charlieblue: (Default)
Something like a crossroads song ([personal profile] charlieblue) wrote on June 7th, 2008 at 05:20 am
Fic: Five Collisions of the Stark Kind
Title: Five Collisions of the Stark Kind
Summary: Five drabbles crossing Tony Stark into the universes of Supernatural, Stargate SG1, Doctor Who, Stargate: Atlantis and House, M.D.
Pairings: Gen. Maybe vague slashiness. If you're dizzy and have blurred vision. And are slightly-clinically-insanely-impaired-by-fandom. Which is only as it should be.
Rating: PG/13-ish for language.
Characters: Tony Stark, Rhodey, Dean Winchester, Samantha Carter, Jack O'Neill, the Doctor, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, House, Cuddy.
Wordcount: All up, ~2000.

1. Supernatural

A superhero came spiralling out of the sky.

And landed, hard, on the hood of a black 1967 Chevy Impala.

‘Aw, come on! No way. No fuckin’ way.’ An irate head popped out of the driver’s seat window.
The Iron Man made an idle effort at extricating himself, then gave up, collapsing back into the crumpled remains of the hood.

‘You are so paying for this!’ Dean Winchester’s door screamed as he threw it open, jumped out, and slammed it furiously, striding around the front of the car, frantically examining the damage, all the while totally ignoring the gigantic red and gold robot collapsed across it.

‘Chill dude.’ The snarky voice emanated from the grim mouth, along with an exhausted sigh and a proprietary, abortive gesture. ‘I’ll buy you ten more just like it.’

Dean gaped at the – clearly a maniac – guy for a moment, then grabbed his head in horror as he broke through the shock and realized the full extent of the damage.

‘No, no, no, no, no. Man, I love this one.’

‘Oh.’ The entire suit of armour seemed to deflate for a moment.

‘That makes things slightly more complicated.’

Dean’s face seemed to go slightly psychopathic, and he crouched down so he was eye-to-eye with the sleek head where it was thrown back tiredly, and ground out his next words in a tone distinctly lower than normal for a sane man,

‘Oh, I’ll say.’


2. Stargate SG1

When most people saw the Stargate activate for the first time they froze, overcome with wonder, absolutely mindblown by the sheer impossible beauty of what they were seeing.

Tony Stark looked up from the PDA he’d been examining, narrowed his eyes, tilted his head slightly, and went, ‘huh,’ like the Gate was a slight challenge, a Rubik's Cube just begging to be solved in under twenty seconds so as to be shown off and gloated about.

Sam wasn’t intimidated. No way. Of course she wasn’t. And just because he’d somehow managed to grasp wormhole physics overnight after the urgent, top-secret briefing he’d received, and then gone on to figure out the key algorithm to fixing the spatial stabilization reactor within forty-eight hours, it didn’t mean that she was intellectually threatened, oh, no way, of course not.

Jack had, indirectly, been the one to bring Stark in – through Rhodey, whom he’d known for a fair few years – but he didn’t actually meet Stark till after the crisis was over.

Jack had only hung around because he missed the SGC and all its derring-do – although if you asked him, he’d never tell, and act glib instead, muttering facetiously about ‘bases under lockdown’ and ‘bloody inefficiency – never was like this in my day.’ And it would be done in such a way that you could never tell if he was serious or mocking the hell out of someone.

When Rhodey introduced them it was despite much frantic manoeuvring on Jack’s part to get out of it, and severe indifference on Tony’s.

He was still stripped town to his wifebeater, arc-reactor glowing through the black material, with miscellaneous alien grease and dirt covering every square inch of uncovered skin. He hadn’t slept more than five hours in the past three days, and had somehow managed to get his hands on a glass of whiskey in the middle of the SGC underground base.

Jack took all this in with a faintly contemptuous air about him, and then Stark grinned charmingly, made a sarcastic comment about the horrendous decorating choices, waving his glass airily, and they were off and running.

Sam never knew what they talked about, but Jack came away smiling, and Jack never came away smiling from encounters with the rich, famous, arrogant, scientific or business-orientated. And certainly not if it was a combination of all of those, which Stark most definitely was.

Stark, for his part, slung an arm around Rhodey on the way out, and threw a lop-sided grin back over his shoulder at Jack, and rubbed his unshaven jaw consideringly.

‘I like him.’

Rhodey raised his eyebrows. Tony never liked people.


3. Doctor Who

He walked backwards around the Iron Man suit, shoes scuffing on the floor.

‘Oh, you are beautiful. No, no, I really mean it, this is just, this is absolutely gorgeous. Way, way, way, way, waaaay ahead of its time. And this isn’t just empty flattery, you know, this is just – I – I’m utterly and completely gobsmacked. Totally lost for words. I’m not just being nice here, and don’t get me wrong, I do do nice occasionally, and wow. Did I really just say ‘do do’?’

His mouth gaped for a moment. ‘Remind me to never do that.’

He took a deep sniff in through his nose, breathing in the metallic, electric air of Tony’s underground lab.

‘Now wait a tick, where was I?’

Tony was slumped against a workbench, half drunk out of his mind, eyeing the man in a totally nonplussed manner.

His intoxicated mind was still trying vainly to simultaneously figure out what the hell that siren noise had been, whether it could have possibly had any connection to the blue box that had appeared out of thin air, the probability of which was, rather admittedly, looking quite likely, while at the same time extrapolating the most workable hypothesis for the transformation and transportation of solid matter through space.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the disparate threads of numbers, emotions and images that had been flashing through his brain prior to the odd phenomena of the appearing blue box and quite-likely-possibly-positively-related-sirens.

‘Gah!’ Tony exclaimed, as the stranger was suddenly and quite inexplicably far too close, staring down his nose at him.

‘Are you drunk?’ The stranger’s voice seemed to soar upwards by several octaves, and he peered at Tony like he was a particularly shocking insect.

Tony’s brain apparently decided to completely bypass the standard stranger-danger alert in favour of the even deeper instinct that was yelling its head off like a toddler - of not wanting to be alone.

And besides, there was something about this man that all at once screamed danger and glowed family and said somehow already and not yet known to Tony’s euphoric and open state of mind.

‘Yeah.’ He slurred defensively. ‘Wanna join me?’

The Doctor leaned back on his heels, eyes gone inexpressibly dark for a moment, as he examined Tony, mouth full of the sour taste of his alcohol fumes. The expression on his face was terrible and timeless, full of pity and disgust, of tragedy and impotent fury, and full of mercy and acceptance.

‘Okay.’ He said it softly and slowly, as if committing the greatest of sins. ‘Okay Tony, I will drink with you.’

The Tony the Doctor knew, the Tony in the future, had devils and demons in him that he had pushed down only by the greatest force of will, overcoming alcoholism only by the deepest, tearing strings of his soul.

The Tony the Doctor knew of hated, feared and so deeply desired the very state that the Doctor was now seeing him in with a deeply buried fervour.

And so, to drink with him now, to, in a way, enable this, was both the greatest betrayal imaginable to that future Tony, and the only solace the Doctor could think of, or was able to offer the Tony of the present, the Tony in front of him, brilliant and tragic.

Three hours (and the five bottles it had taken to get the Doctor drunk, plus another, nearly-emptied one for Tony) later, they were collapsed over each other, giggling madly at a joke Captain Jack had once told the Doctor involving seven Myonites, a three-headed humanoid, an army of Ood, and a relentlessly broken toilet.


4. Stargate: Atlantis

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard lounged back and twiddled his thumbs blithely while the two maniacs smashed, cussed, wired and argued their way back and forth across the labs.

Eventually McKay came up to him, with Stark furiously prodding at something in the background with a tool that was, no doubt, highly complex and exotic, but looked to John suspiciously like a glorified prodding stick, which was apparently causing the lights of the entire area flicker.

‘I can’t take it!’ Rodney hissed, flinging a glowering glance over his shoulder. ‘That man is-'

‘What?’ John smirked provocatively, leaning back on his hands. ‘Smarter than you?’
Rodney scoffed.

‘Oh please. So the man is marginally more capable than any of my team. Just because your broad-spectrum level of comparative analysis is low due to them, don’t think it means you can belittle me on that totally unfeasible and unfair basis.’

John’s eyebrows made an odd, curvy-frown, abortive motion that Rodney had come to associate with mixed amusement and ‘pretending-I-don’t-understand-you-in-order-to-communicate-just-how-fucked-up-your-logic-is’ face.

A vaguely triumphant noise issued from Stark’s direction, and the all the lights cut out completely, along with every other running piece of technology in the room, before an unsettling buzz shivered through the city.

Then the lights flashed a dazzling shade of fluorescent blue before relaxing into the normal spectrum and John felt the City shift, as if it suddenly took a gasping breath after a near-drowning, and its imaginary heart-rate had skyrocketed, and the sudden, bursting life flowed through John like pure electricity.

It was only moments, but when he came back to the real, solid world, Stark was standing over him, obviously having muscled a disgruntled McKay out of the way, and was staring intently at him.

‘Do you feel it?’ The words were brusque, demanding an answer.

John pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and the sunbursts of colours behind his lids reminded him of the suddenly rejuvenated City, thrumming beneath his back – and since when had he been lying flat on the floor? – in a way he had never imagined possible.

Stark gently, but determinedly removed his hands from his eyes, and when John looked up, Stark’s eyes were huge.

‘Do you feel that?’ John breathed.

Stark smiled, and it was the first honest expression John had seen cross his face.

The exhilaration of technology that truly and completely interacted with the human body.

Atlantis. Iron Man.

These were the creations and definers of a civilization that was finally exceeding its mortal bounds.


5. House M.D

‘I made you a leg.’

House kept his eyes closed, head tilted back, and, in fact, made no indication that he’d heard the words at all over the first, screaming bars of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song. He’d purposefully put this album on at full blast in order to screw with the Cuddy-ordered differential to which he’d promptly set the newbies.

‘Sorry.’ House yelled after a moment, swinging his chair slightly, ‘We never buy from door-to-door sellers.’

When there was no answer, he reluctantly sat up and opened his eyes, one at a time.

There was nobody there.

He knew exactly who it had been, though, had recognized that distinctive voice from the first syllable.

There was, however, a sleek, futuristic, Terminator-style leg standing quite peacefully in the centre of his empty office.

He caned it to the open door and yelled down the hallway, where Stark’s flashy leather jacket could just be made out, swaggering around the corner.

‘Oh sure! I just can’t wait to amputate my own leg in order to attach this piece of digital crap!’ He hollered, adding a sarcastic head twist so that when Cuddy came into view, she was sideways-up and he had a completely new perspective on her breasts.

Tony waited till he was outside the hospital (and boy, the faces he’d gotten carrying a robotic leg around the place) then, grinning hugely behind his tinted aviators, sent House a text.

Let me know when you really want me to do something about that leg for you. It’s the least I can do.

He got one back exactly a minute and a half later.

First your heart, then my leg. You can’t play God, Stark, the part’s already covered.

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