Loki and Doctor Doom attack at the same time, and Doom's deaging ray misfires, catching himself and Loki. Now Tony has to deal with two lonely, brilliant children.
I really, really, really love this prompt. It’s beautiful and the possibilities are endless–but fair warning, I’m no good at writing children, brilliant or otherwise.
Bottom line, Clint despairingly thinks as he oversees the battle field from his vantage point, is that they all should have known better than to let Tony take care of two child-sized super villains. They really, really should have.
He remembers Maria’s sceptical expression when she’d asked whether they were sure about this, whether Tony really was qualified to look after two minors. Clint would love to have the woman next to him now, just so he could laugh into her face.
Hill was a damn good agent and he respected the shit out of her but her misconceptions regarding Tony were going to get her killed one day.
Possibly today, as a matter of fact.
Tony’s ability to take care of two kids had never been the problem. Even Steve had waved Maria’s concern off. Besides even if Tony wasn’t around much, they were both old enough to feed themselves, and JARVIS was around too.
Not that that had been a problem. Tony had taken one look at Mini-Doom’s disturbingly detailed sketch of a battery (Clint was 86 per cent sure that was the socially acceptable codeword for bomb) and adopted the kids as his own. Thank god Fury had been smart enough to give him the go-ahead instead of trying to keep the kids in the containment cells. That would have turned ugly fast.
Then again, things had gone damn bad anyways.
Clint hastily ducks as narrowed, green eyes dart across the room, in search for enemies-slash-targets.
Because while everyone had argued about what to do with two kids, they had somehow forgotten that even as children, they were still Doom and Loki. Clint honestly doesn’t know which one of these scary smart, little bastards is worse. And he really, really doesn’t want to find out.
Damn it, if he makes it out of this alive and with his dignity in tact, he is going to murder Natasha.
Let Stark handle them, she said. The responsibility will do him some good, she said. Kids like him, she said. (Keep those fuckers away from me, she meant.)
She’d been right. That was the problem.
Kids did like Tony. Granted, they liked all of them, but Tony loved showing off and he loved chatting with them and they felt that. Perceptive, little buggers. And of course Mini-Loki had taken a shine to a man that showed active interest in his theories, instead of belittling them. Of course Mini-Doom enthusiastically tried to imitate his newest, biggest hero.
(Clint would crow in delight about all the blackmail material he’s been gathering, except for how Tony has the protective instincts of an angry grizzly with the scary hacking skills and unknown-to-mere-men weapons to back them up. Yeah. He’s so not going there.)
So yeah. Operation babysitting the villains had been an outstanding success. Except for the part where the mini-villains–predictably, damn it, why hadn’t they prepared for this?–adored Tony. To the point of verging war on anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way and extracting gruesome revenge for any perceived slight against him.
And Tony did. not. notice. it. at. all.
It would be hilarious, if it weren’t Doom and Loki. Armed with their tiny but brilliant brains, rudimentary access to the workshop and JARVIS–who’s protectiveness regarding Tony is legendary–they could do a terrifying amount of damage.
Still, Clint would probably be so busy cracking jokes and taking pictures, he wouldn’t even mind. Watching the mini-villains go up against reporters, politicians and Fury (god, Fury, Clint would be forever in their debt if they weren’t maniacs) was freaking fantastic.
If only Steve had been able to see the humour in it. And hadn’t disagreed with Tony’s willingness to turn a blind eye. (Honestly, Clint suspected Tony was aware of every time someone so much as breathed inside his tower, but he wasn’t looking to get that suspicion confirmed. Talk about Big Brother creeps.) And hadn’t started yelling. In front of the mini-villains.
Yeah. And to think, the guy was supposed to have a talent for strategic thinking.
Watching as another tiny form joins mini-Loki, both wearing disturbingly wide grins and are covered an unknown stuff that might have been blood, ketchup or pulverised socks for all he knows, Clint wisely decides to cut his losses.
The de-ageing is only supposed to last a couple more days. And who knows, there might be some of his team members left alive by that time–though probably not Steve. Or at least his dignity won’t be.
Clint eyes his Starkphone with an evil smirk. He’ll make sure of it.
