Chapter 3: Nostalgic Plastic

Tony Age: 7

Once again, the mischievous prince found himself doing servant work. Or, more specifically, cleaning up after the little cretin living in his home. Bending over, he picked up another piece of gutted hardware. Normally, he would have just made it disappear, but do to the last few instances where the metal appeared at total random in a brutish warriors bed, Odin had forced Loki into doing the cleaning the conventional way.

Without any servants (too many having been shocked in the past), Loki found the task nearly impossible. What's worse, as soon as he has one section clean, Tony would come running in to destroy another piece of technology. While he still cared about his son more than anything else, Loki occasionally found himself putting blame in the child.

Turning, the god forced himself out of those thoughts. Tony was a mere infant, a child even by Midgard standards. If he had been born on Asgard, the elders would find him a genius for simply forming a coherent sentence at this age. Not that Asgardian children weren't intelligent, they simply had more time. The children of Earth had eighty years, a century if they're lucky.

A loud splat broke Loki out of his reverie. As he whipped around, the brief thought of Damn it, Tony, not again! Played in his thoughts. Instead, panic swept over the prince, the mechanics in his arms momentarily forgotten. Shattered on the wooden floor, a broken glass of water formed magnificent shapes around two tiny feet. The owner of the appendages, however, paid them little mind. Large, wonder-filled orbs stared at something by the wall that Loki had thought he'd been disposed of already.

"Tony-" But it was too late, the boy had already seen it.

Twin feet clamored across the floor, ignoring the stinging pain of glass shards as he made his way over to the toy. Loki reached out to grab Tony away from it, and the pieces on the floor, but Tony shuffled it into his arms and took off running.

"Jarvis! Hey Jarv, look what I found!" Loki heard from the other room, followed by a howl of approval.

Loki made his way into the Dining Room, wary of the new clear hazard spread across his floor. Just another thing to clean up, Loki grumbled in his head.

Damn, he knew he should have eradicated that disgusting knick-knack years ago, right after Tony had been renewed. When the servants had asked him what he wanted done with the toy, he waved a hand and commanded them to hide it away. It just wouldn't do to have his son finding the doll right after and triggering something. After a few moments of frenzied movements, the hand maids thoroughly assured him

Clearly, not hidden well enough, Loki thought to himself, if a seven year old found it without even looking.

You just can't find good indentured slaves anymore.

Pity.

"Tony, give me that back." Loki declared, entering the doorway of the Dining Room. Said child simply glared vividly at the figurines features, caught in a somewhat dreamy stare. He made to grab the toy, but his charge simply turned his back to him.

Finally Tony turned to his father, a large grin taking place of the contemplative smirk, "What is it, daddy?"

By this point, Loki had already gathered intel on the red, white and blue man, though he wasn't sure he should share the information with his son. Tony had already attempted a trip to the different realms several times, and while he usually avoided Midgard (thanks to a few well placed stories of savages and boredom) it was only a matter of time.

Although, he supposed, this little dollop of information couldn't truly impede the child's training. After all, the good Captain had been deceased for well over thirty years. True, several non-realists believed that he had survived the plane crash, but that would put the man in his fifties. Loki hardly believed that he had a threat from a fifty year old lab rat.

"It is a figurine of a great Midgardian warrior, a captain." Finally, he found the words to begin. He hadn't thought it to be that difficult, but it seemed

"A captain?"

Loki nodded, before realizing that Tony wasn't looking at him; eyes forever locked on the toy. "Aye." He finally answered.

Tony stared at the plastic, smudged face. "He's beautiful."

Loki chocked on a breath of air, and grasped his chest. He had certainly not expected that from the boy. Wording his discomfort carefully, the mischief prince turned back to his protégé.

"What do you mean, Tony?" Loki questioned, hostile tension easing into his tone.

Tony, oblivious, answered happily, hugging the toy to his chest, "He's the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Did you say he was from Midgard? Oh! Is everyone from that planet this fabulous? Can we visit sometime?" Tony continued asking questions, not paying attention to the darkening face of his father.

Loki clenched his hands into fists, terror and fury causing his body to shiver with tremors.

No. This is unacceptable. This simply will not do.

With unsalable resolution forming inside Loki's belly, he reached out a hand, and ripped the toy out of his son's hands. Tony stared up dumbfounded, trying to process what had just occurred. Blank faced, Loki turned and threw the knick-knack into a waste basket.

"W-Why did you…?" Tony questioned, large, brown orbs locked on the frothy green of his father's.

Loki returned to his son's side, "Anthony Lokison," Tony flinched at his full name, knowing the lecture to come, "What have I told you about Midgard?"

"Not to talk about it, but-" Loki interrupted.

"No buts, Tony. What do I have to do to get you to stop craving that worthless planet? Destroy it?" He hissed irritably.

With his head hung low, Tony reluctantly shook his head. Red, irritation formed around his eyes, as fat tear lines striped his chubby cheeks.

The anger surfing through the trickster's veins cooled instantly. It was so hard to forget that his son was simply an infant by Asgardian regards, and a child even by Midgardian standards. He was just so much more advanced compared to the other children his age.

Running a lithe hand over the still downcast head, he tipped Tony's chin up to make eye level. Except, Tony wasn't meeting his eye. The boy's eyes stuck to Loki's pale neck. A pout pulled the corners of lips down, two dimples making their presence known on his cheeks.

"Tony," He began, "I only wish to protect you. You are my son."

Tony didn't move a muscle, ears clearly blocking out Loki's words. Indifference was written across his features in plain text, obviously not caring for whatever his mentor had to say.

Loki sighed, "Tony."

Nothing.

"Tony, please look at me." He begged, moving his head around, attempting to make contact.

Nothing.

Well, He smirked, I did ask politely.

"Hmm.." Loki began, feigning contemplation with a hand on his chin, "I wonder if Mr. Tingles would have anything to say about this?"

Instantly shooting up, Tony eyed his father in shocked horror, "No…"

Loki menacingly lifted his sleeve, revealing his poised hand. He had picked up on the custom on Midgard, used to brighten up pouting children. While the petty mortals would simply twiddle their fingers in sensitive areas of the body, Loki had taken it a bit farther.

Tony began wiggling fervently, trying to escape from the torture that was inevitably about to commence.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the bones making up the tricksters hand morphed. Joints shifted downward, elongating the already lengthy appendages to a disturbing length. Three bumps formed on side, growing larger and longer, before bursting through the flesh, forming three more fingers. Skin pulled tight against the enlarged bone, and little coarse hairs began pushing out of the now leathery fingers. Between the area where the top knuckles joined, two beady, blood red eyes pierced through the dim room.

Tony stared muted, not in fear, but in complete fascination. Unlike most children, who would hide in fear at such a display, the young genius had always been completely enthralled in Loki's transformations. And even though he knew what was to come, he still stared awe-struck at the performance.

Using the boy's momentary absorption, Loki slid an arm securely around Tony's midsection. Undetected, he shoved the arachnid hand into the crease of Tony's neck.

Giggles spewed from Tony's gaping maw, thrashing around wildly, while at the same time trying to avoid the god's tickling, torturous digits.

"Daddy! St-Stop!" Tony managed to choke out between unstoppable squeals.

Loki chuckled, "Stop what, little one? I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you, hee hee, are."

"And what, pray tell, am I doing to you?" Faking his confusion, Loki pulled back the spider hand for a moment to allow his child a moment of breath. But only a moment.

"Daddy, don't do that!" Tony shrieked, throwing his hands up to cover his neck, like a soldier building a fort.

"I haven't the slightest clue what your telling me for, Mr. Tingles is the one responsible; not me." With a wicked grin, he shoved the spindly arachnids legs back against the sensitive part of Tony's throat, bypassing the boys iron fort all together.

Shaking refutably, Tony gasped out, "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" The trickster asked, enthused on the boys reactions. Every time he preformed this ritual on Tony, the boy would almost instantly forget whatever they had been talking about. While sometimes Loki found it to be rather tedious, the tool turned the conversation in his favor nearly every time.

"Daddy, st-stop."

"Stop what, Anthony? You must be specific." He chastised, turning the brown, monster arachnid, to get at a more sensitive part of his neck.

"Stop tickling me-hee!" Chortles of giggles exploded from his small chest, pealing out in cracked spasms of laughter. Fighting spirit renewed, Tony twisted and writhed with a fiery passion. Catching onto what his son was trying to do, Loki loosened his tight grip of the boy. Gravity taking affect, Tony crashed to the floor.

Apathetic to the mass of confusion and limbs at his feet, Loki turned his hand back to its normal pale nature. He caught the whirlwind of Tony's triumphant smirk, and found himself grinning along with him.

"I did it!" Fisting the air with a bright enthusiasm, Tony cheered.

"Aye, it would seem that you have vanquished you arch-nemesis. My clever little genius." He sat himself on a previously overturned chair, Loki beckoned Tony to himself.

Tony all but leapt into his father's arms, cuddling into his familiar comforting scent. Pine trees encased in ice, with the smallest hint of lavender underneath the initial scent. This is where he loved to be, where he felt safest.

He knew he didn't fit in, that much has been clear to him for as long as he could remember. While the other children would have play pretend and have 'adventures', Tony always found himself holed up in his father's bedchambers. While yes, his peers would offer him a spot in their journeys, he would always decline. He much preferred working with metal and coding.

Besides, he didn't need friends. He already had his daddy, his uncle, and Jarvis, who needs anything else?

But there were times that he felt lonely. When all the other kids ran around outside having fun, and he would just close his eyes and wish, wish with all he had, that he could be like them. He would pretend that schematics and detailed blueprints didn't constantly run through his head. Pretend that his only friend wasn't curled up asleep in his lap. Pretend that the elders of the castle didn't think he was a menace to society.

Pretend that he was a normal boy.

Then he'd open his eyes and continue with whatever machine he was working on, ignoring the small ache in his chest.

"Tony?" He gazed up at his father, his eyes still burning from when his earlier tantrum. Shame bubbled in his stomach, had he really put his father through all that for a simple toy?

It looked so familiar…

"You know that I do love you, my son. Don't you?" He nodded, of course he knew. They didn't just enjoy each other's company they needed each other. Without Loki… Tony didn't even want to think of what life without him.

"Yes, daddy." He cuddled his head closer into his father's warm body. Yes, he knew his father loved him, and he loved his father too. Even if he did invite Mr. Tingles out to play much to often.

He stuck his head around the corner, peering into the pitch-black darkness. His father had put him to bed hours ago, but he just couldn't leave this alone.

It just felt wrong to leave the toy in the trash.

Tony crept into the room silently, followed shortly by a small, brown wolf. A quiet yawn broke the indefinite silence, the pup's maw gaping from exhaustion.

Tony twisted around with a finger to his lips, "Stealth Mode, Jarvis." He shushed.

He made his way to the trash bin and reached inside, fishing out the red, white and blue figure from the bottom. He didn't know why he was so fascinated with the toy, or why his father didn't want him to have it; but it didn't hurt to keep the toy for safekeeping, did it?

A/N: If you can't tell, I love writing from Tony's head. It is my absolute favorite.