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"But —!"
Dummy gestured frenetically with his fork, a sharp pointing twisting gesture directed toward the tabletop that sent droplets of maple syrup flying across the hardwood surface.
"— when I tried to use the Masner bore to grind the piston, it wouldn't even —!"
"Shouldn't have used a Masner bore," Butterfingers drawled, shovelling up another heaping forkful of pancakes dripping with butter and syrup.
Dummy glared at him as he stuffed the food into his mouth like he'd just grown a second head. "'Course I should've used the Masner bore! Piston dome calibration! Crosshead! What're you, stupid?"
Butterfingers, his mouth now very full, shrugged curtly and eloquently: Look who's talking, dumbass.
You watched, wide-eyed, from his corner of the table and silently sipped his glass of cold milk. Yeah, Tony had long since decided, definitely the "good boy" of the bunch: he ate what was put in front of him, he didn't sass his brothers, and he didn't make a Godawful mess every time he turned around.
Jarvis sighed, and picked up the neatly folded damp cloth from beside his own plate. "Dummy, for the twenty-third time —"
"What?" The bot-turned-teenager gestured widely, indignantly, and sent the heap of napkins Jarvis had thoughtfully provided for him scattering to the floor, as well as a few more sticky golden drops. "Oh! Right! Sorry! Anyway —!"
Butterfingers rolled his big hazel eyes. Jarvis patiently wiped the table clean of syrup, again, and was just pushing his chair back to rise and take care of the mess on the floor when Tony's hand on his elegantly suited wrist stopped him.
Frowning slightly, he glanced at his creator. "Sir?"
Tony shook his head solemnly, feeling the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he struggled not to burst into outright giggles. "Don't even bother, buddy of mine. It's only gonna get worse before it gets better."
Jarvis studied the random spray of fallen napkins, raggedly white against the dark tiles. Tony could practically feel the way it nagged at his neatly ordered soul…. but after a moment he nodded and settled back down again. "No doubt. Would you care for two more pancakes, You?"
The smallest boy nodded emphatically, and Jarvis set about serving him from the central platter and making sure that he had plenty of butter and syrup to go with them. Dummy continued to hold forth dramatically on the piston problem, Butterfingers kept interrupting him every twenty seconds, and Tony…
Tony just sat there and watched them all while he demolished his own stack of breakfast, and grinned like an idiot. Saturday morning with the kids — did it get any better than this?
Next time he saw Loki, he'd have to sincerely thank him before punching his smirking green-eyed lights out.
THE END