(this family)
comes with
BATTERIES.
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PROLOGUE
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One year ago. The Xavier Estate, Westchester.
The first time Charles meets Uncle Tony he is five and it's his birthday.
In a fit of motherly regret, Sharon Xavier had arranged a party; a summer evening drenched in sugar and cake for her only child. It's the first party he's ever had, and Charles isn't sure he likes it all that much because there are too many voices inside too many heads, a constant overlapping stream that makes him feel a little nauseas. They live out in the country for this very reason – or so his mother often says, and she doesn't care enough to hide the resentment that flickers beneath the surface of her thoughts. It always lingers, an aftertaste at the back of Charles' throat and it would be a few years before he realises that it resembles alcohol. Charles knows his mother likes the city, and misses the parties, but his father says Charles is too young to cope with living near so many people right now, so they live in the country estate for now.
He's been standing by his mother all evening dutifully, smiling (because it was his birthday) and shaking hands (because the adults thought it was precious). He mostly tried to block all the voices from his head, and ignore the ones he couldn't un-hear.
His father rescues him from a lady with too much lipstick, who seemed intent on pinching Charles' cheek until he bruised. Charles felt the warm, reassuring hum of his father's mind winding its way through the crowd of chattering legs (Charles was too short to see above much else). But this time, he was accompanied by someone with very loud thoughts.
"Charlie," said Brian Xavier, laying an affectionate hand on top of Charles' hair. His mother winced. "This is Mister Stark – he's your Godfather."
Charles tilted his head back so he could see Mister Stark's face, blinking rapidly at the barrage of inner-monologue that became even louder as the man's attention narrowed in on Charles.
Oh look he's short, got puppy eyes – adorable really – looks like his mother. Godawful mini suit I remember being dressed in those, fucking bowties it's always with the bow ties granted they do look cute but honestly overkill what is it with mothers and bow ties and their five year olds it's like a disease we can't cure maybe I will put JARVIS on that, right after I buy that kid a comfortable hoodie, cute kid, not bad, probably a snotty brat though –
His mother, fingers pinching into his shoulder with a small shake.
"Charles."
Charles blinked hard, realising he must have zoned out. He gave his mother an apologetic look, before holding out his hand.
"Sorry," he said. Then asked, "Are you family?" because there seemed to be a lot of distantly related relatives in the photo albums upstairs and Charles could never remember.
The man staring down at him had bright eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee and a bright, shiny watch on his wrist. His suit was the colour of the wine in his glass, deep burgundy red. He seemed like someone Charles should try to impress.
"Nah," said Mister Stark, "Just a good friend."
"I'm Charles," he said carefully around each syllable, "Thank you for coming to my birthday."
Aww fuck, he's even got that accent.
'Mister Stark' dropped down to balance on the balls of his feet, and took Charles' hand in his own.
"Hey Charles. Call me Tony, okay?"
Tony had a smudge of lipstick at the edge of his mouth. Charles could see the red mark, faint. He tried to concentrate on the little visual details to help block out Tony's thoughts, but it was like seeing double – and it made his eyes ache.
"Okay," he said.
"Great," said Tony, brightly, then pulled a large, square box out of nowhere and shoved it into Charles' arms.
Charles blinked in surprise. He hadn't needed to open any of the presents before already knowing what was inside of it. But Tony hadn't even been thinking about the present. In fact, he was thinking loudly about a strawberry frosted doughnut, bright red with jam filling and colourful sprinkles –
Charles' eyes widened, and he sent out a tentative tendril:
Can you….?
Tony Stark gave him an exaggerated wink.
Yeah kiddo.
! sent Charles.
"Go on, open it," said his father. But Sharon was frowning, giving the box a suspicious sort of look.
"I don't know, perhaps you should put it with the others and open it later when – "
"Nah," said Tony, waving his glass, "Open it now! Trust me Charles, this will beat all your other shitty presents."
The disapproval from his mother was bright and loud in Charles' head, making him wince.
It was certainly a very colourful present; wrapped in violently gold paper, which was so shiny, Charles could see his own face reflected back in the foil. Tony Stark sat down on the parquet floor, expensive suit and all, before patting his knee.
"C'mon kid. This kind'a flat surface is best for it anyway."
"Best for what?" asked Sharon, looking faintly alarmed now. "Honestly, this isn't appropriate – Brian you tell –"
"I'm sure it won't be terribly destructive," said Charles' father, "Go on Charlie, open it."
Charles sat down (Mister Stark did make a comfortable chair) and carefully stuck his fingernail beneath the edge of tape. He peeled back the tape and wrapping paper to reveal a nondescript cardboard box, which had STARK INDUSTRIES on the side in silver lettering.
"Yeah it was the only box I had lying around, don't mind it. Made it especially for you," said Tony.
Charles opened the box with clumsy, child fingers. Shifting aside the white plastic foam bubbles, his fingers found something cool, heavy and metallic. There seemed to be joints of some kind. Charles lifted the contraption out of the box, excited by the anticipation emanating from Mister Stark. He stared at the thing in his hands, then turned it around.
It seemed to be a dog.
"A robot dog!" announced Tony with a flourishing gesture that nearly dislodged Charles from his knee (Oops, sorry kid.) "Comes with batteries and everything! Here."
He helped Charles locate the on-off switch, nestled between two smooth metallic plates of the dog's belly. Tony's hands were big, warm and rough with callouses, showing Charles how to turn the dog on. Charles twisted the switch carefully. Immediately, the dog's eyes lit up, electronic green, and its head turned with a whirr! Surprised, Charles dropped it – but the dog merely rolled over on the floor once, then righted itself on its paws.
Then it barked.
Charles laughed – and he felt the wonder and curiosity of the people standing around them (a crowd had slowly formed). It was a good feeling, overwhelmed by the sense of satisfaction that seemed to cocoon Charles' head. He decided he liked Tony Stark; a stranger who made him a robot dog because he knew that his mother disapproved of pets and fur and claws in the house and said she was allergic even though she wasn't, not really. Maybe Tony Stark was telepathic too?
"Sit!" said Tony. The dog sat, tail wagging. It was looking at Charles, expectantly.
"Roll over?" Charles commanded, tentatively.
The dog rolled, coming to a stop by Charles' shoes, four metallic paws waving in the air. Charles picked up the dog and held him close to his chest, liking the reassuring weight of it, and the hum of it's little electronic heart. He was smiling so hard he thought he must be projecting, because everyone else was smiling too, even his mother –
The dog licked his face, tongue cold and smooth. Charles giggled.
Tony was still sitting on the floor, watching him with his head tilted to one side.
Like it? He thought, smiling.
Yes! Thought Charles, thinking of happiness and warmth and gratefulness and the taste of chocolate milk and trying to push it towards Tony as hard as he could, thank you thank you best present so awesome my own pet mother won't disapprove pet yes!
Then, because he thought it might not have gotten the point across, he set the dog down on the floor and gave Mister Stark a hug around the neck. The dog barked twice, nudging at Charles' ankles until his socks started to slip.
What are you going to name him?
…Tony?
What! Indignation, but a smile around the edge of the emotion. No. How bout Lassie.
Max.
Fine.
Max Stark.
Tony laughed then, a full bodied thing with his head thrown back. Then he downed his drink in one and straightened, disentangling his limbs from Charles' small ones. Charles picked Max up again, because mother was worried about the metallic paws scratching up the parquet and he didn't want his new friend to be confiscated so soon. His father was stroking his hair in a fond way that made Charles sleepy.
"Trust you to make him something like this, Tony," Brian was saying, "what else can that robot do?"
Tony shrugged.
"Fetch the newspaper. Read the newspaper. Poop."
"Poop?" repeated Sharon, incredulous, while Brian laughed.
Charles giggled again, because he had never heard his mother say 'poop' before. Tony gave him another wink. Max wriggled in Charles' arms, tail beating a steady rhythm against the skin of his wrist.
"You think I'm joking, but I'm really not," said Tony (Charles knew he was joking though) with a straight face, "I created that thing to you know. Teach Charles' the responsibilities of raising a child. Pet. Whatever. Same thing."
Sharon sniffed, coming forwards and tugging Charles closer to her and away from Tony.
"Alright. Well. Charles, what do you say to Mister Stark?"
"Thank you for Max," said Charles dutifully.
Tony only raised his glass.
"Alright baby," said Sharon, hand still on Charles' shoulder, "I suppose it's only polite for you to open all your other presents. Give that thing to your father for now. Go on."
"But – "
His mother gave him a look.
Charles reluctantly handed Max over to his father. Max whined, and his ears drooped. Charles reached for him again.
It's okay Charlie boy, thought his father, it'll be in your room for afterwards. Okay?
Don't turn him off?
Alright, kiddo.
Promise?
A mental chuckle, fond and warm like a hug.
I promise.
"Brian – stop encouraging him," said his mother, voice very quiet so no one else would overhear, then, to Charles: "Use your words."
"Sorry mother," said Charles, contrite.
A little way away, Tony was thinking loudly about doughnuts again.
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Three months later, Charles' least favourite guest came to visit because the Markos were family friends (that mother liked but father disliked.)
Cain threw Max in the fountain in a fit of jealousy. And that was how they found out that Max was both waterproof and had a vindictive personality (he regurgitated the water as a yellow dye which stained Cain's pants in a highly suggestive manner.)
Then Cain threw Max out of a fourth story window, and broke his neck.
Charles was inconsolable for weeks.
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The next time Charles meets Tony Stark, both his parents were dead.
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