#dragophobia

As beautiful as Maria is when wrapped in the finest silk and most expensive jewellery, a gentle smile on her lips that Howard knows to be more destructive than any weapon his capable hands have managed to build, he prefers to see her like this. Dressed in a silk robe three sizes too big—stolen from his closet, no doubt—her hair held together in a lose bun, naked feet tugged under their son’s bright red—a royal colour, she had insisted—blanket, one hand holding a book, the other carding through the boy’s unruly hair, she looks settled and content in a way Howard rarely gets to appreciate anymore.

It soothes the permanent rumblings of discontent in his chest to see her, them, like this. Happy and safe. The sight is too rare, too precious, to let it go to waste.

It is only when the boy has long fallen asleep, when Maria carefully disentangles herself from the too clever hands, slides off the bed and places the book on the bedside table with a care she only ever bestows on a treasure she truly values, that Howard can bring himself to disrupt the serene mood.

“How long-“ he quietens at the glare his sharp voice earns in response, reflexively searches out the child buried under a ridiculous amount of blankets, still deeply asleep.

Far too used to loud voices perhaps, Howard contemplates, the thought accompanied by a dark tingle suspiciously reminiscent of guilt. He pushes it aside, though he indulges Maria all the same. Waits for his wife to quietly close the door. Even walks a couple of steps down the hallway before he repeats his question, uninterrupted this time.

“How long are you going to indulge this silliness?”

Maria sighs, pulls the gown tighter around her deceptively slender body. “For as long as he asks me too.” The reply is drenched in an stale annoyance, the kind born out of an argument that has been rehashed too many times, has lost all its potency and none of its importance.

“What good will it do him?” Howard growls all the same, unable to let the topic be. It is not in his nature to give in, nor in Maria’s to indulge him, and he doesn’t know whether to be grateful or exhausted by the steel lurking under his wife’s charming smile. “To fill his head with fantasies and fairy tales?”

“Antonio is but a child, Howard.” Maria shakes her head. “The world will do its very best to break him into a man as it is, the last thing he needs is for his father to do it first.”

“Soon he won’t have a choice.” The words ring cold and unforgiving in the abandoned floor, and Howard hates having to say them out loud, but he can keep them quiet even less. No problem has ever gone away by being ignored and he prides himself on providing solutions. Sometimes though, there are no good solutions, only working ones.

“It’s been three years.” Maria turns her head slightly towards him, a stubborn crease forming between her carefully plugged eyebrows. “You promised me five. Five years before he has to grow up. That is all I have asked for. You gave your word, Howard. Let him dream for now.” Her voice is soft, but there is fierce desperation in her usually cool eyes, and by the Fates, he loves this woman.

“He’s intelligent,” Howard states, instead of the ‘I know, I’m sorry’ that is lingering on the tip of his tongue. “The maids are starting to notice. We won’t be able to keep him out of the spotlight for much longer, dear. The time for dreams has passed.”

The crease between Maria’s brows deepens further, displeasure now plainly there for all to see. “It shouldn’t be this way,” she eventually answers, an echo of a rage older than time itself clinging to the words.

“He is—“ Howard breaks off, not daring to finish the sentence, not even in the relative safety of his own home. There are words better left unspoken, secrets best left undiscovered in the Stark mansion, and their heritage is undoubtedly one of them.

Maria rests a hand on his arm, squeezes gently. But her expression remains stony. “Five years,” she repeats, and Howard knows — has always known — that there is no arguing with his wife when it comes to their son.

“Five years,” he agrees, and hopes the time will never come.

*—*—*—*—*

Little is known about the origin of the race of dragons.

Some legends speak of a coupling between a demon of the lowest of hell’s dimensions and a shallow, vapid woman, and about the child born out of their unholy union, cursed with the worst traits humanity has to offer and the undying fire of the damned burning in its veins.

Others theorise that dragons, not unlike other malevolent spirits, were first born out of pure energy built on nothing but fury, an anger so potent, it eventually granted them the power to take on a physical form so similar to their preferred prey, they have become virtually indistinguishable from true humans.

There are other tales of course, some less well-known than others, like the stories told in small, isolated villages deep in the Amazonian rain forest. Tales of terrifying creatures not unlike huge snakes with grotesque wings and a tongue made out of fire, who have been cursed by a mystical power, for example. But beyond a couple of frightening Halloween masks and specialised college courses, they haven’t gained a lot of attention.

And though what is known of dragons is built on fiction more than fact, what remains true through every tale ever told, is the tangible fear of the unfeasible power they possess.

Thus perhaps the only truth respected researchers and religious fanatics, Americans and Russians, children and adults alike can agree upon, is the fundamental, undeniable fact that dragons are predators, and humanity is their designed prey.

*—*—*—*—*

Howard meets Maria by accident as much as on purpose. It is a coincidence that the two of them are attending a public lecture on species bias and its impact on a neutral outlook on the dragon species. It is no coincidence that they find each other during the following mingling, Howard sipping on a glass of wine, Maria with an untouched flute of champagne in her hand.

“Howard Stark,” he introduces himself with a charming bow, allows the warm, tingling sensation of one mind welcoming another to envelop him for a moment.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the radiant woman responds delicately, lets him take her hand and kiss its back, a brief touch of tongue any curious observer would have missed. “My name is Maria Carbonell.”

There is a faint accent in her words, and soon they are talking about Europe, Maria’s love for her country easily soothing some of Howards’ most painful memories, filled with blood and tragedy.

Neither of them mentions it that night, but when Maria breathes a soft kiss on Howard’s cheek in goodbye, her tongue flicking for the fraction of a second, he knows he will meet her again.

The tabloids have a field day of course. Notorious playboy Howard Stark, suddenly showing interest in a single woman for a prolonged amount of time? It seems improbable, impossible even, and gossip rags as well as galas are filled with whispers and rumours about the unexpected pair.

Not that Howard lets that stop him from going after what he wants. Or Maria for that matter.

Because the truth is, they both have waited a long time, have endured a world that doesn’t realise how much it should fear them with stoic tolerance. Now that they have found each other through luck and coincidence, Howard refuses to let the opportunity slip away.

He’s spent the last thirty years of his life pretending it doesn’t bother him, the lack of a true treasure. Has tried again and again to fill the burning need with one thing or another, has created and built, dated and slept with countless women, even tried his hand at relationships a couple of times. His efforts were futile though, doomed from the start, because Howard has always known that none of these women would ever earn his trust.

There was too much at stake, should his secret be revealed, too much damage that his heritage could cause, should the information reach the wrong ears. It is true, times for dragons have changed. In large parts because of the accomplishments and sacrifices of Steve Rogers, the first human to be successfully turned into a dragon.

With this new turn, the mythical species has become more tangible and reachable, not to forget that people are always easier swayed by a hero they admire. But for all the praise sung in Captain America’s memory, Howard knows better than to believe his kind has truly earned an equal standing in human society. For most people, Steve will always remain more human than dragon. Never mind that decades of hatred and mistrust can not be overcome by a single man, no matter how determined and idealistic.

No. His nature has always been a hazard, a secret by necessity, to hide away to the best of his abilities. Howard has heard too many stories, witnessed too many stories of the ends humanity has in store for his kind.

During his darkest nights he can’t help but wonder if Steve ever learned how many dragons had to die for the serum to be perfected, die needlessly and painfully at that. If he ever cared to learn.

In the end, Howard supposes it doesn’t matter. The thought is as bitter as it is placating, but he washes the taste away with alcohol just as easily.

The point is, there is a very fine line between the people who have experimented on dragons, driven by their curiosity about a species they fear and envy, and the people who have welcomed them, seen them as a resource to be used and exploited. Neither is a treatment Howard would ever accept or endure, and as he doesn’t wish for his death any time soon, hiding his true nature is the best option.

Living in shadows and pretence doesn’t require as much effort as is often assumed. If anything, dragons are meant to appear human. An objective they achieve remarkably well. As a scientist, though his interest in biology is admittedly limited, Howard can confirm that there are no physiological characteristics that distinguish a dragon from a fully grown man. For all intents and purposes they are the same—until you stab both of them in the stomach and only one of them immediately gets up and rips off your head.

So Howard has done what his father has taught him to. Has avoided deep emotional attachments and late night confessions of things best left undisturbed. Has created and amazed and played the crowds, drawn as much attention on his inventions as possible. Because never are people blinder than when they believe they see you clearly.

None of those lessons have prepared him for Maria.

Maria who had already known his deepest, darkest secret before their introduction had been finished. Who had shared it with him. Who had taken him by surprise and slipped right through the cracks and around his walls, easily evading every defence mechanism he’s spent years building up. Howard still hasn’t decided whether he is bothered or impressed by that.

He supposes, like so many other things, it doesn’t truly matter.

*—*—*—*—*

Despite the many characteristics that make a dragon dangerous, especially when put against an average human, there is only one they are really known for. One thing they are feared for.

Their rage.

Just like their strength, endurance and durability, a dragon’s emotions are amplified. They are stronger, clearer and more overwhelming than those of a human. And for no emotion does this rule apply as much as for rage. It overwhelms their senses, dominates their entire mindset. Turns a dragon into the single-minded centre of death and destruction.

Once a rage has been triggered, a dragon is known to attack anything within its reach, be it friend or foe, human or animal. They can not be calmed, nor reasoned with. The only known cases in which a rage has been ended successfully is by their death—or the death of everyone and everything around them.

It is perhaps for this reason that for every culture that believes dragons to be a manifestation of fury, there are three others, who see them as the harbingers of death.

*—*—*—*—*

Howard has never wanted an heir.

Holding the tiny bundle with wrinkled, pink skin and a fluff of dark hair in his arms for the first time is a jarring experience. Seeing Maria’s tired smile that holds too much understanding to be considered happy doesn’t help. Neither of them had expected this, had even thought about it. It hadn’t occurred to him that a child was even a possibility, so used had he become to the conviction that his line would die with him.

It was what Howard had wanted. What he had sworn to himself, back when he had first realised the curse their blood brought.

Howard has always known the pain of being what he is. Has always known that his life is filled with lies, omissions and deceit. That he is hunted, even if the rest of the world hasn’t realised they are looking for him yet. That one day he might slip. That one day his own mind, his very nature may betray him, and there won’t be anything he will be able to do about it.

But it was one after he had met Steve Rogers that Howard realised what it truly means to be a dragon. Only after he had watched humanity be destroyed, Steve Rogers be destroyed, and something else be rebuilt from the remains. Something stronger, Erskine had called it enthusiastically, blinded by idealism and the necessities of war.

The truth was that Steve had lost something during the change. Something Howard hadn’t even realised he himself too was missing until then. They all do.

And when Steve had died in the war, deep down, under the grief and the desolation, Howard had been relieved. Relieved that the world would never have to realise what Captain America had become. That Steve would be spared the knowledge of the extend of his change.

It had been an eye-opening experience. One that had caused Howard to give up on his dream of a family, however distant and unlikely it might have been at the time. He didn’t want an heir then. Didn’t want to pass on the curse in his very blood. He still doesn’t.

Yet, here he is now. In a private hospital room, his exhausted wife watching him from behind half-lidden eyes, holding the child he doesn’t want, can’t have. A mockery of a dream Howard has given up on all those years ago.

A son.

They name him Anthony Edward Stark.

“He is perfect,” Maria whispers lovingly.

But he isn’t. Howard knows he isn’t. Knows he should have gotten rid of the child before it ever had the chance to be born, should never have conceived it in the first place. But for all his determination and principles, when the time had come, when Maria had confessed to what had happened — he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. He hadn’t been able to deny himself this. No matter that their world isn't one he wants to bring his heir into.

No matter the price the world might pay one day for his choice.

Because the truth is, Howard has never cared all that much about the fate of the world. The truth is, the Starks have always been monsters in one way or another.

*—*—*—*—*

Whilst it is difficult for a known dragon to make an honest living, it is not entirely impossible. For all the social shunning and prejudice they face, there are certain sectors known to unofficially seek dragons out and hire them for the kind of work humans won’t or simply can’t do with the same efficiency.

The military in general, and special ops in particular, are known for their high employment rate of dragons. They survive fights that humans simply can’t, pull off nigh impossible stunts and shrug off traumatic experiences that would have brought a human to their knees. In short, they are the perfect weapons, so long as they are aimed at an enemy. And with a country’s security and power at stake, governments and the public are known to look the other way, as long as the results are satisfactory.

Occasionally an unplanned rage will go through the press and cause a nation-wide scandal. The discussion about the risks of employing dragons will flare up again, and some higher up will publicly lose his job. The dragons will remain where they were before, occasionally shuffled around and allocated into a different or renamed unit, until their existence is once again forgotten by the majority of the populace.

It remains an open, if unacknowledged secret that none of these dragons leave their service alive.

*—*—*—*—*

In another world, Howard thinks with renewed bitterness, he could have raised a son.

In this one, which only four months ago declared it illegal — if only punishable by a laughable fine — to purposefully trigger a dragons’ rage, he can’t afford to. He can’t afford to have anything but an heir, and watching the way the boy smiles at his wife as soon as she enters the room, knowing that this child is too soft for the war that will be its life, seems like more of a curse than his nature has ever been.

The child is already proving itself to be a prodigy, baffling its tutors and astonishing their staff. Howard hasn’t made his mind up yet, whether he is glad for the boy’s brilliance or not. He is too young, but already his light shines so bright, and soon the rest of the world will begin to notice. It was always going to, of course. There was always going to be a spotlight shining on the Stark heir, and with the boy’s fifth birthday fast approaching, the time is coming to prepare him for the double-edged sword that is the attention and adoration of the general public.

Howard pours himself another, generous glass. The alcohol isn’t enough to make him forget about the could have’s and would have’s of a future he has already given up on, but it numbs the pain to a level of displeased indifference.

These days, that’s the closest to happiness he gets.

*—*—*—*—*

Tony is five years old when he learns that dreams don’t last. He is five years old when he learns that monsters do.