And one more fic
Title Three Ways That They Found Out...
Author To-Shiki
Rating PG-13
Pairing Steve/Tony/Thor
Word Count 3,774
Beta dieewigenacht
Disclaimer They so aren't mine. Beacuse if they were...we would all be rich because I would turn all these fics into canon
Summary Logan, Carol, and Jessica Drew find out that others don't love their dads as much as they do and how their dads dealt with it.
Warning Does contain closed-minded people and the use of the word fa**ot
Three Ways That They Found Out…
…That Their Family Wasn’t Normal
August 28th
Even from a distance and through the glass door to the office the secretary was able to clearly see the handsome man walking her way. As he came closer she could make him out better: the blond buzz cut, striking blue eyes, muscular build…the clenched fists at his side.
Oh dear.
“Your…father is here, young man,” she informed the sulking nine year old sitting in the chair besides the door. The boy glared at her but otherwise remained silent. “You do realize that this is the 4th time in two weeks that he’s been called in for this, correct?” she antagonized him.
Again silence. She really couldn’t understand why they continued to let this little ruffian keep coming back Monday through Friday. He was much too violent and vulgar, for a nine year old anyways. 4th time in two weeks and the 10th time within a month, he’s been called in to the principal’s office for fighting with the students. Only this time it was different from all the others.
This time he had hit two teachers. Both of them were lying in the nurse’s office with black eyes, busted lips, and bruised body parts. The teachers, one male and one female, claimed that they didn’t know why the boy suddenly charged into the teachers’ lounge and started hitting them. They said that they had merely been talking about the nice weather recently when he viciously attacked them. Neither of the people occupying the office believed a word of it.
Now, forty minutes after the fight had been broken up and the three had wound up in two different offices, here comes the familiar sight of sweaty, dusty Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers-Stark complete with throbbing vein over his right eye. The secretary had a feeling that she knew exactly where Logan inherited his temper and violence.
Mutants, naturally or artificially made, are a menace, she thought as she plastered on a glaringly fake smile. Just because the man protects the city from harm doesn’t mean he should be teaching it to his children.
“Good morning, Mr. Rogers-Stark. Mr. Stanley is expecting you. Go right in. I’ll keep an eye on your…ah…son.” Her nose wrinkled as he walked past her to the adjoining office. The legendary hero worked hard and it was noticeable. The door slammed open, startling the man sitting inside, and then slammed shut and both secretary and son winched at the loud sound.
Ten minutes trickled past. The only sounds to be heard were the scratching of pen on paper, the ticking of the clock, quiet breathing, and the muffled voices leaking out from the principal’s office.
Logan’s eyes shifted to the door when the voice’s died down. With his enhanced hearing he could only make out a handful of words and none of them were good. Most of them came from the principal. The last words, coming from his dad, were short, clipped, and did not bode well for him or the school.
The secretary slapped back on her blindingly obvious false smile when Steve wrenched the door open. Enough force was used that all four people could hear the hinges groan in protest. He quietly walked over to her desk, signed Logan out, and left, motioning for his son to follow.
She breathed a sigh of relief when both disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall. A meaningful look was shared between her and Mr. Stanley. They wouldn’t be hearing the end of this once Mr. Tony Rogers-Stark was informed. Both prayed that the other father wasn’t informed as well. The school sat at the valley between two hills. It wouldn’t survive an ‘accidental’ flooding.
~*~
Steve waited until both he and Logan were buckled up and on the road before speaking.
“Care to tell me what it was this time?” He kept his tone neutral and his eyes on the road. It was difficult to not clench his jaw but he fought the urge valiantly. He had a good idea as to what it was. The principal had claimed that Logan may be one of those children that just randomly had violent urges and acted out on them. What a lie.
His eldest child was silent for a long time. He watched as the scenery blurred by outside his window, small fists spasming open and closed.
“The teachers were calling me a freak of nature. ‘An abom…abombination among mankind.’ That’s what they said,” Logan quoted, tripping over the word ‘abomination’. His fists closed again, bone claws pricking through flesh by an inch.
His dad ‘hmm’ed thoughtfully. “I need to stop at work. Need to let Sam know I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He put one hand over his son’s. The claws barely pricked his flesh and Logan retracted them quickly. There was already one parent with scars from his claws, he didn’t want another. The truck lurched to the left as his dad turned onto the side street taking them to where the construction crew was working this week.
“I’m sorry, dad,” the young mutant whispered. When he had first been born, Thor had taken him to Asgard when he was healthy enough to show him to his Grampa. Odin had been pleased at how well Logan was and had announced him as a member of the family. But, he had told them, he was mortal. The healing factor made it so that he could possibly life an extended life but he was no god, merely a mutant.
Blue eyes settled on his son before darting back to the road. “Why?” They were almost to their stop. Up ahead they could see the beginning of a new research facility Thor, or really Dr. Don Blake, was having built. After 3 kids and several tests proving that both ‘mother’ and children were healthy the city and government had agreed to see about branching out for other homosexual couples and women who couldn’t have children to try out the artificial womb. “Why exactly are you sorry, Logan?”
The young boy looked forward and straightened his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my fighting got you called. I’m sorry that I have caused you to lose another day of work.” He paused then grinned grimly up at his dad. “But I’m not sorry about fighting. They deserved it. They were both saying mean things about me and my dads.”
Steve’s hands clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white from blood loss. “What were they saying?” The jaw muscles tightened and teeth ground together.
“Dunno,” his son shrugged. “I heard them say something about my family and I went in there and showed them a thing or two about talkin’ ‘bout people like that.”
The truck pulled into the lot where Steve could see Sam directing the other construction workers. He parked the vehicle and killed the engine. Several seconds passed before he turned to face his son. Placing both massive hands on the slight shoulders, he said, “I’m proud of you, Logan.”
His son stared at him blinking uncomprehendingly. “Why?” he questioned quietly, almost afraid of what the answer could be. He had gotten into another fight. His daddy and pops will be furious, just like his dad should be. It’s not good for him to be fighting, right?
“Because you’ve been taunted and have had so many opportunities to prove to the ‘normal’ people attending that poor excuse for a public school that mutants really are evil. Getting into a fight at school is normal, well at least with the kids. Having claws pop out of your fists is not. You behaved just like any normal boy your age would when his family or honor was insulted.”
“But…but I don’t understand, dad,” he looked up at his dad, eyes wide and innocent. “Why do they hate me? And you and daddy and pops? What did we do?”
A heavy sigh escaped. “They will say it’s because you were born. But,” he held up a hand when his son opened his mouth to protest. “But that’s not true. What you did, what anyone not ‘normal’ did was nothing. Do you understand? You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.
“Humanity constantly evolves. Trust me; I’ve seen it happen a lot these past couple of decades. Mostly what it is is that they are either afraid of what those born with mutated genes can do or they are jealous. You know how bad both of those emotions can be, don’t you? There are several people out there who don’t care, who still think that mutants are just like the regular Joes out there only gifted. People exist that believe that we can all get along. That’s one of the things the Avengers are trying to prove.”
“So like that professor guy? He’s one of those people?”
“Yes,” Steve nodded, pulling the key from the ignition. “Like Professor Xavier. You see, the thing is that no matter how much they hate us, if a crisis comes up we’ll be the first ones they call because they know that we can handle it. But as soon as it’s over? They’ll go right back to hating us since we put their world back to normal.
“We, personally, didn’t do anything to them. It’s the way they were raised, I think, to accept or not accept things just as their parents before them. Humanity hates what it cannot understand or control. And we are something that cannot be controlled in America because it would interfere with our rights.”
“Oh.” Brown eyes turned down to stare at his hands. He let the bone claws, all six inches long, pop out, a winching slightly as they cut through freshly healed flesh. A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up at his dad sadly.
“Don’t you ever be ashamed of what you are, Logan. Never be ashamed or embarrassed of what you were given. Despite the claws and the healing factor, you are our son. Nothing, not anyone’s cruel words or actions, will ever change that. Just keep your head held high and make sure you stay better than them.”
~*~
September 3rd
Young 8 year old, blond haired and blue eyed Carol sat on one of her daddy’s worktables down in the subbasement. Her bare feet idly swinging back and forth as she watched her daddy try to pull something out of the underbelly of the Quinjet.
Both father and daughter were dressed in tank tops and baggy lounge pants. The only difference was that Carol’s was relatively clean, being a child and all, while Tony’s was covered in grease, sweat, and engine oil. The little girl had joined her daddy around half an hour ago after Jarvis had helped her with her homework. She hadn’t said a word, just jumped up on the worktable with a puzzled expression on her cherub like face.
“Daddy?”
A grunt emerged from where he lay on his back, upper body hidden by metal and wires.
“What’s a…a faggot?”
His hand came out from the machinery slapping against the concrete floor. “Honey, hand me the green handled tool. It looks kinda like a wrench but not.” He waited until she handed him the needed tool and returned to what he was doing before answering. “A faggot is…-grunt- a bundle of…come ‘ere you piece of…eehhh got it! It’s a bundle of sticks.” The piece of whatever it was came skidding out, sliding across the floor to hit that wall furthest away from them. “Why do you ask, princess?” His foot began tapping out a random song as he awaited her answer.
Carol crouched down near Tony’s prone form with arms wrapped around her knees. “Why would he call you and dad and pops a bundle of sticks?” It made no sense to her. None of her dads were stick-like at all.
Her daddy suddenly became very still. Both hands gripped the edge of the ‘Jet and he wiggled himself out from underneath. He pushed up to sit with his back leaning against the ‘Jet. “Who called us a faggot? How did they word it?”
She allowed herself to plop down on her butt facing her daddy. “Simon Williams. He said, ‘Your dads are faggots.’” He head tilted to the side, blond hair falling over her shoulders. “Why would he call you a buncha sticks?”
Tony blinked hard. Did his daughter, his precious 8 year old -innocent- little girl, hear such slander at her school? In such a public place? “He’s the boy at your school, right? The one you kinda have a crush on?” he asked to clarify where she might have heard it. He silently prayed that it wasn’t at school. He would more than likely be maiming someone if it was.
“Uh-huh.” A pale blush blossomed along her cheekbones. She definitely got that from her dad.
The playboy billionaire turned father sighed. How to break this? “Honey? Princess. When Simon was saying we were…faggots, he didn’t mean what its original definition was. It has a new meaning now among today’s generation.” He paused to make sure he had his daughter’s full attention. “What he meant was something derogatory, something mean. He was using the slang word for ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual.’” Tony crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap. “Basically, sweetheart, he was calling your dads a very very bad word.”
His daughter sat there staring at him like her world had just crumbled. Her…crush...had called her dads a bad word? Why? “Why?” she whispered out loud. “Why would he say something like that? He’s been over here before with my other friends and he liked it here. He told me…he said that he wanted to come back again sometime.” Tears filled her eyes at the mere thought of her *secret* crush not at least liking her daddy a little bit. He was her most favorite of the three with her dad and pops coming in 2nd.
“Oh, princess. Come ‘ere.” Tony reached out and pulled his little girl onto his lap. He cradled her to his chest as she began to cry silently. He searched his brain for something to cheer her up. “He may not have meant it in a mean way. There’s a good possibility that he was just repeating what he heard someone else say.” One calloused and grease smeared hand stroked her back. “I seriously doubt that he doesn’t like your dads and me.” I hope, he added to himself.
She pulled away enough to look up at him. There was snot running out her nose. Tony searched for a clean spot on the front of his tank top. Giving up on a hopeless cause he took it off, turning it inside out in the process. On the back was a clear patch of white large enough for his purpose. He placed it against his daughter’s nose and said, “Blow.” He didn’t even flinch when he felt the wetness soak through onto his fingers.
“Thanks, daddy,” she mumbled when he pulled his shirt away. She took it from him to wipe away her tears streaking her cheeks. “Wha-what does hom-homosech…what does that word mean? Why’s it bad?” Tiny hands crumpled the dirty, snotty fabric.
Tony shifted both of them so he was still leaning against the Quinjet with his legs straight out in front of him with his second child sitting on his legs. “It’s just a word to specify that someone likes someone else of the same gender. Like two boys liking each other or two girls.”
“But you and dad and pops are 3 boys.” Three fingers were held up to help illustrate her point.
“Yes, I know. But all three of us like each other a whole lot. So that word still applies to us.”
“Why is it bad? Why is you and dad and pops liking each other bad?”
“Mostly because a lot of people think that only a man and a woman should be together like your dads and I are. They think it’s going against religion.”
“So why would Simon…?”
Tony shrugged a shoulder. He reached out and tugged on a strand of blond hair. “Like I said: he may have heard it from somewhere else and was just repeating it since it had to do with us. Maybe in hopes of impressing you?”
“You think so, daddy?” she sniffled at him, shinning eyes full of young hope.
“Yes,” he nodded once firmly. “How about tomorrow when you two play at recess you ask him what he meant by it, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Alright, it’s…what time is it, Princess?” When his daughter merely shrugged, he bounced his legs, feeling the tell tale pins and needles starting. “Anyways, whatever time it is we should probably go upstairs and wash up before Gram-“
“Master Tony! Miss Carol! Please stop what you’re doing and come up for supper!” Jarvis’s voice echoed around the enclosed area.
Father and daughter looked at one another stunned before busting up laughing. It seemed that Tony’s warning came a bit too late. Carol got off her daddy’s legs and helped him get up, smearing her hands with the leftover grease on his hands. Together they bounded up the stairs, playfully racing each other, Jarvis watching them with dish towel in hand.
~*~
September 19th
It was a slightly dreary overcast day when Thor, in his mortal disguise of Dr. Don Blake, picked up the youngest child from her preschool just a mile from the hospital he worked at. Tony was in an all day meeting and Steve was stuck on the other side of town building the new research facility. That means that today was his turn to pick up the little bundles of misch-joy. Little bundles of joy. That’s what children are.
First was Jessica Drew from preschool then Logan and Carol from their elementary school three streets over. Since there was an hour in between when they got out, he decided to take Jess with him to his work to pick up his paycheck and grab a snack from one of the fast food restaurants along the way.
It was a slow day, thank the gods, and the front desk nurses had no problem watching little Jessica Drew as he went up to grab his check. He returned no more than twenty minutes later, scooped her up onto his hip, walking stick firmly in his other hand, and limped his way out of the hospital.
It was while they were sitting outside the restaurant eating fries and sipping at shakes that the littlest of the group started spilling every word she heard while waiting for her pops to get his check.
“Pops? Did you know that you and daddy and dad are gay? What does that word mean? The ladies at the hospital called you guys that. They was looking at one of those funny papers daddy likes to make fun of and reading it out loud to each other. They said daddy was a bad infu-infewance on dad. What’s that mean? Did daddy do something bad? Is he gonna get grounded like ‘Gan did when he said a bad word? Why-“
“Wait. Stop.” Thor held up a hand. He leaned his walking stick against their table and folded both arms on the sticky white plastic. “You heard this at the hospital?” When she nodded his fists clenched. What were people thinking reading that filth out loud where a child could hear it?
He realized that he’d taken too long in answering when a French fry flew up and bonked him right on the tip of his nose. He blinked and stared down at the offending piece of deep fried potato. He picked it up and poked her on the nose with it. “No throwing your food. You know better, young lady.” Said piece of food was promptly bitten into. Three chews and a swallow found it gone. “What they were saying were bad things. Things I don’t want to hear you repeat. Understand?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re mean words.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what they are.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Someone decided a long time ago that those words were not to be used in polite company.”
“Are you gonna spank them, pops?”
“Who?”
“The old ladies that said it. Are you?”
“No, baby girl, I can’t spank them. They’re too old for me to spank them.” Not to mention the lawsuit that would follow if I did.
“But aren’t you older than them, pops?”
A sigh. “Yes, I am. But they aren’t my children. So I can’t punish them for saying bad words.” Oh but how I wish I could.
“They said other things, too.” The little girl twirled her fry in the cup of ketchup. Her fingers as well as the corners of her mouth were covered in the red mess. “They said we was made up of freaks and stupid people. They said we should be shot.” She looked up at her pops, her face set in a serious expression. “Why would they say that? Being shot’s bad.” And she remembered that, too. When her dad came back from a mission a while ago he had been shot in the leg. It was nothing big, both her pops and her dad reassured her. But her daddy had been fussing, she saw. That means that it was bad no matter what pops and dad said.
“They said it because…because they are jealous. They’re jealous of the fact that your dad, daddy, and I love each other so much. They’re just jealous that we have three perfect children and they don’t.” He let one hand card through her bangs, ruffling them up. It got a giggle out of her and more ketchup on her face when she tried to bat his hand away.
“Don’t you ever be like them, baby girl,” he whispered. “Grow up to be strong and independent and respectful of other people’s way of living.”
They finished off their snack quickly. He held her by the hand as they walked back to his car. She swung their joined hands back and forth excitedly at the thought of going home to whatever Grampa Jarvis was doing in the kitchen. She’d been a good girl all day at preschool which means that he’d let her in the kitchen to watch him cook dinner.
As they walked Thor decided it was time for him, Tony, and Steve to sit down and discuss this recent trend of verbal slander that their family was being assaulted with.
Author To-Shiki
Rating PG-13
Pairing Steve/Tony/Thor
Word Count 3,774
Beta dieewigenacht
Disclaimer They so aren't mine. Beacuse if they were...we would all be rich because I would turn all these fics into canon
Summary Logan, Carol, and Jessica Drew find out that others don't love their dads as much as they do and how their dads dealt with it.
Warning Does contain closed-minded people and the use of the word fa**ot
Three Ways That They Found Out…
…That Their Family Wasn’t Normal
August 28th
Even from a distance and through the glass door to the office the secretary was able to clearly see the handsome man walking her way. As he came closer she could make him out better: the blond buzz cut, striking blue eyes, muscular build…the clenched fists at his side.
Oh dear.
“Your…father is here, young man,” she informed the sulking nine year old sitting in the chair besides the door. The boy glared at her but otherwise remained silent. “You do realize that this is the 4th time in two weeks that he’s been called in for this, correct?” she antagonized him.
Again silence. She really couldn’t understand why they continued to let this little ruffian keep coming back Monday through Friday. He was much too violent and vulgar, for a nine year old anyways. 4th time in two weeks and the 10th time within a month, he’s been called in to the principal’s office for fighting with the students. Only this time it was different from all the others.
This time he had hit two teachers. Both of them were lying in the nurse’s office with black eyes, busted lips, and bruised body parts. The teachers, one male and one female, claimed that they didn’t know why the boy suddenly charged into the teachers’ lounge and started hitting them. They said that they had merely been talking about the nice weather recently when he viciously attacked them. Neither of the people occupying the office believed a word of it.
Now, forty minutes after the fight had been broken up and the three had wound up in two different offices, here comes the familiar sight of sweaty, dusty Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers-Stark complete with throbbing vein over his right eye. The secretary had a feeling that she knew exactly where Logan inherited his temper and violence.
Mutants, naturally or artificially made, are a menace, she thought as she plastered on a glaringly fake smile. Just because the man protects the city from harm doesn’t mean he should be teaching it to his children.
“Good morning, Mr. Rogers-Stark. Mr. Stanley is expecting you. Go right in. I’ll keep an eye on your…ah…son.” Her nose wrinkled as he walked past her to the adjoining office. The legendary hero worked hard and it was noticeable. The door slammed open, startling the man sitting inside, and then slammed shut and both secretary and son winched at the loud sound.
Ten minutes trickled past. The only sounds to be heard were the scratching of pen on paper, the ticking of the clock, quiet breathing, and the muffled voices leaking out from the principal’s office.
Logan’s eyes shifted to the door when the voice’s died down. With his enhanced hearing he could only make out a handful of words and none of them were good. Most of them came from the principal. The last words, coming from his dad, were short, clipped, and did not bode well for him or the school.
The secretary slapped back on her blindingly obvious false smile when Steve wrenched the door open. Enough force was used that all four people could hear the hinges groan in protest. He quietly walked over to her desk, signed Logan out, and left, motioning for his son to follow.
She breathed a sigh of relief when both disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall. A meaningful look was shared between her and Mr. Stanley. They wouldn’t be hearing the end of this once Mr. Tony Rogers-Stark was informed. Both prayed that the other father wasn’t informed as well. The school sat at the valley between two hills. It wouldn’t survive an ‘accidental’ flooding.
~*~
Steve waited until both he and Logan were buckled up and on the road before speaking.
“Care to tell me what it was this time?” He kept his tone neutral and his eyes on the road. It was difficult to not clench his jaw but he fought the urge valiantly. He had a good idea as to what it was. The principal had claimed that Logan may be one of those children that just randomly had violent urges and acted out on them. What a lie.
His eldest child was silent for a long time. He watched as the scenery blurred by outside his window, small fists spasming open and closed.
“The teachers were calling me a freak of nature. ‘An abom…abombination among mankind.’ That’s what they said,” Logan quoted, tripping over the word ‘abomination’. His fists closed again, bone claws pricking through flesh by an inch.
His dad ‘hmm’ed thoughtfully. “I need to stop at work. Need to let Sam know I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He put one hand over his son’s. The claws barely pricked his flesh and Logan retracted them quickly. There was already one parent with scars from his claws, he didn’t want another. The truck lurched to the left as his dad turned onto the side street taking them to where the construction crew was working this week.
“I’m sorry, dad,” the young mutant whispered. When he had first been born, Thor had taken him to Asgard when he was healthy enough to show him to his Grampa. Odin had been pleased at how well Logan was and had announced him as a member of the family. But, he had told them, he was mortal. The healing factor made it so that he could possibly life an extended life but he was no god, merely a mutant.
Blue eyes settled on his son before darting back to the road. “Why?” They were almost to their stop. Up ahead they could see the beginning of a new research facility Thor, or really Dr. Don Blake, was having built. After 3 kids and several tests proving that both ‘mother’ and children were healthy the city and government had agreed to see about branching out for other homosexual couples and women who couldn’t have children to try out the artificial womb. “Why exactly are you sorry, Logan?”
The young boy looked forward and straightened his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my fighting got you called. I’m sorry that I have caused you to lose another day of work.” He paused then grinned grimly up at his dad. “But I’m not sorry about fighting. They deserved it. They were both saying mean things about me and my dads.”
Steve’s hands clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white from blood loss. “What were they saying?” The jaw muscles tightened and teeth ground together.
“Dunno,” his son shrugged. “I heard them say something about my family and I went in there and showed them a thing or two about talkin’ ‘bout people like that.”
The truck pulled into the lot where Steve could see Sam directing the other construction workers. He parked the vehicle and killed the engine. Several seconds passed before he turned to face his son. Placing both massive hands on the slight shoulders, he said, “I’m proud of you, Logan.”
His son stared at him blinking uncomprehendingly. “Why?” he questioned quietly, almost afraid of what the answer could be. He had gotten into another fight. His daddy and pops will be furious, just like his dad should be. It’s not good for him to be fighting, right?
“Because you’ve been taunted and have had so many opportunities to prove to the ‘normal’ people attending that poor excuse for a public school that mutants really are evil. Getting into a fight at school is normal, well at least with the kids. Having claws pop out of your fists is not. You behaved just like any normal boy your age would when his family or honor was insulted.”
“But…but I don’t understand, dad,” he looked up at his dad, eyes wide and innocent. “Why do they hate me? And you and daddy and pops? What did we do?”
A heavy sigh escaped. “They will say it’s because you were born. But,” he held up a hand when his son opened his mouth to protest. “But that’s not true. What you did, what anyone not ‘normal’ did was nothing. Do you understand? You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.
“Humanity constantly evolves. Trust me; I’ve seen it happen a lot these past couple of decades. Mostly what it is is that they are either afraid of what those born with mutated genes can do or they are jealous. You know how bad both of those emotions can be, don’t you? There are several people out there who don’t care, who still think that mutants are just like the regular Joes out there only gifted. People exist that believe that we can all get along. That’s one of the things the Avengers are trying to prove.”
“So like that professor guy? He’s one of those people?”
“Yes,” Steve nodded, pulling the key from the ignition. “Like Professor Xavier. You see, the thing is that no matter how much they hate us, if a crisis comes up we’ll be the first ones they call because they know that we can handle it. But as soon as it’s over? They’ll go right back to hating us since we put their world back to normal.
“We, personally, didn’t do anything to them. It’s the way they were raised, I think, to accept or not accept things just as their parents before them. Humanity hates what it cannot understand or control. And we are something that cannot be controlled in America because it would interfere with our rights.”
“Oh.” Brown eyes turned down to stare at his hands. He let the bone claws, all six inches long, pop out, a winching slightly as they cut through freshly healed flesh. A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up at his dad sadly.
“Don’t you ever be ashamed of what you are, Logan. Never be ashamed or embarrassed of what you were given. Despite the claws and the healing factor, you are our son. Nothing, not anyone’s cruel words or actions, will ever change that. Just keep your head held high and make sure you stay better than them.”
~*~
September 3rd
Young 8 year old, blond haired and blue eyed Carol sat on one of her daddy’s worktables down in the subbasement. Her bare feet idly swinging back and forth as she watched her daddy try to pull something out of the underbelly of the Quinjet.
Both father and daughter were dressed in tank tops and baggy lounge pants. The only difference was that Carol’s was relatively clean, being a child and all, while Tony’s was covered in grease, sweat, and engine oil. The little girl had joined her daddy around half an hour ago after Jarvis had helped her with her homework. She hadn’t said a word, just jumped up on the worktable with a puzzled expression on her cherub like face.
“Daddy?”
A grunt emerged from where he lay on his back, upper body hidden by metal and wires.
“What’s a…a faggot?”
His hand came out from the machinery slapping against the concrete floor. “Honey, hand me the green handled tool. It looks kinda like a wrench but not.” He waited until she handed him the needed tool and returned to what he was doing before answering. “A faggot is…-grunt- a bundle of…come ‘ere you piece of…eehhh got it! It’s a bundle of sticks.” The piece of whatever it was came skidding out, sliding across the floor to hit that wall furthest away from them. “Why do you ask, princess?” His foot began tapping out a random song as he awaited her answer.
Carol crouched down near Tony’s prone form with arms wrapped around her knees. “Why would he call you and dad and pops a bundle of sticks?” It made no sense to her. None of her dads were stick-like at all.
Her daddy suddenly became very still. Both hands gripped the edge of the ‘Jet and he wiggled himself out from underneath. He pushed up to sit with his back leaning against the ‘Jet. “Who called us a faggot? How did they word it?”
She allowed herself to plop down on her butt facing her daddy. “Simon Williams. He said, ‘Your dads are faggots.’” He head tilted to the side, blond hair falling over her shoulders. “Why would he call you a buncha sticks?”
Tony blinked hard. Did his daughter, his precious 8 year old -innocent- little girl, hear such slander at her school? In such a public place? “He’s the boy at your school, right? The one you kinda have a crush on?” he asked to clarify where she might have heard it. He silently prayed that it wasn’t at school. He would more than likely be maiming someone if it was.
“Uh-huh.” A pale blush blossomed along her cheekbones. She definitely got that from her dad.
The playboy billionaire turned father sighed. How to break this? “Honey? Princess. When Simon was saying we were…faggots, he didn’t mean what its original definition was. It has a new meaning now among today’s generation.” He paused to make sure he had his daughter’s full attention. “What he meant was something derogatory, something mean. He was using the slang word for ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual.’” Tony crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap. “Basically, sweetheart, he was calling your dads a very very bad word.”
His daughter sat there staring at him like her world had just crumbled. Her…crush...had called her dads a bad word? Why? “Why?” she whispered out loud. “Why would he say something like that? He’s been over here before with my other friends and he liked it here. He told me…he said that he wanted to come back again sometime.” Tears filled her eyes at the mere thought of her *secret* crush not at least liking her daddy a little bit. He was her most favorite of the three with her dad and pops coming in 2nd.
“Oh, princess. Come ‘ere.” Tony reached out and pulled his little girl onto his lap. He cradled her to his chest as she began to cry silently. He searched his brain for something to cheer her up. “He may not have meant it in a mean way. There’s a good possibility that he was just repeating what he heard someone else say.” One calloused and grease smeared hand stroked her back. “I seriously doubt that he doesn’t like your dads and me.” I hope, he added to himself.
She pulled away enough to look up at him. There was snot running out her nose. Tony searched for a clean spot on the front of his tank top. Giving up on a hopeless cause he took it off, turning it inside out in the process. On the back was a clear patch of white large enough for his purpose. He placed it against his daughter’s nose and said, “Blow.” He didn’t even flinch when he felt the wetness soak through onto his fingers.
“Thanks, daddy,” she mumbled when he pulled his shirt away. She took it from him to wipe away her tears streaking her cheeks. “Wha-what does hom-homosech…what does that word mean? Why’s it bad?” Tiny hands crumpled the dirty, snotty fabric.
Tony shifted both of them so he was still leaning against the Quinjet with his legs straight out in front of him with his second child sitting on his legs. “It’s just a word to specify that someone likes someone else of the same gender. Like two boys liking each other or two girls.”
“But you and dad and pops are 3 boys.” Three fingers were held up to help illustrate her point.
“Yes, I know. But all three of us like each other a whole lot. So that word still applies to us.”
“Why is it bad? Why is you and dad and pops liking each other bad?”
“Mostly because a lot of people think that only a man and a woman should be together like your dads and I are. They think it’s going against religion.”
“So why would Simon…?”
Tony shrugged a shoulder. He reached out and tugged on a strand of blond hair. “Like I said: he may have heard it from somewhere else and was just repeating it since it had to do with us. Maybe in hopes of impressing you?”
“You think so, daddy?” she sniffled at him, shinning eyes full of young hope.
“Yes,” he nodded once firmly. “How about tomorrow when you two play at recess you ask him what he meant by it, okay?”
“Okay!”
“Alright, it’s…what time is it, Princess?” When his daughter merely shrugged, he bounced his legs, feeling the tell tale pins and needles starting. “Anyways, whatever time it is we should probably go upstairs and wash up before Gram-“
“Master Tony! Miss Carol! Please stop what you’re doing and come up for supper!” Jarvis’s voice echoed around the enclosed area.
Father and daughter looked at one another stunned before busting up laughing. It seemed that Tony’s warning came a bit too late. Carol got off her daddy’s legs and helped him get up, smearing her hands with the leftover grease on his hands. Together they bounded up the stairs, playfully racing each other, Jarvis watching them with dish towel in hand.
~*~
September 19th
It was a slightly dreary overcast day when Thor, in his mortal disguise of Dr. Don Blake, picked up the youngest child from her preschool just a mile from the hospital he worked at. Tony was in an all day meeting and Steve was stuck on the other side of town building the new research facility. That means that today was his turn to pick up the little bundles of misch-joy. Little bundles of joy. That’s what children are.
First was Jessica Drew from preschool then Logan and Carol from their elementary school three streets over. Since there was an hour in between when they got out, he decided to take Jess with him to his work to pick up his paycheck and grab a snack from one of the fast food restaurants along the way.
It was a slow day, thank the gods, and the front desk nurses had no problem watching little Jessica Drew as he went up to grab his check. He returned no more than twenty minutes later, scooped her up onto his hip, walking stick firmly in his other hand, and limped his way out of the hospital.
It was while they were sitting outside the restaurant eating fries and sipping at shakes that the littlest of the group started spilling every word she heard while waiting for her pops to get his check.
“Pops? Did you know that you and daddy and dad are gay? What does that word mean? The ladies at the hospital called you guys that. They was looking at one of those funny papers daddy likes to make fun of and reading it out loud to each other. They said daddy was a bad infu-infewance on dad. What’s that mean? Did daddy do something bad? Is he gonna get grounded like ‘Gan did when he said a bad word? Why-“
“Wait. Stop.” Thor held up a hand. He leaned his walking stick against their table and folded both arms on the sticky white plastic. “You heard this at the hospital?” When she nodded his fists clenched. What were people thinking reading that filth out loud where a child could hear it?
He realized that he’d taken too long in answering when a French fry flew up and bonked him right on the tip of his nose. He blinked and stared down at the offending piece of deep fried potato. He picked it up and poked her on the nose with it. “No throwing your food. You know better, young lady.” Said piece of food was promptly bitten into. Three chews and a swallow found it gone. “What they were saying were bad things. Things I don’t want to hear you repeat. Understand?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re mean words.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what they are.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Someone decided a long time ago that those words were not to be used in polite company.”
“Are you gonna spank them, pops?”
“Who?”
“The old ladies that said it. Are you?”
“No, baby girl, I can’t spank them. They’re too old for me to spank them.” Not to mention the lawsuit that would follow if I did.
“But aren’t you older than them, pops?”
A sigh. “Yes, I am. But they aren’t my children. So I can’t punish them for saying bad words.” Oh but how I wish I could.
“They said other things, too.” The little girl twirled her fry in the cup of ketchup. Her fingers as well as the corners of her mouth were covered in the red mess. “They said we was made up of freaks and stupid people. They said we should be shot.” She looked up at her pops, her face set in a serious expression. “Why would they say that? Being shot’s bad.” And she remembered that, too. When her dad came back from a mission a while ago he had been shot in the leg. It was nothing big, both her pops and her dad reassured her. But her daddy had been fussing, she saw. That means that it was bad no matter what pops and dad said.
“They said it because…because they are jealous. They’re jealous of the fact that your dad, daddy, and I love each other so much. They’re just jealous that we have three perfect children and they don’t.” He let one hand card through her bangs, ruffling them up. It got a giggle out of her and more ketchup on her face when she tried to bat his hand away.
“Don’t you ever be like them, baby girl,” he whispered. “Grow up to be strong and independent and respectful of other people’s way of living.”
They finished off their snack quickly. He held her by the hand as they walked back to his car. She swung their joined hands back and forth excitedly at the thought of going home to whatever Grampa Jarvis was doing in the kitchen. She’d been a good girl all day at preschool which means that he’d let her in the kitchen to watch him cook dinner.
As they walked Thor decided it was time for him, Tony, and Steve to sit down and discuss this recent trend of verbal slander that their family was being assaulted with.