of a ham.
Tony braced for impact.
Then a new voice cut through the tension.
"Hey, big guy!"
The voice was cocky, confident, and full of swagger.
Tony turned his head as much as he could while still being manhandled. At the entrance of the cantina stood two figures. The first was young enough to still wear arrogance like armor, but weathered enough that the blaster on his hip looked used instead of decorative. He had brown hair, a smug grin, and a beat-up jacket over a loose white shirt, moving with the kind of confidence that came from surviving bad odds and bragging about it later.
The second figure was seven feet of furry walking carpet with bandoliers, sharp teeth, and a low warning growl that made several patrons instinctively back away.
Tony blinked.
"Jarvis, tell me I did not just get rescued by a space cowboy and Bigfoot."
The young smuggler swaggered forward, eyeing the tusked alien still holding Tony.
"You still owe us money, pal," Han said, leaning against the bar like he owned it. "Remember that? Or did you spend it all on that ugly vest?"
The alien's anger flickered into hesitation.
Han crossed his arms.
"We had a deal, Ugnor. You get the parts, and we get paid. Instead, you ran off, and now you're in here trying to redecorate this guy's face? That's my job."
Tony scoffed.
"Yeah, no offense, but I prefer my face not rearranged."
Ugnor grumbled something in deep, guttural tones.
Jarvis spoke quietly.
"He claims he would pay when he had the credits."
Chewbacca growled in response, cracking his huge knuckles.
Han nodded.
"Yeah, well, we don't like waiting."
Tony raised one hand as best he could while still hanging in the air.
"Hey, I just want to point out that I am not actually part of this."
Before anyone could answer, Ugnor roared and lunged at Han.
Tony got thrown aside like a sack of potatoes.
He crashed into a table, sent drinks flying, and rolled onto the floor with a groan.
"Ow."
Then the cantina exploded into chaos.
The first punch landed hard. Han ducked under a wild swing, slugged Ugnor in the gut, and immediately dodged behind a chair as Chewbacca grabbed another alien and threw him across the room. Tony pushed himself up, shook his head, and found three separate fights breaking out around him.
"Oh, great. This is happening."
A bottle shattered as someone got slammed into the bar counter. A Rodian flopped onto a table. A blaster shot hit the ceiling, making the band scream and scatter. Tony dusted himself off and adjusted his sunglasses.
"Okay, introductions are overdue. I'm Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, inventor, occasional superhero, and…"
He ducked a flying chair.
"…currently regretting every decision that led to this moment."
Han grinned as he dodged a punch.
"Han Solo. Smuggler, pilot, very good-looking rogue…"
He kicked an alien square in the chest.
"…and about to win this fight."
Chewbacca let out a thunderous roar and smashed a thug into the wall with one massive paw.
Tony pointed at the Wookiee.
"And let me guess, your muscle? Your… whatever-he-is?"
Han nodded.
"Chewbacca."
Tony smirked.
"I like him already."
Before Han could respond, another alien brute lunged at Tony. Tony sidestepped and redirected the brute's momentum into a support beam with a hard crash.
"Hope you had insurance!"
The fight kept going. Blaster shots scorched the walls. Aliens flew over tables. The bartender ducked behind the counter and grumbled to himself like this was barely the worst thing to happen before lunch.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Ugnor staggered to his feet with a groan. Han stepped forward and leveled his blaster at the alien's head. Chewbacca growled for emphasis, low and dangerous.
"You owe us," Han said, calm but firm. "Pay up, or next time you won't be walking out of here."
Ugnor grumbled under his breath, then tossed a small credit chip at Han.
Han caught it and smirked.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
Tony dusted himself off and rubbed his sore ribs.
"Well. That was fun."
Han turned to him.
"So… Stark, was it?"
Tony adjusted his sunglasses.
"That's me. Tony Stark. Billionaire, genius, and apparently cantina brawl champion."
Han smirked.
"I like you, Stark. Let me buy you a drink."
Tony exhaled and cracked his neck.
"Finally, someone with manners."
The band hesitantly started playing again, though the tune sounded a little more nervous now. Tony leaned against the bar and watched Han casually flip the credit chip between his fingers. Chewbacca sat beside him, taking up far more space than seemed physically reasonable, his massive frame making the barstool look like a toy.
The cantina slowly returned to its usual level of shady business. Broken furniture got kicked aside. Conversations resumed. The bartender emerged from behind the counter with the exhausted expression of a man who had stopped expecting better from anyone.
A drink was set in front of Tony, some sort of murky amber liquid in a dinged-up metal cup. He eyed it with mild suspicion before glancing at Han.
"So, what exactly am I drinking here? Because if it's battery acid, I'd like to know beforehand."
Han smirked.
"It's local stuff. Strong. You'll live."
"That's reassuring," Tony muttered.
He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.
The burn hit instantly.
Tony coughed, blinking rapidly.
"Oh. Oh wow. That's… something." He cleared his throat. "Is that supposed to taste like jet fuel? Because I feel like I just swallowed a reactor core."
Han chuckled.
"Some people can't handle it."
Tony scoffed, setting the cup down.
"Hey, I've downed drinks with Norse gods before. This is just different. Like, did you distill this in a speeder engine different."
Han grinned.
"If it gets the job done, who cares?"
Tony exhaled, still feeling the burn claw down his throat. He set the cup aside and leaned forward.
"Alright, now that we've all successfully broken at least one law in this bar, I have a question."
Han raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
Tony rested his forearms on the bar.
"Do either of you know how to get to Earth?"
Han's expression shifted. He glanced at Chewbacca, who gave a low questioning grunt, then looked back at Tony with an amused smirk.
"Earth?" Han repeated, as if testing the word.
Tony nodded.
"Yeah. Planet. Third from the sun. Blue, white, green. Very scenic. Great pizza."
Han shrugged.
"Never heard of it."
Tony blinked.
"Come again?"
Chewbacca rumbled something.
Han nodded.
"Yeah, Chewie either."
Tony frowned.
"Okay, that's weird. You're human. You should know Earth."
Han gave him a sideways look.
"I'm Corellian."
Tony squinted at him.
"I don't know what that means."
"Means I'm from Corellia," Han said, gesturing loosely. "Not this Earth place you keep talking about."
Tony rubbed his temples.
"Alright, hold on. You're human. You look human. So logically, you should know Earth. That's, like, the flagship planet for humans."
Han smirked.
"Buddy, you ever think maybe you're the one in the wrong place?"
Tony exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face.
"The hits just keep coming. No Google Maps, no GPS, and now I find out I'm in a galaxy where people who look human don't even know what Earth is."
Han took a sip of his own drink.
"That's rough, but hey, at least you made a couple new friends, right?"
Tony gestured between them.
"Oh yeah, totally. Bonding over bar fights and identity crises. It's great."
Han smirked.
"Glad we agree."
He stretched before standing and adjusting his belt.
"Anyway, drink's about as far as thanks goes. Free rides? Not really our thing."
Chewbacca gave a deep grunt of agreement and stood as well.
Tony sighed.
"Right. And here I was thinking we were becoming best buddies."
Han grinned.
"Sorry, Stark. We got places to be."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han let out a groan, rubbing his face.
"Oh, right. We don't actually have places to be until we get the Falcon fixed."
Tony, still processing everything, perked up slightly.
"Falcon?"
Han waved dismissively.
"Ship."
Chewbacca let out a low growl and jabbed a finger at Han's chest.
Han rolled his eyes.
"Oh, here we go again."
Tony glanced between them.
"Uh-oh. What's happening?"
Chewbacca growled something longer this time, pointing aggressively at Han, who groaned louder.
Han turned to Tony.
"He says it's my fault the Falcon needs fixing. Which is wrong."
Chewbacca barked something.
Han frowned.
"Oh, so now you remember how you fried the stabilizer when you panicked and swung us into that asteroid field?"
Chewbacca growled.
Han pointed a finger at him.
"You did."
Chewbacca crossed his arms and growled lower.
Han scoffed.
"Okay, first of all, I was flying because someone thought yelling at the targeting system was going to make it fix itself."
Chewbacca huffed and shook his head.
Tony watched them with mild amusement.
"This is fun. You guys do this often?"
Han threw up his hands.
"Every. Damn. Time."
Chewbacca barked again.
Han waved him off.
"Oh, don't start. Look, bottom line, the Falcon needs work. And unlike some people, I actually know how to fix her."
Tony's mind was already clicking into gear.
"Alright. Hold up."
Han turned back to him.
"What?"
Tony crossed his arms.
"You said you need to fix your ship. I happen to be really, really good at fixing things. Machines, engines, reactors, impossible technology no one should be touching without a doctorate, you name it."
Han smirked.
"Oh yeah?"
Tony tilted his head.
"Yeah. And I also happen to need a ride around this big, weird galaxy of yours until I figure out how to get home."
Han arched an eyebrow.
"You proposing a deal?"
Tony spread his arms.
"You let me roll with you, and I'll fix your Falcon. I assume it's a piece of junk based on how mad he is at you, so you're going to want someone who actually knows what he's doing."
Han chuckled.
"Hey. The Falcon's not a piece of junk."
Chewbacca snorted.
Han shot him a look.
"She's not."
Chewbacca growled something under his breath.
Han glanced toward the cantina doors, jaw working like he was doing math he hated.
"We've got a job waiting," he said. "Ship needs to fly, and I don't have time to argue with a busted hyperdrive."
Tony gestured between them.
"So what do you say? You need a mechanic, and I need a way around. Seems like a win-win."
Han eyed him for a long moment, his gaze flicking over Tony's face, the strange clothes beneath the travel grime, and the faint glow of the earpiece at his ear.
"You fix the Falcon first," Han said. "No fix, no ride."
Tony smirked.
"Reasonable. Annoying, but reasonable."
Chewbacca rumbled something.
Han nodded.
"And Chewie says if you break anything important, he's throwing you out of the ship."
Tony glanced up at the Wookiee.
"Good terms. Very professional."
Han shook his head.
"You're a pain in the ass, Stark."
Tony grinned.
"Yeah, but I'm useful."
Han sighed.
"Fine. You're in, pending actual results."
Tony clapped his hands together.
"Perfect. Lead the way to the alleged spaceship."
Han gestured toward the exit.
"Docked outside town. Let's see if you're as good as you say you are."
Tony grabbed his drink and downed the rest in one go. He coughed again, hard enough to make his eyes water.
"Still tastes like jet fuel," he muttered, setting the cup down before following them out into the hot desert air.
Tony walked alongside Han and Chewbacca through the dusty streets of Mos Eisley, the heat from the twin suns beating down on them. The place smelled like dry sand, old oil, hot metal, and regret. Speeders zipped past. Creatures Tony still could not classify shuffled along, minding their own business with the practiced indifference of people who had seen worse.
Tony adjusted his sunglasses and exhaled.
"Before we head to your Falcon, we need to make a quick stop."
Han shot him a look.
"Yeah? For what?"
Tony waved a hand.
"Just need to pick up my suit."
Han frowned.
"Your suit?"
Chewbacca gave a questioning grunt.
"Yeah. Left it somewhere safe. I'd rather not leave it lying around for those little robe-wearing goblins to tear apart and sell for parts."
Han squinted at him.
"What kind of suit are we talking about? Some high-end noble's clothes? Fancy uniform? Because unless you're hiding a stash of credits in the pockets, I don't see why we need to bother."
Tony smirked.
"Oh, it's a bit more high-end than that."
Han and Chewbacca exchanged a glance but followed him through a few winding alleys until Tony stopped at a half-collapsed cargo platform. He walked over, knocked twice on the rusted metal, then tapped a control on his wrist.
With a faint whirr, the Iron Man suit came to life beneath the platform's shadows. The red-and-gold armor unfolded from its crouched position, its arc reactor pulsing weakly through grime and scorch marks. Servo motors clicked into motion, the eyes lit with a sharp glow, and with a final hiss of hydraulics, the armor stepped out into the sunlight.
Han froze.
Chewbacca let out a low, surprised rumble.
Tony casually gestured at it.
"And that's my suit."
Han blinked.
"What the hell is that?"
Chewbacca took a step back, fur bristling slightly.
Tony clapped his hands together.
"Gentlemen, meet my ride, my protection, my personal multi-billion-dollar flying fortress, the Iron Man suit."
Han shook his head and rubbed his eyes like he was seeing things.
"That's not a suit. That's… what even is that?"
Chewbacca growled something and leaned forward to inspect it closer.
Tony smirked.
"It's a fully integrated, AI-assisted exo-armor system with flight capabilities, advanced targeting, repulsor-based weaponry, modular deployment, and, get this, it looks amazing."
Han circled the armor, his skepticism fighting a losing battle against obvious interest.
"I've seen a lot of tech in my time, but I've never seen anything like this."
Tony patted the armor's shoulder.
"Yeah, well, you're looking at the only one in existence. Custom-made, one-of-a-kind, and trust me, it makes quite the impression."
Han crossed his arms.
"I bet it'd fetch a real pretty price."
Tony turned to him with a deadpan look.
"Don't even think about it, Smuggles."
Han grinned.
"Relax. Just saying, a suit like that? There are people out there who'd kill for it."
Tony sighed.
"Yeah, painfully aware of that."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han chuckled.
"Yeah, Chewie's got a point. You sure it's safe leaving it out here?"
Tony tapped the control again. The suit unfolded along its back and chest plates, servos opening with practiced precision. He stepped into it smoothly, and the armor sealed around him piece by piece. The HUD lit up inside his helmet.
"Oh yeah," Tony said, his voice now layered with the suit's electronic filter. "I think I'll manage."
Han let out a low whistle.
"Okay. That's cool."
Tony grinned behind his helmet.
"Glad you approve. Now let's go fix your junk heap."
Han's smirk vanished.
"Hey. The Falcon's not a junk heap."
Chewbacca gave a questioning growl.
Han pointed at him.
"Not now, Chewie."
Tony chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's just get to your ship."
When they arrived at Docking Bay 94, Tony took one look at the Millennium Falcon and let out a slow whistle.
"…Okay, I take it back. This is absolutely a junk heap."
Han's jaw clenched.
"Hey! Watch it. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts."
Chewbacca groaned and rubbed his forehead.
Tony walked up the loading ramp, inspecting the ship's hull. Patchwork plating covered the exterior, along with scorch marks, mismatched panels, and repairs that looked like they had been done in a hurry while someone was shooting at the mechanic.
"Right. Because when I look at a ship covered in patchwork plating and questionable engineering, I definitely think high-performance machine."
Han scoffed.
"You don't know a thing about ships."
Tony smirked.
"I know machines. And this?" He knocked on the hull, making one metal plate rattle. "This looks like it's held together by hope, fraud, and somebody's unresolved commitment issues."
Han rolled his eyes.
"You gonna help or just stand there making jokes?"
Tony cracked his knuckles inside the gauntlets.
"Alright, let's see what we're working with."
Han gestured toward an exposed panel Chewbacca had clearly been working on earlier.
"Hyperdrive took a hit. Stabilizers are off balance. We've also got a very annoying power fluctuation issue."
Chewbacca growled in agreement.
Tony crouched beside the open panel and scanned the wiring.
"I can see why. This thing is running on tech that looks like it was slapped together by a guy who only sort of understood what he was doing."
Han crossed his arms.
"That'd be me."
Tony glanced up.
"Yeah, that tracks."
Han scowled.
"Just fix it."
Tony grinned.
"Gladly."
He got to work, hands moving over exposed wiring, rerouting circuits and replacing what he could with the parts scattered around. The technology was unfamiliar in layout but not in principle. Power came in, power went out, regulators failed, stabilizers complained, and somewhere in every machine, no matter the galaxy, some idiot had decided one extra layer of insulation was too much trouble.
After a few minutes, Chewbacca leaned past Tony, pointed at a scorched junction half-hidden beneath the panel, and barked a warning.
Tony paused, followed the line with his eyes, then gave a grudging nod.
"Okay. Good catch, big guy. That would've cooked the stabilizer the second I rerouted power."
Chewbacca huffed, satisfied.
Han looked offended.
Tony glanced at him.
"What? He gets points for not letting me explode the ship."
Han muttered something under his breath.
Tony went back to work.
"Alright, while I'm doing this, I need access to your tools and spare parts. Also, anything that resembles a high-output power source."
Han raised an eyebrow.
"What for?"
Tony jerked a thumb toward his armor.
"Gotta fix my suit up. She took a bit of a beating."
Han shrugged.
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Just don't go ripping out any important systems."
Tony nodded and moved toward the Falcon's small workbench. Then he tapped the side of his helmet.
"Alright, time to meet the team."
Han frowned.
"What?"
The suit's audio system clicked, and a smooth British-accented voice chimed in.
"Ah, I see you've made new acquaintances, sir."
Han and Chewbacca both flinched. Han's hand went immediately to his blaster.
Tony waved him off.
"Relax. Han, Chewie, meet Jarvis. My personal AI assistant."
Han blinked.
"Your what?"
"AI. Smart program. My digital butler."
Jarvis spoke again.
"Pleasure to meet you, Captain Solo and Chewbacca."
Chewbacca gave a surprised grunt and leaned closer, staring at the armor like it might bite him.
Han narrowed his eyes.
"It talks?"
Tony smirked.
"Yeah. And he's a lot more polite than you."
Han huffed.
"Great. Another mouth to feed."
Tony shook his head.
"Doesn't eat. Just helps me not die."
"An undervalued service, might I add," Jarvis said.
Tony grinned.
"See? He gets me."
Han sighed and shook his head.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Tony clapped his hands together.
"Alright, boys. Let's get to work."
As he dug into the repairs, Tony felt the familiar pull of a problem worth solving. Strange planet? Terrifying. No Earth? Bad. No idea how to get home? Definitely going on the list. But cracked systems, unstable power flow, and a ship that needed someone smarter than its owner? That he could handle.
Maybe being stranded in space was not the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
No.
Actually, it was pretty high on the list.
But at least he had tools.
The steady hum of machinery filled the docking bay as Tony worked through the final tweaks on the Falcon's exposed wiring. Sparks flickered occasionally, but for the most part, things were coming together a lot more smoothly than expected.
He had worked in worse conditions before. A cave in Afghanistan with scraps and a car battery? Check. New York collapsing around him during an alien invasion? Check. Lost in a galaxy where no one had ever heard of Earth? Still processing that one.
At least this kept his hands busy.
Han sat back on a crate with his arms crossed, watching with what Tony could only describe as mild skepticism mixed with reluctant admiration. Chewbacca hovered nearby, though he spent almost as much time studying the Iron Man suit as he did watching Tony fix the ship.
"Alright, progress report," Tony muttered, stretching his fingers as he stood. "Falcon's power flow is stabilized, hyperdrive should stop hiccuping, and most importantly, I managed to reroute enough energy to charge my suit without accidentally turning your ship into a toaster."
The Iron Man armor was connected to the Falcon's power system, cables running from the ship's paneling to the arc reactor. The suit sat in low-power recharge mode, its chest piece glowing a little stronger than before.
Han shook his head, smirking.
"Gotta admit, Stark, you work fast."
Tony grinned.
"What can I say? It's almost like I built high-tech machinery for a living."
Chewbacca rumbled something and nodded approvingly as he studied the suit.
Han glanced at him.
"Yeah, yeah, Chewie. I said he's good."
Tony dusted off his hands.
"You sound surprised."
Han leaned against the Falcon's ramp, arms still crossed.
"I don't exactly let strangers mess with my ship. But you? You actually fixed stuff. That hyperdrive's been giving us problems for weeks."
Tony smirked.
"Well, good thing you ran into a guy who graduated top of his class in miracle engineering."
Han chuckled.
"Right. Miracle engineering. That what you call that suit of yours?"
Tony turned toward the armor, tilting his head.
"It's a little more than engineering, but yeah. Had to build something to keep me alive. Kinda got attached to it."
Han nodded.
"I get it. Ship's kinda the same way for me."
Chewbacca gave a gruff snort.
Han rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Chewie, you too."
Tony leaned against a nearby workbench.
"Alright, I gotta ask. Since we're getting all friendly now, what's the deal with this galaxy? What's the power structure? How does any of this work?"
Han gave him a strange look.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Tony said, gesturing vaguely, "I just crash-landed in an entirely new galaxy, and I still don't know what the hell the big players are. I assume there's some government or ruling body?"
Han scoffed.
"Yeah. The Empire."
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"The Empire?"
Han nodded.
"Yeah. Big, bad, and everywhere. You don't know about them?"
Tony shook his head.
"Nope."
Han blinked.
"How? You live under a rock?"
Tony chuckled.
"Funny. No, I lived on a different planet entirely."
Han narrowed his eyes.
"Wait, you're telling me you don't know anything about the Empire?"
Tony spread his arms.
"You're catching on."
Chewbacca let out a low, confused rumble.
Han shook his head.
"Okay, let's break this down real simple. The Empire? Bad guys. Giant fleet. Controls damn near everything. If you piss them off, you either get locked up, frozen, or blasted into space dust."
Tony frowned.
"That sounds… familiar."
Han smirked.
"Yeah? Your home got its own set of tyrants?"
Tony exhaled.
"Oh yeah. Not on this scale, though. We've had our share of bad guys trying to control everything, but not galactic-domination levels."
Han nodded.
"Well, that's the situation here. Used to be a Republic, but that went up in flames a while back. Now the Emperor calls the shots. Stormtroopers everywhere. It's a mess."
Tony frowned.
"So what, you guys just deal with it?"
Han chuckled.
"Nah. You've got people trying to fight back. Rebels."
Tony's interest sharpened.
"Rebels?"
"Yeah. They make noise, blow up Imperial hardware, and get chased across half the galaxy for it. Brave, maybe. Bad for business, definitely."
Tony crossed his arms, thinking.
"Huh. So it's oppressive dictatorship versus ragtag resistance."
Han shrugged.
"Something like that. Just don't say it too loud around anyone wearing white armor."
Tony sighed and rubbed his chin.
"Okay, see, this is why I don't do space travel. You think you've solved all the problems back home, and boom, you wake up in another galaxy with the exact same nonsense."
Han smirked.
"Yeah. Welcome to the Outer Rim."
Chewbacca let out a deep growl and folded his arms.
Tony glanced at him.
"Lemme guess, he talks too much?"
Han snorted.
"Pretty much."
Tony grinned.
"Hey, it's part of my charm."
Han shook his head, still looking at Tony like he was some kind of walking malfunction.
"Still can't believe you've never heard of any of this."
Tony exhaled.
"Well, believe it. It's been a long day."
Han sat back on the crate again.
"So, this Earth of yours. What's the deal with that?"
Tony shrugged, but the motion came slower this time.
"Not nearly as crazy as this place. Lots of wars. Too much politics. Good food. Bad traffic. I mostly focused on the science side of things, or at least I did before I got thrown into a wormhole and spat out here."
Han smirked.
"Science guy, huh?"
Tony pointed at the suit.
"You don't build something like this without knowing how to use a circuit board."
Han eyed the armor again and shook his head.
"Still, I've seen a lot of tech in my time, but nothing like that."
Chewbacca grumbled in agreement.
Tony smirked.
"Well then, you two just hit the jackpot. You're looking at the best engineer in the galaxy. You're welcome."
Han chuckled.
"You got confidence, I'll give you that."
Tony tapped the arc reactor on the suit's chest.
"Comes with the territory."
The Falcon hummed as its systems came back online, and the power readings stabilized. Tony checked the suit's status on his HUD. Thirty-five percent charged. Not bad.
Not enough to get him home. Not enough to call Pepper. Not enough to tell the Avengers he was alive. But enough to keep moving.
Han stood.
"Alright, Stark. You fixed my ship, got your suit charging. What now?"
Tony stretched and cracked his neck.
"Well, unless you've got a magic portal that takes me home, I guess I'm sticking with you guys for a while."
Han sighed.
"Yeah, figures."
Chewbacca rumbled something, and Han gave him a look.
"No, we're not charging him."
Tony grinned.
"Aw, you're letting me stay for free? Han, I'm touched."
Han scoffed.
"You're fixing the ship. That's your payment."
Tony clapped his hands together.
"Fair deal."
Han shook his head, chuckling despite himself.
"Alright, genius. Welcome aboard."
Tony smirked.
"Oh, this is gonna be fun."
As he turned back to his suit, he couldn't help but feel it, the strange, sharp edge of the day catching up to him beneath the sarcasm.
That morning, he had been fighting over Manhattan with the Avengers.
Now he was on a desert planet under two suns, fixing a smuggler's ship with a Wookiee watching over his shoulder and no idea how far home really was.
Yeah.
This was going to be interesting.