Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. I'm not making any money off this. I'm just having fun playing in their sandbox and hope you enjoy exploring my sandcastle.
Note: The first paragraph of this chapter is part of a one-shot I wrote called Odin Claus. And yes, Santa is real.
Also, this chapter was original all in 3rd person POV (the outsider looking in). I've managed to switch most of it to 1st person POV from various characters perspectives, but couldn't find a way to switch all of it.
On your feet little boy,
no time to crawl,
you've got armor to build,
circuits to wire.
3rd Person POV
Maria and Howard Stark struggled with how to raise their child, for in so many ways, he wasn't a child. So many things came so easily to their son that praising him seemed as absurd as praising a teenager for knowing the alphabet or the names of colors. Anthony would scowl or look at them like they were idiots if they bothered to praise him for knowledge or skills that he considered basic. They got in such the habit of not giving praise that it often slipped their notice that their son did desire praise and attention for the more complex things he'd accomplished.
Howard, Maria & Anthony, Age 3
A set of rainbow-colored lights wove their way around the blue spruce, their light glinting off the many packages beneath. Three-year-old Anthony held a box wrapped in gold and green. He bent back the tag and glanced at the label. With a scrunched brow he looked up at his parents. "Santa has Mom's handwriting." His eyes flicked to the package and back to his parents, then shrugged and tore off the paper, then exclaimed in excitement over the remote-control car within.
Howard & Anthony (Age 3)
Howard's POV
That damn manual on childrearing was useless. Read to the child. He reads to himself.Patiently repeat new words. Not needed. Redirect misbehaviors into better behaviors. I find redirecting with one sharp swat works just fine. Children should be shielded from violence, be it in filmography, stories, or toys. Please. War was practically scratched into his DNA.
Case in point:
Anthony came to work with me, with a nanny in tow, of course. The top of his forehead barely poked over the edge of my desk, and his eyes could just see the things on top of it if he stood on his toes. I removed a paperclip from a stack of papers. It was in his hand moments later.
"What's this?"
"A paperclip."
Like with other new words, there was no need to parrot the word back and forth or dole out praise for expanding his vocabulary. Even at one, if Maria or I repeated a new word, such as the color of an item, he'd glare or wrinkle his brow like he thought we were nuts. If we praised his use of a new word his brows would rise like he'd assessed you and determined that you must be dumb to have thought he needed praise for such a simplistic accomplishment as confirming that the name of the object was an armoire.
While I was saying the word paperclip I could see that his brain was already processing multiple ways to use the tiny piece of metal. One of those thoughts popped out of the toddler's mouth, "Can I have 20 boxes of paperclips? I'm going to make chainmail."
"Sure, kiddo."
The 'chainmail' ended up looking like a metal dress. Antn'y ran about with a wooden sword taking down dragons and saving the princesses, which was the only reason there were Barbies in our house. Anthony insisted on having damsels to rescue.
Howard, Peggy & Anthony (Age 3)
Peggy's POV
The metal paper clips clinked against eachother as Anthony swung the wooden sword at the plastic dragon sitting on a couch. The dragon went tumbling to the floor. He announced, "Now to rescue the princess from the cave." His arm dove between the couch cushions and he pulled out a Barbie in pink chiffon.
"Princess Myra, your castle awaits." Then he set her amongst Maria's beautiful knickknacks on a shelf. Then scampered off in search of a snack.
The moment he left the room I picked up Princess Myra and another of her counterparts that I spied laying around. I also located a GiJo. I took his gun and grenade and attached them to Myra's legs, under her dress and re-dressed the second Barbie in GiJo's clothes.
When Anthony returned to the room I passed him the dolls and insisted, "Not all little girls need to be rescued by little boys."
Anthony retorted, "They're not little. Their boobs are huge!"
I had to hold back a chuckle, but not the smile. "Be that as it may, some of us ladies are quite good with a gun."
"What about with a sword?"
"Those too."
Anthony looked skeptical at that, but then Howard chimed in. "You better believe it son, Peggy here has taken down Nazis and a few others that deserved it."
"Howard!"
Anthony's eyes were huge, "You've killed people?!"
"It was war, honey. I'm not a murderer."
Anthony went running from the room in excitement, "Mom! Mom! Aunt Peggy was a World War II soldier, just like Captain America!"
I glared at Howard, "That was not for a child's ears."
Howard just shrugged it off, refocusing on the Patriots' quarterback throwing a ball downfield. I continued to glare at him.
Howard sighed and replied, "He's my child. War is going to be a part of his life. Did you want him to continue thinking all women are helpless maidens?"
"Obviously not. But it would have been enough for him to know that I throw a decent punch; it wasn't necessary for him to know I've killed."
Jarvis & Anthony (Age 3-5)
Jarvis POV
Master Anthony began reading so young. He devoured adventure books, breezing through books with hundreds of pages before many of his peers could identify the full set of letters of the alphabet. Howard and Maria failed to take notice that their child would have yielded to the snail pace of having a book read to him just so he could spend time with them.
But I noticed.
Anthony would climb up on the couch beside me and would silently read to himself, knowing that was what his parents expected him to do. And then would scooch closer to me. And closer. And then the book would practically wind up in my lap. I'd read aloud, exaggerating the character's voices. It was sad that child wouldn't verbally ask for such attention, but doing so was tantamount to admitting a failure, in the young, brilliant mind.
Maria & Anthony (Age 4)
Maria's POV
I had been a lingerie model for one of the more popular lingerie lines, as well as a swimsuit model prior to becoming a mother and wife. My body had changed little and the cameras still loved to click my way. It still gave me a thrill to be photographed. Each time a camera flashed it was like a tally of how well I was liked. And the cameras seemed to have a fetish for the fact I'm a mother. They trail us wherever we go: galas, fundraisers, even simply shopping at boutique with Anthony quirks the paparazzi's eye our way.
Tony likes to paint with me. Being Howard's son, his productions are quite analytical and often involve rulers and other tools of precision. When I manage to pry those from his hands, or hide them before we start, his pictures always involve an aspect of war and weaponry.
I love my child. But I am dearly grateful we can afford nannies. He's so active! Always exploring, building and imagining himself a hero, like in the tales Howard tells him of Captain Rogers.
Nanny Chantel & Anthony (Age 4), France
Nanny Chantel's POV
I fell into the cushiest job. Not only did it pay well, but it came with room and board, a maid, a chauffeur, and a chef! Every franc was mine to save or to be frivolous with. I even have time to date! The Starks know Tony can run a nanny ragged, so two of us share the job. Sadly, our employment is only to last one month. That is the length of time Mrs. Stark and Tony are to spend in France. Mr. Stark is on his own trip; traveling the high seas of the North Atlantic.
Mrs. Stark tended to cart Tony along on activities that were more of an interest to her than her son. She actually dressed him up in suit and bow tie and touted him about, like a corsage, at galas and fundraisers. I'm sure it did open a few pockets. It certainly attracted quite a few camera shots. But it felt wrong to me. Tony should have been at home with me, playing, reading and going to bed at a scheduled time. It seemed to me that Tony was little more than a prop, a way for his mother to attract the attention of the paparazzi as they flitted across ParĂs.
Though I can't say he disliked the cameras. He seemed as much born to them as he was to the tech, imparted by his father. He'd pose, grin, or give an extra smidge of adorable when he saw them skulking in the shrubs. You could see the lights dance in his eyes, like he was having the time of his life, being the show the world wanted to watch.
But after the cameras had had their fill we had an active little boy on our hands in environments ill suited for the playing of war or the disassembly of reachable technology. I did my best to ferret him away before he could cause too much disruption or trouble.
I took him to a playground once. Tony was thrilled, practically bouncing out of his shoes.
"I can go play with them!?," head jerking towards the other children.
What an odd question. "Of course."
His eyes widened before he made his escape, whooping as he ran up the slide and swished down it.
Mrs. Stark's nostrils flared when she heard of our day's adventure. I thought her eyes alone were signing my dismissal papers. She managed to hold in whatever she intended to say to me, instead saying, "Tony, dear, go find some toys to play with in the bathtub. Do not turn on the water until one of us gets there."
"Are you going to play with me!?"
"In a few minutes."
Tony took off to raid the toybox.
"Tony is expected to hold hands with one of us at all times when we are out and about. Howard has enemies and we have money. I will not have him whisked from your or my arms by strangers."
"I stayed less than 2 meter from him, Mrs. Stark. I would not and will not allow harm to come to your son. But he needs to run and play and interact with those his own age."
Mrs. Stark sighed, "I don't disagree. Just be exceedingly cautious if you return to the park." She peered out a window. "Perhaps a swing set and slide can be installed here."
I did take him back to the park, several times, and probably gave him more free reign than his parents allowed. But I did not rest on the park bench, chatting with the other nannies. I kept the watchful eye and close distance that I had promised to Mrs. Stark.
Both Mrs. Stark and I spoke only French during their trip. Within a week, Anthony seemed fully versed in the language, though not in the culture of France.
"Pouvons-nous avoir des hamburgers et des frites?"
"Non, nous avons des escargots et des pates."
"Can we have hamburgers and fries?"
"No, we're having snails and pasta."
Jarvis & Anthony (Age 4)
Math came easily to him too.
Jarvis' POV
I pushed the cart through the aisles, adding a package of noodles to the growing pile in the cart. "Master Stark, stay by my side, or you'll be sitting in the cart instead of walking by it." Anthony patted back over carrying a box of brightly colored cereal. "You know Nanny Leana will not serve you that sort of thing for breakfast."
"Yah, but Dad likes when I solve puzzles and there is a puzzle on the back of the box!"
"A children's cereal has a puzzle challenging enough that you have yet to solve it?"
Anthony explained, "There's a decoder spyglass inside the box. You have to get the cereal to see the puzzle."
I took the box, "We shall see. It depends on how much the necessary groceries cost." Not that the cost would matter, but it was the standard excuse given to children for why not to buy something.
"$57 and 38 cents. With the cereal."
"You've tallied the grocery bill?"
"I was bored."
He had similar skill with subtracting and multiplying.
Nanny Leana & Anthony (Age 4)
Leana's POV
I have no idea why Jarvis purchased the rainbow colored, sugary breakfast cereal. Or perhaps I did. That child could bat his lashes and turn on the charm or logic as well as his father.
I did not allow him to eat it for breakfast. More energy is not what that child needs. But after lunch, I did pour the entire contents of the box into a mixing bowl and allowed Tony to treat it as a treasure hunt. He seemed to enjoy digging through it, pretending he was a pirate in search of his spyglass. I pretended to be busy tidying up the kitchen while he snuck a few bites of the sweet before I disposed of the rest in the trash.
Howard, Nanny Leana & Anthony (Age 4)
The speed of his math calculations allowed Tony to focus on the use of those numbers in his projects.
Nanny Leana's POV
Mrs. and Mr. Stark indulged Tony with his projects, allowing him access to materials and tools most would consider dangerous for hands so small. That I considered dangerous for a child to use. Such as today.
Tony wanted a place to display his completed projects. Rather than buy shelves for the 4-year-old, Mr. Stark gave Tony lumber, a tape measurer, nails, a hammer and a saw and essentially told us to have at it.
"Help him build some shelves, would you? The supplies are alongside the garage. Ant'ny's jumping at the bit to get started. You might have trouble getting him to sit for breakfast." Mr. Stark stated on his way out the door to work.
I was flabbergasted. I'm not sure why I continued to be astounded by such orders. I should be used to it after 2 years as Tony's nanny. But some part of me continues to expect my job to simply entail feeding, clothing and playing with a child, like a normal nanny. But the Starks aren't normal.
Mr. Stark had been right; it had been impossible to get the child to sit and eat breakfast. Not that it was ever easy to get him to sit and consume a meal. Tony preferred to nibble on snacks while he worked. So I tended to keep trail mix or other snacks on hand. It's much easier to coax him to eat if you don't have to convince him to stop working on his projects.
We took the tape measure and measured the wall in his room where the shelves are to go.
Tony explained his plan. "We're going to make it 8 feet long, 4 feet high, a foot and a half deep, with one horizontal shelf across the middle and three vertical dividers to make a total of 8 compartments."
When I had taken on the job as a nanny I hadn't expected it to entail math, not that Tony needed help with the numbers. I watched as he very precisely marked each board, to the nearest 1/8 inch, where it would need to be cut.
Tony was very into doing things for himself, to prove himself capable. But 4-year-olds don't have the muscle or mass behind them to sink a nail through boards of wood, or to saw through lumber.
He insisted on trying anyway. Tony put a wood board between the sides of the Miter box, like he'd seen his Dad do, and then used C-clamps to hold the board in place. I, not wanting the child to get cut, insisted that I put the blade in place between the aligned slits in the Miter box.
"Can I saw now?"
I supposed that the adorable doe eyes were part of why Mrs. and Mr. Stark so often agreed to their son doing things like this. Those eyes were hard to resist. I gave a nod, and under my watchful eye, he attempted to cut through the wood. He struggled to keep the saw flat and an abundance of pushing and pulling resulted in little more than a small pile of saw dust and the tiniest of dents.
Other children would've had an adult do most of the sawing and would just put their hand on the handle to pretend to saw with them. But Tony wasn't the type to ask for that sort of help.
He was the type to come up with alternative solutions. "Can we take the boards to the woodyard and have them cut on the lines I made?"
I was relieved at the suggestion. I wouldn't have to watch Tony continue to struggle and fret over him getting cut. "Sure thing. Let's see if Jarvis can help load the lumber into the truck."
I really didn't understand Mr. Stark. He could afford to simply buy shelves. Homemade shelves didn't seem to fit with the milieu of the rest of the home. But it wasn't my place to question the eccentricities of the uber-wealthy. They paid a decent salary, after all, which couldn't be said for all nanny jobs.
When we returned with the cut lumber, Tony inevitably wanted to hammer in the nails himself. The kid had the foresight to have me hold the nail with a pair of plyers while he whacked away at it, thus preventing either of us from getting bruised fingers, but sinking a nail into wood is hard work for a 4-year-old. Tony paused mid-swing and mumbled, "Better living through technology."
"What?"
Louder, he repeated, "Better living through technology. Hammers are old fashioned. We should be using Dad's nail-gun."
"Great idea." I didn't want to spend all day holding nails anyway.
Anthony didn't like accepting defeat, but he simply couldn't press hard enough to get the nails to pop out of the nail-gun. Reluctantly, he allowed me to help him squeeze the trigger to put the nails in place.
With the shelves assembled, I was able to coax him inside for a very late lunch. While he ate, Tony prattled on about his plans to paint the shelves blue and that he wanted to add a Captain America shield symbol on various places. Luckily, the kid conked out 5 minutes after lunch, giving me a much needed break.
Maria & Tony Age 3 & 4
Maria's POV
Tony likes to watch me play piano. In little time, he'd made the connection between the little dots on the page and which keys were pressed and how long they were held. But understanding is different from playing. His hands are small. Some of the chords are too far spread for him to reach. And it takes time to get an instinctual feel for where the keys are, so you don't have to look for where to put your fingers. Tony seems to like to play, but he's too focused on other things to obsess over perfecting it. So, his first attempts were clumsy, and his improvement has been gradual.
Howard & Anthony Ages 3-11
Stark Industries
3rd Person
Howard allowed him to tag-along to work and little Anthony's brain was enthralled with all the new input, computing all that he saw. With a nanny holding his hand, or his Dad at his side, he was permitted to explore the Stark Industry factories. He was fascinated by the interworking of the machines and would willingly sit quietly and stare at the gears turn and at the men in greasy shirts using wrenches and soldering irons as they assembled engines. And his caretakers enjoyed their temporary breaks.
Anthony would sit side by side with the R&D computer techs, asking them a thousand questions until his father inevitably rescued the employee by either ordering his son, "Ant'ny, watch silently. Mr. Roberts has work to do." Or would distract the child with his own set of computer innards.
Tony's POV
Dad lets me come to work with him. Well, us really. My nanny is required to be with all the time. Sometimes I even have to go into the lady's room with her and wait while she's in the stall.
When he has time, Dad stays with me in R&D and shows me how to do stuff or gives me things to build with. Sometimes I just sit in the factory and watch the machines running. If you get the right angle you can see inside 'em. I try to puzzle out how each gear and rods is connected to make the machine work.
If I'm quiet, and stay out of the way, I'm allowed to watch new products being tested. But Dad always makes me promise first to follow Aunt Peggy's rule about keeping mum about stuff. If people found out what we're making they might try to make it too and if they get it to market before we do then we'll've wasted a lot of money on R&D because you have to play salaries and re-tool the equipment to make the stuff.
That sounded really weird to me because tools are things like screwdrivers. How are you supposed to re-screwdrive? Unscrew it and screw it back in? That doesn't make any sense. So I asked Dad. He said re-tooling means that the whole machine has to be modified so it can make the new shape for the new item, and that because the stuff we make has lots of parts several machines have to be re-designed so the new stuff can go into production.
Howard's POV
I, like my son, felt patronized when given accolades for minor successes, that required minimal brain power. And I have no doubt that there are times, where like me, he feels praise is earned, but the accomplishment goes un-acknowledged.
Until I was a parent I never realized how challenging it could be to determine when to praise and when not to. Antn'y's brain bounds like a jack-rabbit running from a fox, and with each leap a new conclusion is drawn or a new invention springs to mind. So which success requires the praise? The thing he succeeded at an hour ago, or the thing he's making right now? His current creation is an enhancement of what came before and an hour from now it may be enhanced again. So when should the praise happen? Should it happen? How will 'that's great' effect his desire to make the gadget better? It may make him consider the job done. He needs to have the drive and desire to improve tech if he's ever to succeed at creating time travel.
I try to take my que from him; use that knack I've got for reading a room to decide if he needs an "Ata boy!" or a, "What else can you do to improve it?"
Howard & Anthony Military
Howard's POV
Cap's still lost in the ocean, or some iceberg somewhere. Hopefully the ice and not an ocean, because it's gonna be a bitch building a sub that can withstand 800 bars of pressure. And what happens with the bends to a hibernating body coming up from that depth. But I got hypothesize that the plane crashed in the ice, because I know for certain Steve is alive. Had he been bopping about on the ocean floor his body would've been a smorgasbord, and there's no coming back from that, enhanced body or not.
Antn'y needs him. Don't know why, but I know it to be true. And when I finally do haul him from whatever glacier the plane nosedived into, Antn'y needs to make pals with him.
At the dinner table, or just at odd moments throughout the day, I tell my little boy tales of Captain America. Antn'y loves to hear of his adventures and I get a kick out of watching him done the Captain America outfit I had made and make believing he's taking out Nazis.
I encourage anything he does with weapons, be it make believe or constructing tech. It fit well with the industry he's going to be responsible for running.
Ant'ny tags along with me to meetings on military bases. I leave him outside with a nanny. Ant'ny avidly watches the soldiers training, and when allowed, exercises alongside them or runs the obstacle course when it was empty.
I made sure he knew how to use guns too, though Maria threw a fit about that one. You could either say I won the fight or tuned her out. He needs to know how to use guns. Stark Industries manufactures weapons for the military. It make sense for Ant'ny to be trained in both marksmanship and tactics, to help him cultivate ideas on how to improve weapon designs. And to prepare for whatever was up with him and Steve.
I also signed the kid up for martial arts lessons. After all, he's the son of wealthy parents, and therefore at risk of kidnapping for ransom. And a complete geek. And tiny for his age. And easily frustrated by idiots. Which for geniuses like us is basically everyone. All good reasons for him to know some self-defense.
Education, Anthony, Ages 3-11
3rd Person POV
Other than a short stint in boarding school at age 6, Anthony Stark didn't attend school. He had tutors. What was the point of him going to regular school with its crawling pace and repetition? If you put a punctuation and grammar book in his hands and insist that he wasn't allowed to build anything or go to work with Dad until he'd finished the chapter he'd buckle down and have the boring text memorized faster than the family chef could finish making breakfast.
Though a butler, Jarvis was essentially one of his main tutors. Together they explored the world's museums, historical villages and famous places of acclaim, such as the Taj, the Great Pyramids, and Yellowstone National Park. Anthony learned of cultures and languages by being immersed in them as he traveled the world either with Jarvis, his other tutors (boring ones), or on business trips with his parents.
Jarvis treated Tony as the son he and his late wife were never able to have.
Such was the life of the young boy that would one day rule his kingdom. But what of all the specific experiences that littered his childhood and would affect the nuances of who he would become? Follow along, and we shall discover together.
Author's Note
In the 1970's and 80's (and possibly other decades) cereal companies increased their sales by placing cheap plastic toys in amongst the cereal. As a kid, it was great fun. As an adult, all I can think is eww, eww eww! Small munchkins with questionable hygiene shoved their entire arms down into a box of food in search of a toy and then spent the next 3 weeks munching on that cereal!
Again, thank you Magicspacehole for your advice on how to organize this chapter. Also, all typos are my own. Feel free to PM me if you notice something I missed.
