A/N: I've been wanting to write for the MCU for awhile now but never had any precise idea of what to write about. Not until I saw Infinity war anyway, which is when the idea of a crossover with DW came to me.

So, this is post-Infinity War in the MCU, post-Hell Bent in DW although it's not necessary to be that familiar with DW to follow the story. Everything that happens in both universe is canon(-compliant for DW as Jack is travelling with Me and Clara) until that point.

Also, each chapter is based on a prompt.

Prompt: Hands of the Fate

CHAPTER 1

The Diner at the End of the Universe

The loud whirring sound stirred Tony from his lethargy. He rose to his feet, looking around for the source of the noise. From a corner of his eyes, he saw the alien lady do the same, Blue, he had decided since they still hadn't exchanged names and she was, well, blue all over, both of them instantly alert.

His gauntlet half-formed around his right hand, partly destroyed by his fight against Thanos but in much better shape than his left one, burnt and bloody. The repulsor blast wouldn't be of much use but Tony was sure it could pack enough of a punch to knock someone back and give Tony some time to think, very fast, of a plan to get out in one piece if whatever was coming was hostile.

The noise grew louder, closer while his vision flickered. He didn't allow himself to hope too much, after the ashes Thanos had left in his wake, Tony was sure things could get worse. Even without counting Thanos, the experiences of passing years had taught him. He had to close his eyes when a sensation akin to motion sickness took him.

"What the fuck?!" Blue exclaimed as the nausea eventually receded the moment the eerie sound vanished.

He immediately opened his eyes.

What the fuck, indeed.

They were standing what could only be described as a typical American diner. The floor was chess-patterned, a row of empty tables and red booths on his left. On his right, a long counter and barstools. At the end of the diner, a brown door with a man holding a guitar painted over it probably leading to the kitchen. He turned around, looking at the glass doors and windows leading outside. Beyond was the graveyard of metal skeletons and brown rocks, the sky bathed in a yellow light, that had became depressingly familiar.

"What's happening?" Tony asked the alien lady who had retreated to the diner entrance door and opened it, peering outside. She didn't get out though.

Her head snapped in her direction with a distinctly mechanical sound. "Do I look like I know?" she snarled, black eyes staring at him and an particularly unpleasant expression on her face.

"Hey! Don't snap at me." He brought his hands up in a defensive position. "You never know. I mean, It's my first rodeo in s—" He paused, images of black filled with an army filling his field of view. He blinked the memory away, correcting himself, "On an alien planet."

"The outside is still Titan," Blue said after a while. "As far as I can see, no threat incoming from that side. I've no idea what we're fucking idea what we're in though. A food-related place I guess?"

"The inside is an American diner."

"American diner?"

The confusion in her voice reminding Tony that she was an alien. "America is a place on Earth, that's where I'm from. Lots of great greasy and processed food. I love it," he informed her. "It doesn't explain why we're standing in a middle of a diner though."

He reached out to the nearest object, putting the palm of his hand flat against the countertop. It was cool and polished, solid and hard against his touch when he pressed. It felt real. Wanda's vision had felt real too, he reminded himself. Tony wondered if it had came to pass, if it was what was waiting for them once they had managed to get back to Earth. Was there even an Earth to return to or had Thanos' minions burnt it to ashes in their search for the Mind Stone? And, of course. He closed his eyes. Thanos had managed to put his plan in place. That could only mean that Vision too was go—

The door, the one leading to the back of the diner opened.

Behind him, he heard Blue move but didn't pay attention to her. The person who entered looked human, a woman in her twenties with shoulder-length brown hair. She was wearing black tights under a flower-patterned dark green dress, an emerald jacket thrown over it. Overall, very Earthly modern clothing, the kind that was comfortable without looking like a slob.

He felt himself relax just a little bit, because she could have been walking down the street to go to work; she didn't seem like a fighter nor did she have weapons that he could see. She didn't look hostile either so that was a good thing.

"Hello there," she said with a smile, her cheeks dimpling. It was almost as cute as the distinctly British accent. At least, until he was reminded of Vision, then he winced.

When she stepped into the room, Tony expected her to fade to ashes like P— he shut that train of thoughts. She didn't disappear. Instead, she walked to the other side of the counter while fishing a hair tie she used to pin her hair into a messy ponytail. "Are you okay?"

The absurdity of both the question and the situation made Tony laugh, dry, crazed and mean. He couldn't stop it. It soon morphed into a wheezing sound that slowly died away.

"Sorry, that was stupid of me. Come on, sit down."

She used both hands to pat the counter, in front of her, her tone authoritative. Tony had the feeling that she was used to be in control. He didn't mind following her order for now so he slipped into a barstool, hiding a wince as his body protested at the movements.

"Come on, Blue, you too," she added. Tony smirked at the fact she had used the same nickname as he had. The lack of surprise or judgment she had at Blue's appearance, as if she was used to see aliens, was also noted and stored it in a corner of his mind for further examination later.

"Nebula." Blue scowled. Still, she sat next to Tony, much to both his relief and unease. "My name is Nebula, not Blue."

"I didn't know your name until now though," the woman answered smoothly. "Nice to meet you, Nebula. I'm Clara." She turned to him then. He caught the slight frown when her eyes went to his nano-particles housing. It was soon replaced by curiosity. "And you?"

"Tony." He didn't bother with the family name as she hadn't given hers. Did she even had one?

As she turned her back to them, he slouched forward, crossing his arms on the countertop. He rested his head on his forearm. While observing her beginning to make coffee, Tony found himself wondering if she was like Quill, a human who had somehow managed to find her way to space or if she was an alien in human-clothing.

"You from Earth too?"

"Yes. We moved to London when I was young, but I was born in Blackpool and you can't take that out of me. I still have the accent. Now though." She stilled, then turned to face them. A small smile graced her face when she continued, "I'm travelling the stars with my ship and my grand crew of three people, me included. If you can consider that a crew. Still, that's one more person than I'm used to." The last part was a whisper that Tony wasn't sure was addressed to them. She sounded wistful, like an old woman reminiscing about long lost times. "You're welcome to join, of course. I mean, we can drop you off wherever you want."

"This is your ship?" Nebula sounded incredulous.

Tony agreed. It certainly didn't look like one. There was no sense in designing a spaceship, or any vehicle of any kind for that matter, with an opening to the outside that was a restaurant. He eyed the glass suspiciously, not quite sure they could even withstand the heating and cooling of entering and existed the atmosphere.

Tony couldn't help himself, really this was nonsense and he informed her, "I can't believe for one second that this can go through space. Or even lift itself off the ground. Trust me, I'm an engineer, the best there is. On Earth anyway. There's no way that diner is a spaceship. It looks like a very fine diner, but I don't believe for one second it can fly."

Still, Clara's lips curled up and she chuckled all the while moving to pour coffee into two mugs, holding them out. "Here, done. Take it. It's on the house." Nebula took hers without complain.

"Don't held things at me, I don't like being handed things."

Although she quirked an eyebrow at him, she put it on the counter. Tony swooped it with his right hand, holding onto it like a lifeline, pointedly ignoring the ash stains his fingers left on the white porcelain. He inhaled the smell with eagerness then took a slip. The hot bitterness burnt his throat as he swallowed. If painful, he found it appropriate. It also made him feel a little bit less numb. Clara laughed at him, but it didn't sound mean-spirited.

"Of course the Diner can fly, we wouldn't have arrived here otherwise," she pointed out, walking to the back door, stopping in front of it, her body angled to face them. "Chop chop, you two. Let me introduced you to the rest of the crew and show you how great my ship is."

She raised her other hand in his direction, palm up. "Trust me, Tony, it's gonna be amazing."

Tony eyed it suspiciously, narrowing his eyes when she began wiggling her fingers. "Do I look like I'm the hand-holding type?"

"You're not. It doesn't mean I care." He rolled his eyes. "Come on, are you afraid?" she insisted, the wiggling becoming even more ridiculous. "Where's your sense of adventure? It's just for a second."

When he looked at her face, he thought he saw the stars in the brown of eyes that seemed bigger than before, large enough to contain an universe. He scowled at the silliness of his thoughts.

"Are you finished with this nonsense? Just do what she says so we can move on," Nebula said from behind him.

He ignored her. Still, he reached out with his free hand, because she wasn't wrong. He felt like Clara was bossy and determined enough not to bulge until she got what she wanted. Just like Steve, his mind unhelpfully supplied. At least, nothing bad should come out of such an insignificant action. He hoped.

When he put his limp hand into hers, she didn't seem to mind to blood and ash it left there. He was thankful that she didn't try to squeeze it or anything else, because that would have made things painful and even more awkward for Tony.

"You should be really really thankful, Diner Girl. It's like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle. Really, I'm not sold on the whole handholding schtick, not even with Pepper and we're engaged."

He carefully did not think of what might have happened to her. Instead he stared at Clara, moving so they stood side by side. She gently guided his hand to the handle before she put hers over it, almost touching but not quite.

"All of time and space in the palm of your hands, Tony. How does that sound?"

He didn't know if she was serious when saying that all of time and space were within grasp or if it was some kind of poetic metaphoric bullshit, so he looked at her face. She was grinning, her big brown eyes, dark like the cafe he was carrying in his other hand, he could help but notice. They full of stars, like she had used so many wonders. She felt older than she looked, so sure of herself that she would show him amazing things.

Maybe, he thought when she turned their hands to put the palm of his on the handle, maybe he could give it a chance. He had already lost almost everything, everyone, didn't dare hope to think of what and who might have been left behind. Apart from his life, there wasn't much else he could lose. He would believe her, he decided, at least for now.

He answered as, together, they pushed the door open, the pain radiating from his hand somewhat less horrible than before.

"It sounds like hope."