HADES // T. STARK DAUGHTER // MARVEL I.I

1 ~ STARK ~ 1

** EDITED **

*** HARLEY ***

I don't think my mom was meant to be a mother. She didn't like plans or rules, and she hated responsibility. We lived in an always-messy apartment in Chicago, where there was never any food in the fridge yet dishes were always in the sink. She would always be leaving for days and then showing up with some crazy story about how she had been walking home when a stray dog approached her or she got a last minute invite to some club that she couldn't turn down. When I was really little the stories were enough for me and any anger I had was always forgotten within moments.

As I grew older, I tried less and less to change my mother, but I also didn't try to change myself around her. By the time I was eight I was getting into fights with her on a daily basis. She was bringing home her latest boyfriends every day and I usually stayed at school as late as I could. Sometimes the fights would lead to her or one of her companions shoving me into the wall or slapping me, but I never really thought it was out of place or wrong. My mom grew more chaotic and crazed by the week, and eventually, I stopped avoiding her. I egged her on, pushed her limits, did my worst to see just how out of control she had gotten. I was just so angry all of the time and I didn't think, even though the school thought I had more than enough brains at my disposal. Because I would have gotten hurt anyway. I knew it. At least if I started it I had an explanation, a reason to give myself as I lay curled up in the bathroom crying.

When I was ten one of my teachers reported my mother to Child Services and I was taken into 'protective custody'. It was all a big scene, with flashing lights and sirens. They put me in an ambulance and everything, even though I was fine, by my standards, just a bloody face and a bruised arm. I stayed at the hospital overnight and I got stitches in my forehead, leaving a small scar even now.

The next day the doctors all talked to me like some wounded animal, with slow movements and soft voices, something that totally didn't hurt my pride. The jist of the conversation was that I was going to move in with my father - the dude who just gave my mom custody of me when I was born. Nobody actually asked me anything, it was more like they were going over it with each other.

That night I was given my clothes from the apartment and the rest of my few belongings to change into before I left the hospital. Luckily, even at the tender age of ten, I had the sense to wear 'real people' clothes and not walk out of the hospital wearing my Peter Pan pajamas that were four inches too short and two sizes too small. My hair at the time was at my waist, giving me a shield to hide behind when he entered the room.

The first thing I noticed was we both had the same dark brown hair, but my hazel eyes were something I, unfortunately, took from my mother. But I already knew that; this was Tony Stark, after all. He was always on the front page of at least three newspapers at any given moment. Even then, I knew that this man wasn't meant to be a father, just as my mother wasn't meant to be a mom. I decided it would be better to just wait it out, until eventually, he returned me to my mother like a broken toy. Maybe enjoy the small break from her I had.

I was the one who broke the silence, sticking out my hand and looking at him with a cocked head, awkward as I spoke. "Harley Ray Wilx,"

"Tony Stark," he mimicked, raising an eyebrow as he shook my hand. An easy grin slid on my face and I looked at Tony's suit, snickering internally as I compared it to my baggy shorts and ripped shirt, my awkwardness easing. Mom always said I had a knack for doing whatever I wanted, I never really let anyone affect me too much, even as a kid. Maybe I got it from my father. Maybe I was just stupid enough not to care.