Chapter 2: Big Brother, Bigger Legacy
When Nathaniel Stark first opened his eyes, the world was already changing without him. But it wasn't long before he learned that change wasn't always scary—sometimes, it held the promise of something new.
Tony Stark was still raw from loss when he came home to the mansion, to see a tiny bundle of energy with curious eyes and a stubborn streak just as wide as his own. The once carefree, brash seventeen-year-old was suddenly thrust into a role he'd never imagined: older brother and reluctant guardian.
At first, Tony wasn't sure how to handle it. Nate was just a little kid—three years old, a spitfire, with a habit of putting things in his mouth and a surprisingly loud opinion about what he wanted for breakfast. He barked orders like a tiny general and refused to eat anything green. But as the days passed, Tony began to see something beneath that scrappy exterior: a spark of intelligence that reminded him too much of himself.
Nate was a Stark through and through.
Nate's fascination with the world was relentless. Everything was a puzzle: the spinning of a ceiling fan, the chug of the tea kettle, the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock. Ordinary things that piqued his tiny curiosity again and again.
Tony would often catch him sitting quietly in the vast library, craning to reach the shelves and grabbing books on science, engineering, and mathematics his father had once read. His little fingers traced diagrams, trying to decipher the scribbles and calculations that had made Howard Stark one of the greatest minds of their time.
Little by little, Nate grew into that curiosity, the hunger for knowledge flickering brighter with every passing year.
At five, Nate was already a whiz with numbers. Tony remembered the day when their tutor brought over a complex puzzle of gears and springs and thought it was too hard for a five-year-old. Nate sat cross-legged, eyes narrowed, methodically taking the puzzle apart and rebuilding it in under an hour.
"You're kidding," the tutor muttered, half-dumbfounded.
Tony just grinned, ruffling Nate's hair. "Told you he was trouble."
Nate's intelligence wasn't just about book smarts. He had an uncanny ability to visualize machines in his head, to understand how they worked even before he touched them. Tony sometimes joked Nate must have some of Dad's magic in his blood—how else could a kid see what no ordinary child could?
And that magic showed when Nate was six years old.
It was a rainy afternoon, and the sprawling mansion hummed quietly as thunder echoed in the distance. Nate sat on the garage floor, surrounded by open textbooks and scattered tools. His focus was absolute, intense in a way that had Tony both fascinated and a little concerned.
"What're you building?" Tony asked, dropping a stray wrench beside Nate.
The boy looked up, eyes bright with determination. "An engine."
Tony blinked. "An engine? Like Dad's?"
Nate nodded seriously. "Well, a simple one. But it works."
Tony crouched down, eyes scanning the assortment of parts Nate had arranged like a miniature puzzle: rods, pistons, a small crankshaft, a makeshift carburetor he'd fashioned from scrap metal and glass tubes. The entire assembly was small, but it had the core components of a functioning internal combustion engine.
"You built this?" Tony asked, incredulous.
Nate puffed out his chest. "Yeah. Tried to read Dad's old notes. Didn't understand everything, so I figured it out."
Tony's grin widened into a full smile. "You're a Stark alright."
That moment felt like a milestone, a step closer between them not just as brothers but as partners in a family legacy that Nate had only begun to grasp. Tony realized then that Nate was no longer just the little kid he'd taken care of; the boy was growing into a mind that could rival the greatest inventors.
Tony was proud, yes, but the pride was mixed with a quiet worry. He knew the pressure Nate would face growing up in the Stark shadow. Would the world expect him to become the next Tony? Or worse, the next Howard Stark? Both men were legends, geniuses shaped by brilliance and burdened by the weight of their own ambitions.
But Nate was different. Still very much a child, his eyes sparkled with wonder when he wasn't buried in equations or machines. He loved the simple joys of childhood—running through the garden, playing with a well-worn red muscle car toy, teasing Tony mercilessly about his obsession with flamboyant suits and public stunts.
Tony sometimes caught Nate watching him from a distance during one of his many experiments in the high-tech workshop. The boy's expressions fluctuated between awe and mischief, a perfect mix of admiration and challenge. Nate wasn't about to let Tony get away with anything, not even the glittering, flashy Stark show.
"We gonna build a real car someday?" Nate asked one evening while they sat under the hood of a rusting Mustang Tony was teaching him to restore.
"Damn right," Tony said, his fingers stained with grease. "You'll be running this company before you know it."
Nate stuck a tongue out. "Not if you keep hogging the glory."
For all their teasing and stubbornness, their bond was solid—rooted in a shared love for invention, intellect, and a family stitched together by loss and a relentless drive to create.
Each night, after the mansion quieted down and the city lights blinked outside their windows, Nate would pull out one of Howard's old notebooks. His little fingers traced the faded diagrams and annotations, the legacy of a father he never remembered but profoundly admired.
Tony always knew what Nate was doing. He never interrupted those moments of silent study. Instead, he made sure the boy had everything he needed—a quiet room, fresh notebooks, the best tutors money could buy, and an endless supply of encouragement wrapped in sarcastic jokes.
"Nate," Tony said once while they worked late on a prototype for a new energy cell, "you've got Stark's brains, but don't forget to have some fun. There's more to being a Stark than just gadgets and gizmos."
Nate rolled his eyes, but his smile broke through. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're the party Stark."
Tony laughed. "Exactly. Someone's gotta keep the name alive, kid."
At six, Nathaniel Stark was a boy caught between two worlds—the child with scraped knees and wide eyes, and the burgeoning genius who spoke the language of machines and innovation fluent before he could even spell his own name.
But for Tony, watching that balance grow was the greatest gift—and the greatest responsibility.
Because behind every proud brother's smile was an unspoken vow: to protect Nate from the weight of the Stark name, while helping him soar beyond it.
And in that promise, a new Stark legacy was quietly, powerfully beginning.
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Drop some Power Stones
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