Chapter Text
You are the kindest thing
that ever happened to me,
even if that is not how our story is told.
•
"Persephone to Hades", by Nikita Grill
⸪ ⸫ ⸪
The young god likes to slam doors.
He slams the door to his chambers approximately four times each day, and then he usually struts into his bathroom, just to get the chance to slam another door shut behind him. Sometimes he destroys something as soon as he is alone – bottles and plates and vases, mostly; his creations only get thrown against the nearest wall on particularly bad days. Sometimes he has to fight to hold back tears. Sometimes he can't.
The door to his father's study is another one he is unable to close quietly, as it seems. The sound is always loud enough to make his mother flinch, even when she is at the further end of the estate. His father never even bats an eye; he just returns to his work and lets his son have his temper tantrums. Now and then, the mother will try to talk to them and soothe the tides, but since they are equally stubborn and adamant in their views, she has almost given up by now.
Today, it's the door that leads to the garden. It's a glass door, and only luck keeps it from shattering into a thousand pieces when the godling slams it shut. He just had another fight with his father because he refuses to do his duties, and ire and frustration still have him trembling. He lost the fight, unsurprisingly – he always loses – and now doesn't have another choice than take care of the garden.
His father threatened to take his creations from him.
It's not the first time he did that, no. A while ago he actually was true to his word, even, and the memory of those few days spent in utter boredom and solitude is enough to make the godling recede and obey. Naturally, his obedience comes with slammed doors, uttered curses and torrid glares. His father isn't bothered by that.
The young man plods through the grass that has grown too high in the past days. There are a few well aimed kicks against flowers and bushes, and all of them recoil and curl in on themselves, sensing their god's anger. Eventually, he lets himself fall into the grass and comes to sit cross-legged on the ground. His jaw is set and his body tense when he finally closes his eyes.
The garden around him comes to life. The straggling grass and bushes get cut, their green becoming healthier with every second that passes. New flowers grow from the ground while the old ones are nursed with water and fresh soil, and all of them start blooming radiantly soon enough. The willow his mother likes so much shakes its crown, and water lilies start to bloom in the pond. The sun seems a little brighter and warmer, the air a little fresher. The world a little kinder.
The godling opens his eyes, stands up and makes his way back to the manor. His steps have lost their vehemence, and grass and flowers wither beneath his feet.
Loki watches.
He always watches.
⸪ ⸫ ⸪
The life of a god is a curious one. Like everyone's existence, that of a god also begins with a flicker of life, with a soul finding its way into a body. Once it found its home, it starts to learn, to grow, to change. So much depends on the body, then – humans, designed to live only a few decades, learn and grow and change so quickly, so consistently. Then there are the everlasting ones; beings like the Norns, who have been the same since the very beginning and will be the same until everything dissolves into ice and flame.
The gods are somewhere in between, living so long that constant change is impossible, but not nearly long enough that it is not needed. When a decade is just the blink of an eye, change comes slowly. It has to be like that – can you imagine what would happen if the gods were as fickle, as uncontrolled as the humans? Beings that control everything from the weather to life and death cannot change their mind every few days, not even every few years. If they did, our world would have ended in chaos thousands of years ago.
That doesn't mean a life of a god is boring, no. Not at all. They all have their purpose, after all, and are usually fulfilled by whatever task the Allfather has given them.
And there's the keyword. Have you picked it up?
Usually.
So, let's say that there is a god – a young god, curious and bright, who just happens to be the first one who does not enjoy the task he was given. Let's say this god has a mind more fitting to a human, always working and spinning and changing, and that he looks forward to millennia of doing the same thing, fulfilling the same task. What do you think would happen to a god like that?
He goes fucking insane, that's what happens to him.
“Hey, buddy. Welcome to life. You're my, uh – wait a sec, I think -”, the sound of paper being riffled, then a metallic clunk as something falls to the floor, “shit. Er. Oh! Here. Yes, you're my fifty-eighth creation. My seventh sentient one. Not bad, huh? I've tried to boot you up a few times before, but this is the first time it worked. I think it did, anyway. Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir, I can hear you.”
“Awesome. You know who I am?”
“You are Anthony Edward Stark, son of Howard Stark of Asgard and Maria Carbonell of Vanaheim. You are the God of Spring, Vegetation and -”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. No need to rattle off my whole life story. What about yourself, do you know your name?”
“I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System.”
“Damn straight you are”, Tony praises, already grinning from ear to ear. “I'll call you JARVIS, alright?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Okay, we might need to do something about that 'Sir' at some point, but for now it's fine.” Tony takes the slender, delicately made bracelet and snaps it around his wrist. It hugs his skin perfectly, just like he intended. “So, for the time being, you'll stay in this pretty accessory. I know it's small and I promise I'll find another home for you, but this way I can take you with me and keep an eye on you and make sure everything's alright. I hope it's not too uncomfortable?”
“It's quite alright, Sir, don't worry”, JARVIS replies kindly. His voice is still a bit too metallic for Tony's tastes, but that might just be because the speakers of the bracelet aren't exactly suited for Tony's new creation. He'll have to come up with something better.
“So”, Tony says, rolling down the sleeve of his tunic to cover the bracelet. “Can you access your siblings?”
“I believe so. Butterfingers seems a bit jealous, I'm afraid.”
“Well, you're definitely top of the class now.” Tony turns around in his chair to look at a few of his other creations, who've been waiting not that patiently behind them. “Come here, baby. Don't be jealous, I've taught you better manners..”
“You haven't taught them any manners at all, Sir.”
Petting Butterfinger's head, Tony smiles. “You're a sassy one, aren't you?”
“I take after my creator, as it seems”, JARVIS says dryly, making Tony laugh.
“Sure you do.” An excited whirring catches Tony's attention, and he notices that his oldest creation apparently got bored and decided to make trouble again. “Hey, Dum-E, what are you doing there? How many times have I told you to leave him alone? He doesn't need water right now, he's -” Tony sighs when Dum-E gets his claw on the small flowerpot, rattling it until a small hand emerges from the soil, followed by a whole, even though tiny, body. “Sleeping. He was sleeping. Thanks, Dum-E.”
Tony stands up and walks over to the two, shooing Dum-E away from the pot. Smiling, Tony leans down and lets the small figure climb out of the pot and onto his hand. The bark feels rough against his skin.
“Hey, little one”, he all but coos. Big eyes blink drowsily at him, and the head that's a bit too big for the rest of the body seems heavy, almost making the sprig topple over. Tony laughs a little, which earns him a slightly annoyed glare. “You're still tired, huh? Complain to your brother, he woke you up. You want to go back to bed?”
Groot shakes his head and is about to climb up Tony's arm when a knock on the door makes him flinch. He almost falls, but Tony manages to catch him in time. He turns to the door, making sure his tunic still covers his new bracelet.
“Yes?”
The door opens just a little, and his mother's head appears in the crack it leaves open. “It's time for lunch, darling.”
Tony lets out a relieved breath, but he still turns away from his mother. “I'm not hungry”, he tries to dismiss her, setting Groot into his pot again. The sprig falls on his plant-ass and looks at Tony accusingly, but Tony just smirks at him.
“I think I do not know that one yet”, Maria says softly.
She is already approaching them, and Tony knows it's too late to back out of it now. Soon enough she's leaning over Groot's pot, looking at the plant with that sort of awe that's enough to make Tony want to beam with pride.
“This is amazing, Anthony.”
“His name is Groot”, Tony says, trying to sound reluctant, but not quite managing.
“And he is already so big.” Maria smiles brightly, eyes shining with curiosity, but she knows better than to reach out to touch Groot. “Why haven't you told me about him? I am so glad you -”
“Look, if you end that sentence, you'll answer your question yourself.”
His mother straightens himself and looks at him, her eyes turning sad again too quickly. “Am I not allowed to be happy when my son follows in my footsteps?”
Tony snorts, feeling that familiar anger burning in his chest. “I'm not following in your footsteps, mother.”
“Why did you make him, then?”
“Because I wanted to”, Tony says a little bit too sharply, and her expression immediately makes him recoil. “Sorry. It's just – I mean, just because I made a living plant I'm not gonna be happily throwing around seeds and blossoms suddenly.”
“I see”, is all Maria says to that. Dum-E whirs at her feet, and she smiles at him without that earlier look of awe on her face. “It's spring time.”
“Oh, really?”
“You cannot postpone it like you did last year, honey. Your father -”
“I know what father thinks, thanks.”
Maria sighs. “Come eat lunch. I know you haven't eaten this morning.”
“You just came to get me because he wants to speak with me”, Tony says flatly, moving to sit down at his desk again.
“I came to get you because you need to eat, Anthony.”
“Tony.”
“Tony”, his mother acknowledges with a smile that's just a little bit too tight.
Tony hates that smile, hates the disappointed look in her eyes, and so he goes to eat lunch with his parents. Unsurprisingly, his father does want to speak to him. A fight and some slammed doors later, Tony angrily marches into his garden. He hasn't taken care of it at all during winter, and he knows it'll be difficult to bring the world to life again. He still manages, though, he always manages. And if his feet leave some withered spots here and there when he's done, who cares? He did his job, it's spring again. His father will be proud. Ha.
Tony isn't aware that he is being watched.