Howard & Anthony, Age 5

Explore your kingdom, little Prince.

Learn its rules.

Wheel and deal.

Tony's POV

I stood behind Dad, who was discussing something way too boring to pay attention to with an employee. I was watching the gears in the metal press machine, trying to puzzle through their arrangement and how they all worked together, when I noticed a wobble in one of the large screws, protruding through a bolt. I decided to climb under the yellow bars and wander closer, to get a better look.

"Ant'ny! Get over here!"

I rushed back over to Dad's side. Dad ignored me to talk to the employee again. "When you finish that update check in with Wilkirk."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Stark."

Then it was just me and Dad and he wasn't pleased. Dad pointed at the red line painted on the floor, beneath the yellow bars, and demanded, "What does it say?"

"Danger."

Smack! I yelped as a sharp slap landed on my backside.

"You ever cross one of those lines again and you'll get a lot more than one swat."

"Yes, sir. But, Dad, a screw's broken. I think a gear is going to pop off."

Dad strode over and slammed his hand against the emergency off switch while continuing his tirade. That's a fancy word for yelling.

"All the more reason for you to stay on this side of the line."

Dad headed back towards me gesticulating wildly. That means his arms were moving around to show how upset he was. I had to ask Jarvis the meaning of that one while I was reading the other day. He said it was what Nanny Christine did with her arms when the toy soldiers flung from my trebuchet landed in her cereal. Well, what her arms did before they were hauling me to the corner.

"You could've been hit by the part flying off. What were you thinking?!" Dad demanded, but didn't provide time for a response, "It's not like the machine can be fixed while it's running."

"I wasn't trying…"

"No. It's my turn to talk. You listen. You're not tall enough to hit the emergency off switch. Given the issue, it's not something you could pick up a wrench and help repair. The only that could have happened is you could've gotten hurt. That machine is hot Ant'ny, you trip, and fall on it, or intentionally touch it trying to get a better look at the gear and you would've gotten burned."

Dad just kept on ranting and I didn't think he ever was going to stop. And his words were kind of scary, both what he said and how loud he was being.

"You get your hands too close to any of those moving parts and your bones could get crushed." I really didn't like imagining that. It made me think of that scene in that horror film Mom had stopped me from watching, where there was a loud crunch and blood started spurting from the guy's leg. Dad pointed at the floor and the bars. "These bars and red lines are here for a reason. You cross them again and I'll tan your hide."

Howard's POV

I didn't hold one bit of guilt about the tears building in my child's eyes. If that was the cost of keeping him safe, it was a mild cost. I remember riding in the elevator with my adult son and telling him that I'd been belted a lot as a kid and asked him if that was still a thing.

He'd responded, 'I thought my Dad was tough on me, but now, I only remember the good stuff. He did drop the odd pearl, such as, no amount of money ever bought a second of time."

I take that to mean that I doled out some punishments when it was needed, but we'd had a lot of good seconds together too. He'd been willing to hug me, after all.

I doubted I was getting a hug in this moment though. His eyes were huge as he promised, "I won't," as in he won't cross the red lines again.

"Good. Because if you do, you're done coming to work with me." The clear shock, of dilated eyes and jaw slowly dropping, and the start of a lip quiver, meant that that statement got through more so, than the sting to the rear. I continued with a stern tone. "Those lines aren't merely for safety. They are also a legal requirement. Even though I own S.I., I'm pushing the legal limits, bringing you here with me. If employees see my actions as negligent due to you ignoring safety precautions, they would have every right to report me to the police."

"But that's not fair." His foot stomped with his words and I figured he was imagining me being taken away in handcuffs.

"If I'm not doing my job of looking out for you, then that is fair." I ran a hand across my forehead, sighed, then let the hand drop. "From now on, if the nanny isn't available you can't be here."

"But she just went to the bathroom, Dad. She's only going to be gone a few minutes."

She was going to be gone a lot longer than that. I knew my son could be a handful, and that if his nannies didn't get a breather now and then they might quit before the day was out. But this particular nanny's breaks were becoming too long and too frequent. It was time to hire someone new. I couldn't work and watch my son.

"Then you have to do as I say and obey all caution signs. You can read. I expect you to do so."

"Yes, sir."

Calmer now, I stated to Antn'y, "Next time you see a machine is broken tell me."

"I'm not allowed to interrupt when you're talking to another adult."

"New rule. If you're hurt, or you see something happening that could cause someone to get hurt, interrupt. Otherwise hold off, tell your nanny, or wait until I'm done. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Tony's POV

I didn't like thinking about that day at work with Dad, but most of the time he doesn't get angry. Dad said it was bad form to get angry in front of employees, unless one of them did something really dumb or dangerous, which I guess I'd done that day.

But most of the time Dad considered me smart enough to sit alongside the scientist that work at S.I. and to learn from them. Dad's busy and often can't just stay with me in R&D. When he has deadlines he gets frustrated with my need to touch everything and to talk through all my thoughts, but when he isn't rushed he finds spare parts for me to use and listens while I try to work through the minutia (that means details) of how to make tech work.

Spiderman Homecoming, just after the Ferry incident

As I stood there yelling at the teen before me I realized that I was practically repeating the same lecture Dad had given me when I was 4. Or perhaps time had morphed Dad's words. But the sentiment was the same. I'm not going to watch you die, so I'm going to dish out some consequences to make sure that doesn't happen. But whereas Dad had trusted that threats were enough to keep me in line, I was going for ending all possibilities this kid was going to kill himself playing superhero.

He'd practically been drawn and quartered! That was a thing. There were books and pencil drawings of it and they may have even done it in that film Braveheart. Tie someone's limbs to four horses and have them run in opposite directions. Car power was measured in horsepower for a reason. In that morbid game of tug-of-war the horses win. And this 15 year-old had deliberately put himself in the position of the body about to be ripped apart because the suit I made for him was good enough to let him do something that dangerous.

But what if it hadn't been? What if I'd had to watch as his arms were torn off? As his insides spilled out of a gaping hole left by a rent leg? I had to hold back puke thinking about it. No way. No how. This kid was done running around on my dime, taking on supervillains. If he wanted to run around Queens in his pajamas carrying old ladies groceries and stopping the occasional mugging fine. But I wasn't giving him the go ahead to keep taking on more than he could handle on his own.

I couldn't provide him with a team. I was already struggling to keep Ross off Pete's back. If the kid didn't stay out of the deep end, he'd wind up in one of Ross's cages.