Chapter Text
The first thing Tony had ever fixed in his life had not been, like Howard always liked to pretend, a circuitboard, but an old radio that he’d found in the box of discarded machinery his father kept in a corner of his workshop.
Tony had seen the circuitboard at the near bottom of the box and had reached for it in fascination but when he’d tried to pull it out several other pieces had rattled around and slid loudly against each other (and for a few seconds afterwards Tony had frozen, sitting in absolute silence, praying he hadn’t disrupted Howard from his work) and in those few seconds of terrified stillness, he'd spotted the grimy, twining innards of an old radio.
He hadn’t even realized that it was a radio until he was several days into categorizing what was broken so he could fix it up. In the end he’d recognized it from one of the old war photos Howard had hanging on the walls all over the mansion; in the background in one of the photos taken at campsite.
A Motorola SC-300, the history books said. The very first walkie-talkie. It was strange, Tony thought, that Howard hadn’t seen it fit to make the Commandos their own, better version of it; after all, it had always been a point of pride for him that he’d created practically every single part of their gear himself. But then, he’d probably been busy making more important things.
Still, Tony had never seen Howard treat even the most useless and broken remnant of the war as anything other than precious. To see such an obviously important piece of machinery, made by him or not, be thrown away so carelessly…
It seemed… off. Wrong, somehow.
But surely, if Howard had put it in the scrap box it meant that Tony could take it, right?
(Still, he hesitated. Still feeling the imprint of Howard’s signature ring high on his cheek from when Tony had gotten too close the glass case showcasing Captain America’s helmet, had gotten smudges on it. He really didn’t want to make Howard so angry again, his face had been throbbing for days afterwards.)
Still, broken was broken, and Howard had explicitly (if grudgingly) told Tony that he could use the things in the box (only the things in the box and no other household devices). And if Howard had put the thing in the box then that meant Tony was allowed to use it.
So, he lowered the circuitboard onto the floor and carefully reached inside the box with both hands, slowly pulling out the radio.
It was big and heavy and obviously broken, with missing parts and broken off pieces and not a single cable or control button still intact. A thought had crossed Tony’s mind that the poor thing was so thoroughly destroyed it almost seemed deliberate. The cables were all cleanly cut through and simply stuffed, unconnected, into the hull. The speakers were pierced with holes and the transmitters and receivers were all smashed to pieces.
It was a lost cause. He’d have to replace all the wires, the transmitters, even most of the buttons; it would probably be a waste of time to try and fix this thing, if he’d even get it to work at all.
Still, he couldn’t just put it back. A strange kind of empathy floated up his chest, yanking at his ribs. Tony was used to feelings like this, he'd always felt for technology as if their broken parts were his own (even if he’d made sure never to project them outward again, after the loud, thorough lecture he’d earned from Howard when the man had found him cooing over the broken toaster).
This one was so much stronger, though. Crushing, almost devastating and it was all Tony could do to suppress the little sob threatening to rise from his throat as he gently stroked over the cracked exterior.
_________
It took him months to even get all the parts. He went through the box daily, to see if Howard had thrown away any parts he could use and since Howard was always busy with one project or another, there were always new parts in the box. Still, it took all of his patience to scavenge together everything he needed, or at least, most of what he needed and then another few weeks to actually figure out how to fix it.
What made it even more difficult was the fact that the radio was old. Older than most appliances in the mansion (in the city, probably, so most of his scavenged parts only fit into it with a lot of improvisation and adjustments made on the fly).
And yet, even with how urgent fixing the radio seemed to him, Tony tried to avoid taking anything from the house, if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Howard hadn’t approved of that even before Tony had started on the radio, before Tony had fixed the circuitboard (a mindless fix, just to have something to do with his hands while he waited for new things to be thrown away, but when Howard had seen what he’d done… And Tony still doesn’t understand. It had been in the box, Howard had put it in the box so why-).
Now Tony was more apprehensive of invoking the man’s wrath, hesitant to reach for any part of machinery in the house, even if it really was just to make himself some toast.
But fixing that radio was important. It was important that Tony fixed it and for that he would make an exception. Risk Howard’s wrath.
He didn’t know why it was so important to him, couldn’t have said why, even if he’d thought to question his sudden obsession. It just was.
Although maybe it wasn’t so strange, after all, obsession wasn’t anything new to him, even at six.
He did need some very specific parts, though; so he took some of the wires from the garage, improvised some new buttons and cogs from the stuff in the box but it just wasn’t enough. Some parts he couldn’t build with what he had. Not at six and certainly not without asking Howard for help.
Instead, Tony looked around the house for a functioning radio he could use. He was fairly certain that he could get away with taking it apart safely, since he couldn’t actually remember a time when he’d seen either of his parents listen to a show, or even just music. Howard only ever read the newspaper and always claimed that music (and any sound Tony made just by existing in his general periphery) distracted him from his work and was, therefore, unacceptable.
His Mama opted to read magazines instead and watched the news on the TV each morning. (Sometimes, when she had a good day, she’d even let him sit with her and, when it was a great morning, she’d even brush his hair while they watched. She hadn’t had a good morning in a while, though.)
Jarvis and Ana were, as far as Tony could tell, the only people in the mansion who liked a bit of background music. Ana often played one of her records while she cooked, humming along quietly. And sometimes she and Jarvis would dance to the crackling music coming out of their record player.
Tony liked the mansion a lot more when there was sound in it.
So, maybe not in Howard’s study or in his Mama’s reading room, but maybe in the kitchen it wouldn’t have been surprising to find a radio.
Tony looked through every kitchen cabinet and cupboard, on every counter and in every nook and cranny. He went through the cabinets and storage rooms near the kitchen and when he didn't find anything useful there either he went through the ones that weren’t near the kitchen.
There was no radio in the entire mansion, he’d searched everywhere.
That was weird. Generally, Howard liked to buy one of each kitchen appliances on the market. (Not that he’d ever use them, of course. Or his Mama. Or even the Jarvises. Howard just liked to have them there, as if to prove to himself that, yes, old sport, we truly are on top of the game, whatever that meant.
Tony used them, though. Regularly. If Howard were to ever actually try and use one of his fancy appliances, probably not a single one of them would turn on, seeing as Tony had liberated most useful parts for his own projects. He’d broken Howard’s rule way before the circuitboard incident and now it was too late, impossible to replace all the parts he’d taken.
(Tony felt dread crawling up his spine whenever Howard just ventured into the vicinity of the kitchen, feared the day he’d decide to turn one of them on.)
Tony considered asking Howard about the lack of radio in the house for less than a second and then exited the last closet to look for Jarvis instead.
——————————-
Jarvis, ever so used to the flights of fancy Tony was occasionally prone to, had informed him patiently that Tony was holding the only radio (and now it could almost be called that again, patched up and cleaned, not functioning, but close; Tony could almost feel the static in his mind, echoes of a smooth voice broadcasting the happenings of the day) in the whole mansion; that it was, in fact, the only radio in any of Howard’s many estates.
Tony pondered Jarvis’ reaction upon hearing what the thing in Tony’s arms was - the slight widening of his eyes and the stutter of his breath. Subdued, as Jarvis kept all his reactions, but on him it might as well have been a surprised exclamation.
But when Tony had asked Jarvis why he seemed so surprised the man had quickly schooled his expression into one of fond exasperation.
“It is nothing, young Sir,” he’d said. “But I’m afraid Master Stark isn’t overly fond of any kind of broadcasting device in the house.” He’d hesitated, then, flickered his eyes downwards to the radio and back to meet Tony’s eyes, his smile growing the tiniest bit upon Tony’s pout.
And something in the way that Tony held the thing so gently, in the gleam of his eyes must have given him away, because Jarvis had sighed, then nodded in answer to the question that Tony hadn’t spoken aloud.
Tony never had to ask Jarvis about anything of the important stuff. All the questions he asked (all the questions any other child would ask their parent), he never had to ask them aloud to Jarvis; because Jarvis just knew.
(And Tony loved him for it. More than he’d ever love Howard, or even his Mama. Plainly and unquestioningly, it had always been Jarvis.)
“You just make sure Master Stark doesn’t see it,” Jarvis said then.
“Promise.” Tony nodded. Jarvis gave him a short pat on the head, the flicker of a smile.
Tony nodded again and smiled as he hurried to his room. Sometimes Jarvis wouldn’t say things aloud either, and Tony always understood him anyway.