"This little tree guy is adorable!" Tony marveled, watching the potted Groot from his seat aboard the Milano. "Since he can regenerate, why not grow a few more? Start a whole forest of Groots?"
Rocket shook his head firmly, protective instincts flaring. "Doesn't work that way, genius. Only specific branches carry Groot's essential genetic markers—the ones that make him him. Random twigs won't cut it."
"Ah, well. That's a shame," Tony said with genuine disappointment, then turned his attention back to examining the ship's interior. Even after seeing the Milano through the projection, nothing compared to experiencing the craftsmanship firsthand.
Star-Lord's grandfather, Jason Quill, lived in Missouri—about as far from New York as you could get while staying in the continental United States. Unfortunately, the rural Midwest had been one of the hardest-hit regions during the Elemental attacks.
The family had survived, but barely. When the Milano descended through the clouds, they could see Jason directing his son to patch yet another leak in their battered roof.
"Is that...?" Star-Lord pressed closer to the viewscreen, studying the balding man standing in the yard below.
Jason Quill's hairline had certainly retreated since Peter's childhood memories, but he still moved with surprising energy for someone his age. The years had been kind to him—at least until recently.
"What the hell happened down there?" Star-Lord gestured at his grandfather's house, which looked like it had been through a blender. Deep cracks spider-webbed across the walls, and entire sections of siding hung at precarious angles.
Tony had mentioned a "big storm" during their flight planning, but he'd been frustratingly vague about details. Now, seeing the devastation stretching across the landscape, Star-Lord realized this was no ordinary weather event.
"I told you about the Elementals—"
"Yeah, but you didn't mention they'd turned the whole place into a disaster zone!" Star-Lord shot back, taking in the scope of destruction.
Tony rubbed his temples wearily. "What you're seeing? This is the good outcome. We estimate the attacks set the country's infrastructure back fifty years, and that's after everything we did to minimize the damage."
"I thought New York looked rough," Gamora observed, watching acres of barren earth scroll past below. "But this..."
"New York had the Sanctum's protection," Tony explained. "The sorcerers' barriers absorbed most of the impact there. Out here?" He gestured helplessly at the wasteland. "They got the full force."
"Let's land before your grandfather spots us hovering around like vultures," Tony instructed. "Park somewhere open, keep the cloak running, and let's go make his day."
Jason Quill was so focused on the roof repairs that he didn't notice the ship's arrival until movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. When he turned and saw the approaching figures, his tools clattered forgotten to the ground.
"Peter?" The name came out as barely a whisper, disbelief written across every weathered line of his face.
"Hey, Grandpa," Star-Lord managed, suddenly feeling like that scared eight-year-old who'd been dragged away by space pirates.
"It really is you! Peter! My boy!" Jason rushed forward, crushing his grandson in a fierce embrace that spoke of decades of worry and hope.
"Yeah, Grandpa. I'm here." Star-Lord returned the hug, his voice thick with emotion as he took in the damage behind them. "Are you okay? Is everyone safe?"
Jason followed his gaze to the crumbling house. "Well, like a certain web-slinger likes to say—we're trying to do better. Taking it one day at a time."
"That building looks ready to collapse," Gamora observed with characteristic bluntness as she approached.
Jason immediately brightened, recognizing the green-skinned woman from countless news broadcasts. "Gamora! Well, I'll be damned. An honor to meet you, young lady."
"The pleasure's mine," she replied, accepting his handshake with a rare smile.
"You're not wrong about the house," Jason admitted with a rueful shrug. "But we've got nowhere else to go, and honestly? This is luxury compared to the first few weeks. No water, no power, sleeping in the storm cellar. At least now we've got running water, even if the electricity's still out."
"The power grid restoration is ongoing," Tony explained apologetically. "The Stark Relief Foundation is working around the clock, but the affected area is... substantial."
"Don't you apologize, Mr. Stark. Without your people, we'd all be dead. Come on inside—what's left of it, anyway."
Tony discretely activated part of his Mark 15 gauntlet, running a structural scan as they walked. The results made his stomach drop.
"Sir," Jarvis reported through his earpiece, "this structure is critically compromised. Primary load-bearing elements show stress fractures throughout. Conservative estimate suggests total failure within three months, potentially sooner with additional weather stress."
Tony kept his expression neutral as they entered, but the interior was even worse than the scan indicated. Cracks snaked up the walls like lightning, chunks of plaster dotted the floor, and daylight streamed through gaps where windows should be.
Outside the broken windows, the landscape told a story of devastation—uprooted trees still lay where they'd fallen weeks ago, though someone had clearly been working to clear the debris.
"Mr. Quill, I'm going to be direct with you," Tony said carefully. "This house isn't safe anymore. I'd like to help relocate your family to temporary housing while we arrange something more permanent."
Jason's expression hardened with polite stubbornness. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Stark, truly. But this is our home. Has been for forty years. We're not leaving."
Tony nodded, having expected this response. "Then we're renovating. Tonight." He was already pulling up contacts on his phone. "I'm calling in construction crews to stabilize the structure immediately. This place could collapse tomorrow."
Meanwhile, Rocket had claimed a battered armchair and was staring down Jason's teenage grandson, who couldn't seem to look away from the talking raccoon.
"You got a problem, kid?" Rocket asked with characteristic charm.
"Oh! Sorry, I just—you're really talking! I mean, I saw it on TV, but seeing it in person is..." the boy stammered.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a miracle of science. Get over it," Rocket grumbled, though without real malice.
"So what's the plan?" Tony asked the group. "Some of us should head back—I want to show Rocket our workshop, see if his ego can back up all that trash talk about Earth technology."
Rocket's ears perked up with competitive interest. "Oh, you want to play, Stark? I've been building weapons since before your planet figured out gunpowder."
"We'll see about that," Tony replied with equal cockiness. "Fair warning though—I don't lose."
Drax surveyed the damaged home thoughtfully. "I will remain here. Perhaps I can assist with repairs."
"Me too," Gamora decided, glancing meaningfully at Star-Lord. "Peter should have time with his family without all of us crowding around."
Star-Lord shot her a grateful look. "Thanks, guys. Really."
"Don't get too sentimental," Rocket called out, already heading for the door. "I've got a workshop to demolish and an ego to crush. This should be fun."
Tony grinned, the challenge clearly appealing to his competitive nature. "Bring it on, furball. Just remember—you asked for this."