The meat processing plant thing is canon from the comic Iron Man Season One.
**8**
That's how Jarvis finds him, plate of cookies in one hand and a plastic baggie in the other.
"Tony?" he asks, and Tony can tell by the light on the man's glasses that he can't see well in the dark of his room. "Your mother said you needed help with something. Can I turn on the light?"
Tony mumbles assent into his pillow. The light flicks on accordingly. A hand on the less bruised of his shoulders.
"Tony?" Tony rolls over to face him, and Jarvis sighs when he sees the tear tracks and the red, swollen eyes. "It didn't go well, hm?" he murmurs, sitting at the edge of the bed.
Tony crawls over for a cookie. They're warm and gooey and full of chocolate, and he feels real comfort for the first time since he set foot in the house. He eats two before he speaks. "Mr Stark said I can't have a body guard," Tony says, pressed up against Jarvis' side. He's as close as he can get to crawling into the butler's lap and clinging like a baby without actually doing so. "And that if I was dead he wouldn't have to deal with ransoms and stuff. Mom didn't even know I was gone."
Jarvis says a lot of nasty things under his breath and wraps an arm around his shoulders. "A body guard is a smart idea, Tony. How much money do you have in your begone bank?"
"Forty five thousand dollars," Tony says absently. "That's four hundred and fifty times Mr Stark gave me money to go away. Well." He pauses, thinks. "No. It's four hundred and forty three times, because sometimes he gave me two or three hundred and once he gave me a thousand."
Tony actually really hates the begone bank, because it reminds him so much of how his father can't stand to be around him. It used to be called the "fuck off" bank, because that's what he was always told, until Jarvis put a stop to it. The new name is a sort of compromise; the meaning is still there, but it doesn't sound as bad.
Jarvis makes a noise Tony can't really figure out, a sort of angry growl mixed with a sad sigh. "That's a lot of money. I daresay you have enough to get your own body guard, without bothering Master Stark about it."
This brightens Tony's mood considerably. "Really?"
"I'll even help you find someone suitable," Jarvis promises, smiling. "We can start tomorrow. Now," he holds up the plate, "one more cookie and I'll help you shower."
"Jarvis," Tony complains around a mouthful of cookie, "I'm almost ten! I can do it myself."
"Do you want to lift your arms over your head?" Jarvis asks, still smiling. Tony thinks it over and decides that would be a bad idea. "I'll just do your hair and face for you, is that alright?"
"Okay," Tony agrees, hopping off the bed. The movement jars all his aches and pains, but he figures the hot water will make him feel better. "Please don't do my ears," he adds.
"Of course I'm going to clean your ears," Jarvis says, mock scandalized. "They're filthy!"
"Are not!"
"Are, too. Now come here so I can work out how to wrap your plaster."
**8**
The next day starts with more cookies and a new plan. Tony dresses comfortably, downs the medicine the hospital prescribed, and lets Jarvis make calls while he faces the office door down for the second time in twenty-four hours. He knocks, then steps back and waits.
Howard opens the door with a scowl fixed on his face. "You again?" he grunts, looking extremely hungover. Tony wonders if he's thrown up yet today. "What is it?"
Tony takes a deep breath. "My birthday's in two weeks."
Howard looks thoroughly unimpressed. "And?"
"And I wanted to know if I could celebrate it. Can we go somewhere, like last year?" Tony had considered whether or not he should say this very carefully; last year, Howard took him to a meat processing plant to "show him how the world really works." There were flies everywhere, and maggots, and people smearing cow blood on their faces as they wiped the at the sweat on their foreheads. The whole place reeked of death and feces and Tony had thrown up when they left. Howard had been furious. It's a risky tactical decision to bring up the idea of another trip.
Howard's scowl deepens. "No. I don't want you bothering me. Go ask Maria. I'll," he shakes his head and turns away, "up your allowance or something."
That's more than Tony had dared to hope for. "Thank you."
Howard mutters something, and the door slams shut. Tony practically skips to the kitchen.
"He said he'd give me a present," he says excitedly. Jarvis looks up from a stack of papers on the counter.
"Did he?" Jarvis asks, smiling. "That's great. Did he say what?"
"He said he was gonna up my allowance." Tony shrugs. "I don't have an allowance, so I guess it's more money for the begone bank. But that means more money for my body guard. Which is secretly my present."
"Speaking of body guards..." Jarvis slides six papers over for Tony to look at. "Here are some interesting people who want to apply."
Tony hops onto the high stool and looks at them all. All six of them are big and intimidating. Two are bald, even, and the only woman is six feet tall with a red, ropy scar across her face.
"They look like common thugs," he announces, quoting Jarvis' opinion on his last kidnappers. "I wouldn't trust them to keep me safe."
Jarvis tuts. "I suppose not. Well, I've only just started. Give it another couple days. I'll give you their profiles and resumes. You just pick the ones you like."
"Can I meet them in person before we choose who to hire?" Tony asks, looking over one of the profiles curiously.
"That's an excellent idea," Jarvis praises. "Now, breakfast. What do you want to eat?"
"No eggs," he says immediately, then winces. He used to love eggs.
Jarvis looks appropriately concerned. "I thought you liked omelets. Changed your mind?"
Tony grimaces. "That's all I got to eat when, you know." He lifts his cast half-heartedly. "They only gave me boiled eggs and water. It was disgusting."
"I see," Jarvis murmurs, then, louder, "how about pancakes?"
"Blueberry?" Tony asks hopefully.
"Sure."
They spend the rest of the day discussing what kind of body guard Tony wants, looking over profiles, and baking. By dinner time they've baked four kinds of cookies, a cake, and pizza rolls. They've rejected forty profiles and kept seven. They've helped some of the maids dust, picked up Tony's room, and avoided Tony's parents. It's been a good day.
**8**
Most of the bruises have faded by the time they decide to start the interviews. There are thirty people, out of the fifty Tony selected, who agree to come meet their potential charge in person.
Tony, two days from his tenth birthday, squirms in his chair as he and Jarvis peek out the window. They chose a more subtle Stark Industries office building to host their interview. Tony picked an empty office that overlooks the lobby. Many of the people there he recognizes from the profiles he looked over. He doesn't have a favourite yet, but some of them have really cool skills. "Credentials," Jarvis calls them. Tony just thinks that being able to do three kinds of martial arts is awesome.
Jarvis makes an announcement over the intercom. Tony takes a deep breath.
"Ready?" His butler asks.
Tony shrugs. "Sorta."
There's a knock on the door, and the interviewing begins. Tony's not really sure what he was supposed to do in the interview, so he asks questions relating to what was on each person's profile. When he says they'll be guarding him, some people lose interest and leave. Others want to be paid on an hourly wage. Still others lied on their profiles, or tried to sneak in, or refused to leave their weaponry at the door. It's an hours-long, grueling process and Tony doesn't find anyone likeable or interesting. He's bored out of his mind, and spinning slowly in his chair when the last person comes in. Well, he bursts in, guns out and aimed at Tony's head.
The burly man shoves Jarvis out of the way and three men follow him in. Tony bites at the hand that grabs him, hitting as hard as he can with his cast and reaching out to Jarvis, who had crumpled to the floor and hasn't moved.
"Let go of me!" he spits. "Let go!"
But the man has him by the throat and isn't budging.
"I'd hold still," his attacker says, "or something might happen to the old man over there."
Two of the lackeys stand by the door and the other goes to press a gun to Jarvis' temple. Tony freezes.
"Don't," he gasps. "Don't hurt him. Please."
"Do what I say," the man says calmly, "and nobody has to get hurt."
Tony nods frantically, promises to hold still and follow orders spilling from his lips as he prays to whoever's listening that Jarvis will be okay.