Story [Marvel Cinematic Universe] "Make the Man", Hank Pym & Cassie Lang, Future Fic, Vignette

Title: "Make the Man"
Author: Mira_Jade

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ant Man & The Wasp
Genre: Family, Humor
Rating: PG
Characters: Hank Pym, Cassie Lang, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne

Summary: In hindsight, he should have seen it coming: Cassandra Lang was determined to become a hero, one way or another.

“So, I’ve been thinking about this a lot, Grandpa Hank – and I’ve decided that it’s time I had a suit, too.”

“Cassie, these suits are not toys. They’re not for children - ”

“ - why does my father have one, then?”

And, really, she had him there. Hank’s jaw snapped closed and he glowered; Cassie stared right back.



Author's Notes: The premise of this fic was based on a throwaway comment I made on one of @brodiew ’s ficlets, and, since then, I could not let the idea go. So, it’s all his fault, obviously. Even without the prompt, Cassandra Lang is a kick-butt superhero in her own right in the comics, and I wanted to bring a glimpse of that to the MCU. So this was a more than interesting experiment to pull off! That said, I was shocked when it was Ant Man and the Wasp, of all things, that sucked me back into writing for Marvel again. Who would have guessed? The muse certainly is funny in her unpredictability, but I'm certainly not complaining.

So, before you read, I just have a note to make on context: this story is set in either a happy universe where Avengers: Infinity War never happened, or a few years after they cleaned up the mess Thanos made and fixed everything. It’s intentionally written vague to suit whatever your personal preference is. Hear me Marvel? I will write all the happy fluffy endings, because I can.

Now, that said . . .


Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

---

“Make the Man”
by Mira_Jade​

Truth be told, Hank Pym never expected to be a grandfather. From her adolescence onwards, Hope never really showed any . . . predilections towards motherhood, and two years of marriage to a man she loved had yet to change her outlook. Following Thanos’ defeat and the Sokovia Amendments, she had her work cut out for her with trying to get Pym Technologies off the ground again, all the while being a supplemental Avenger whenever the Captain and reformed SHIELD called. She didn’t have the time or - more importantly - the interest in having children of her own, and Hank had long respected her decision.

Besides, Hope had Scott – that, she would fondly roll her eyes and quip whenever Janet tactfully tried to pry. Scott was more than enough to cure any innate maternal instinct she may have had, thankyouverymuch. Then, more affectionately, she had Cassie. In Hope's eyes, her step-daughter was the only progeny she needed.

Cassandra Lang, Hank would admit, was a variable he hadn’t accounted for - one amongst many that had exponentially multiplied and grown past their initial parameters to overtake his life. Not so long ago, it oftentimes seemed, he’d resigned himself to the idea of living out his days with his daughter never speaking to him again – rightly so or not was an argument with the victor holding on by a thin margin, even he could admit. But now he had a bond with Hope that was growing stronger every day, no matter the years they’d wasted with their bridges burned beforehand. Even more wondrous, he had has wife returned to him after decades spent apart. He even had Scott now, too . . . and whatever his son-in-law was to him was a definition that changed by Hank’s mood. With Scott, of course, came Cassie.

Hank may not have known what to make of the mini-Lang – he still needed to collect more data on the matter, but she certainly had her own ideas of what to make of him.

“Hello, Grandpa Hank!” Cassie gave a cheerful wave after letting herself into the house. Behind her, still visible through the screen door, Hank could see Maggie Paxton wave from the car as she pulled away. At first, he felt the instinctive need to protest – Scott and Hope wouldn’t be back until the evening, and that was only if everything went smoothly with . . . well, he honestly didn’t know where SHIELD assigned them or with what, and that was most likely for the best. All that mattered was that they were gone, and so was -

“Mom said that Grandma Janet said it was okay if I waited over here with you guys for Dad and Hope to get back,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the kitchen. (Where, sure enough, Janet had a plate of brownies waiting – she always prepared for their family visiting.) “So here I am.”

- Janet. Janet was gone too. She’d left for some errand or the other that, now that he thought about it, had sounded suspiciously vague at the time. But he hadn’t been able to spare the attention from his work to give her leaving a second thought. How shortsighted of him, in retrospect. His wife had no qualms with meddling – even to the point of deviousness, whenever she thought there was something he needed to do. And for this, he could have sighed, there was most certainly no need.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to interact with a fourteen year old girl, for heaven’s sake. He’d successfully raised Hope all by himself, after all – it was just that he also had Hope’s version of the narrative ringing in his ears, and her memories certainly called his parenting skills into question. He felt a moment’s doubt start to creep into his heart, a doubt that he’d never admit was starting to border on panic to anyone. Ever. He stared at Cassie, clueless, unsure of where to begin.

Meanwhile, Cassie poured herself a glass of milk, already at ease moving around their kitchen, and then chose one of the stools at the counter for herself. She pulled a textbook and notepad out from her backpack, and set herself up before selecting a brownie and placing it on a napkin. When she realized that he was still watching her, she raised a dark brow and asked, “Would you like a brownie too?”

He shook his head. Since Janet’s return, he'd eaten more sweet treats than was healthy, no doubt, and he no longer had the metabolism of a young man. But his wife was determined to make up for lost time, and he couldn't begrudge her that. Physical wants and needs, even the use of her very senses, hadn’t had any applicable meaning in the Quantum Realm. Making something her family loved and enjoyed was just an added bonus.

“No,” he said, only somewhat stiltedly. “You enjoy.”

“Alrighty, suit yourself,” Cassie shrugged, and then opened up her textbook. Earth Science, he was pleased to see – one of the building blocks for the more weightier subjects yet to come in her education. She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes, and said, “I’m fourteen, you know.” Her tone was wry. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“So you don’t,” Hank replied. He closed his eyes for a brief moment – which was not a wince. “Then, I’ll just -” he turned to leave, even as Cassie said at the same time -

“ - if you’re working on a project, maybe I can just do my homework in the lab? I’ll be quiet and out of the way. Promise.”

His first instinct was to say no; he wanted to say no. But his mind then chose – unhelpfully so – to replay each and every time he'd pushed Hope away when she was growing up, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Janet spoke up from the vicinity of his conscience and chided -

“ - alright,” he found himself agreeing before he even reached a conscious decision. “That’ll work. But no liquids downstairs – so finish your drink. And don’t touch anything.”

“You got it!” Cassie was more than happy to play by his rules. She gulped her milk down and finished her brownie, and before he knew it they were set up in the basement. He easily fell back into tinkering with the new regulator for Hope’s suit while Cassie claimed a corner of his workbench for her schoolwork. He didn’t see the need to talk, and Cassie similarly wasn't inclined to chatter – for which he was grateful. Instead, they fell into an easy silence, until -

“ - you know, Uncle Tony usually plays music while he’s inventing.”

“Stark is an overgrown child who doesn’t understand the value of silence," Hank couldn’t help the derisive curl to his voice. How Howard and Maria had been able to produce that caricature of a human being, he’d never know. “This helps me think clearly, without any distractions.”

“Mom doesn’t let me listen to music while I do my homework, either,” Cassie nodded sagely. “I guess that makes sense.”

For some reason, the approval of this not-quite-teenager warmed something deep within him. Hank shook his head as if to clear it, and then went back to the delicate task of -

“ - still,” she went on, “it sounds really cool on his speakers. He plays old music, from the '80s with lots of heavy guitars. Dr. Banner doesn’t like the music Uncle Tony plays, though – he likes classical music while he works, so they usually go back and forth until – ”

- there was the smell of burnt metal as his soldering tool slipped. And that was certainly not the coil he’d wanted to fuse to the processing plate. He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out through his nose.

Cassie was aware enough to wince. “Sorry,” she said on an overly loud whisper. “Silence – right.”

And silence then thankfully fell as she went back to her homework. She soon became engrossed in her task, even as Hank fixed his error with the coil and moved on to the compressed circuits, fine tuning and then refining his design again. Eventually, Cassie finished with her science book, and then started sketching on another pad of paper. He didn’t pay her much attention, until -

“ - you know, eventually, you’re going to have to make a suit for me too.”

She said it so calmly and matter-of-factly that it took Hank a moment to process her words. When he did, he was glad that he wasn’t holding his soldering iron. The regulator didn't deserve to pay for his carelessness again. “What was that?"

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” she repeated, calm and certain. “I think that it’s time for me to have a suit too, just like Dad and Hope.”

His first impulse was the one he went with. Hank snorted, and said: “These suits are not for children, Cassie. This is serious business, for serious adults - ”

“ - but you let my father have a suit,” she interrupted, cheeky and whip-wire smart as she flashed a grin.

Hank opened and closed his mouth with a snapping of his teeth, unable to reply. She had him there. Brat.

“You know what I mean,” he looked down at her from behind his spectacles with his best because I said so stare. “These suits are not toys. They’re a very serious responsibility, and it’s a burden to wear them as much as it's a privilege.”

“I know that . . . I’ve seen the kind of bad-guys you guys fight with them, and I want to do my part,” Cassie agreed. Her voice was solemn, almost too solemn for her age. “And that's why I don’t just want to wear one. I want to help you build them, too.”

For the second time that day, Hank was struck dumb. “I . . . don’t quite follow you,” he said, rapidly trying to recalculate and form his arguments.

“I’ll just have to show you, then! Look here - see?” Cassie moved her sketchpad aside, and held up her textbook – an introductory science book, appropriate to her age and grade. “This is just Earth Science – but it’s easy. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on since Dad became Ant Man. I’ve already talked to my councilors. I’m going to work up through the AP science courses, and then go to a school like Harvard or MIT or even Cambridge – although Mom is voting Stanford or Berkeley so that I can stay in California. Then, I’m going to study quantum physics and engineering, and understand enough so that I can carry on your research. Someone is going to need to help the next generation of superheroes – and that someone is going to be me!”

They were big dreams for a fourteen year old – big dreams already articulated and given a clear path and focus. He wanted to scoff at her words and wave her aside – she was at an age were plans for the future were hardly finite, after all. But then . . . Hank hadn’t been much older, standing before Howard Stark and Peggy Carter and saying: I want to help; this is something I want - no, I need - to be a part of. Trust me, you won't regret it! He hadn’t stopped pestering them until he got the answer he desired.

But that was different, somehow. That was a different era, when different threats were stacked against them, demanding that he grow up fast and apply his mind to the problem at hand so that -

- yet how, again, that voice that sounded suspiciously like Janet prodded, is this any different, Henry?

It just was, Hank scowled. Cassie was his granddaughter, after all, even if not by blood. The entire reason her elders had fought was to make the world a better, safer place for her to grow up in. There was no need for this, for any of this.

. . . except that, eventually, there would be.

“And,” Cassie’s cheeks flushed, and that moment’s glimpse he had of the woman she’d be in just a few short years retreated when she showed him her sketchbook. It was amateurish, the drawing – a child’s dream pressed into paper, but the vision was there. Quite obviously, he saw the sketched figures of Scott and Hope, and, alongside them there was a woman in purple. She had Wasp’s wings, and a helmet that curved around her face like an ant’s mandibles. The whole thing was bright and youthful – Saturday morning cartoons kind of childishly bright, but, despite himself, Hank looked down at the sketch and found ideas leaping into his mind, one after another.

“I was thinking something like this to talk to the ants,” she gestured to the mandibles, her voice small and suddenly shy. “And I love Hope’s wings. Grandma Janet said she’d teach me how to use them, if you agreed to build them.”

Of course Grandma Janet had. Hank swallowed a long suffering sigh. She, quite predictably, would have no problem encouraging these ideas. His wife was mad, obviously.

“And, the purple?” Hank asked dryly.

“Because Hawkeye’s costume is cool,” she let a note of glee enter her voice. “Everyone’s so scared of color these days – but I won’t be. Obviously I’d be able to shrink and grow, too – I want to do it all.”

She was demanding the best of all his work – she had taste, at least. While Hank’s higher reasoning was protesting, he couldn’t help but imagine . . .

- but no. No. He was going to be the responsible, mature adult here and nip this idea in the bud. He’d held off on making a suit for Hope for decades, after all; he could do so again. His will was iron, and he would not be moved.

“And your name would be . . . what? Ant Girl? Giant Girl?” even so, Hank decided to humor her. “This is a lot to think through, you know.” In more ways than one, it certainly was.

“But I have thought it through. I'll have nothing with the word girl in it – eugh, no thanks,” Cassie’s nose crinkled. “Nope – I’d be Stature, I’ve already decided.”

Huh, that was . . .

. . . well, not half bad. Strong, but elegant - and definitely more creative than when he’d slapped Ant Man onto his data files and the name just stuck. Any time he’d tried to change the moniker into something with more impact, Janet had just teased him with the original name until everyone at SHIELD used it and there was no hope of going back. Cassie, it seemed, had both foresight and good sense.

“Alright, Stature,” Hank tapped the drawing. “You want wings, the ability to communicate with the ants, both the technology to grow and shrink, and -”

“ - weapons, obviously,” she added with a practical air. “Anything like Wasp’s would be fine – or maybe something more like the Black Widow’s, if you want to upgrade? You should see the tech Uncle Tony just added to her suit! Do you know,” her voice dropped to a low, reverent hush, “that she has explosives in her gauntlets. Peter told me, and Peter knows everything.”

Scott, Hank thought with a roll of his eyes heavenwards, really needed to watch the company his daughter kept while in New York. Hank saw it clearly then: he could, undoubtedly, blame most of this on Stark’s protégé. His hypothesis was sound, even without evidence to support his theory.

“You want explosives?” Hank raised a brow. “This is a lot of tech for one suit.”

Solemnly, she nodded. “Uncle Tony made six-hundred different web variations for Pete’s suit – and that’s just for his web shooters. I figured that I wasn’t asking for too much.”

Uncle Tony, Uncle Tony, Uncle Tony – Hank fought the urge he had to make a face for the obvious note of awe in her voice. Once upon a time, Tony Stark had been a snot nosed little kid being told patiently – but firmly, to stay out of Howard Stark’s way while the grown-ups worked. Now look at him.

. . . not that he was anywhere near jealous of course; he had the honor of being Grandpa Hank. That was way better than being the cool uncle.

And his role as grandfather was the precise reason why he was going to be more mature than Stark and not give millions of dollars worth of dangerous technology to a teenager to use at will. Obviously. What Tony had chosen to do with the Spider-boy was his own business (no matter that it was stupid and reckless and irresponsible in the extreme to give a fifteen-year-old access to such resources in an uncontrolled environment), but Cassie was his to protect. So, protect her he would.

“Cassie,” Hank tried to project as much warmth and understanding as he could into his voice. (He wouldn’t have her look at him like Hope did for so long, after all.) “These are solid ideas, but - ”

“ - you’re telling me no, aren’t you?” Cassie’s face fell. Looking at her, years of parenting his own flesh and blood daughter still weren’t enough to help combat the way his heart contracted. He really did want to give her everything she desired. It was a sensation he’d definitely have to stop and consider later - but only after he firmly and unequivocally told her no.

“Cassie, I just want to keep you safe, and these suits – and, more importantly, the threats they were created to neutralize are, by their very definition the opposite of safe. I just want you to - ”

“ - no, it’s okay,” Cassie forced a smile to say. “I understand. Honest. It’s dangerous, and I’m too young; got it.”

He leveled her with a look, not trusting her easy capitulation in the slightest. Obviously she was -

“ - does that mean I can’t ask Uncle Tony to build me a suit?” Cassie asked mischievously. “Because you know he would.”

For even the suggestion, Hank heard his blood thunder in his ears. If anyone in his family was going to wear any sort of tech while fighting evil, it wouldn’t be Stark’s third rate, walking accidents waiting to happen. Nope. He wouldn’t stand for it. The Pym family – and everyone that had grown to include, would wear Pym tech. That was it. End of story. Stark could keep his mangy gadgets to himself.

So, he sat back, and reconsidered. Apparently, he had miscalculated the situation. Cassandra Lang was determined to integrate herself into the world of superheroes – and she someday would, one way or another. Eventually, they’d need to have a conversation about her motivations in order to make sure she understood that a true hero starting in the heart, long before they donned a suit. But he’d let Scott and Hope tackle that. Then, there was a fear for losing her family as much as there was a desire to protect them and everyone else she could that Hank could already see building within her, and that too would have to be hashed out and addressed. But again, he’d leave that to her parents – to all of her parents. For his part, Hank could at least make sure that she was as well protected as possible if and when she decided to join SHIELD. He could do that much for her, at least.

And, in the meantime . . .

He gave a deep sigh, already certain that this project was going to be the death of him. “When I said no, Cassie,” he allowed, “what I meant to say was not yet. You’re still too young – never mind what Peter Parker has to say on the matter.” He held up a hand to forestall that argument. “And, in the end, what I or Janet say doesn't mean a thing. It’s your father you have to convince – and your mother.” For that, he leveled Cassie with a look. At the very least, she had the good sense to flush sheepishly. When push came to shove, the ex Mrs. Lang had a way of asserting her will with her family that most drill sergeants would covet, and Hank did not envy Cassie the fight she had to come. Margaret Paxton was a force not to be crossed when it came to the safety of her loved ones.

Cassie’s face fell, but a determined glow remained to light her eyes. Slowly, her jaw squared. Even with the lingering baby softness of her cheeks, she managed to convey a resolved expression that was far beyond her years. It would be, Hank wisely knew from seeing that exact same look on Hope’s face before, an epic clash of wills soon to come.

“But, in the meantime,” he allowed, “that doesn’t mean that we can’t brainstorm.”

Slowly, a hopeful expression bloomed across her features. Hank would be lying if he said that the look didn’t cause something equally soft and content to settle in his own heart. “Do you mean it?” she asked, a giddy note just barely kept at bay in her voice. “Could we really?”

“I mean it,” even as he said it, Hank moved his work aside in order to unroll a yard of blueprint paper. He next brought his own sketchbook and pencils out – the way he always started. The classic way; the right way. Stark could keep his high-tech design programs and choke on them.

After all - if he played his cards right, this would be the same way Cassie would start her projects in the years to come, even long after he was gone.

“Okay,” he allowed himself to smile. “This is a few years before Berkeley for you, but this is where any great engineer – or scientist, begins: an idea, and a hypothesis to answer that idea. Just keep in mind that all of this is theoretical for now. Do you understand?”

“Yep, theoretical,” Cassie enthused. “I promise that I won’t even try to make you build it before I’m sixteen.”

“Eighteen - don't push it, kid.”

“Seventeen,” Cassie returned.

“How about a college graduate?” Hank retorted. He could go higher than that if she kept on fighting him. “Or should we ask your mother?”

Cassie pouted, but something impish glowed about her eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. Her happiness was contagious. “Fine,” she conceded. “You win. Eighteen.”

And so, together, they began to build.

Eventually, he lost track of time as his sketches grew in leaps and bounds beyond his original parameters. He knew that Janet came back at one point – she took one look at him and Cassie before softly saying that she was going upstairs to start dinner, and then she'd come down to help. That was only a few minutes' distraction before they resumed their work again. Before he knew it, his blueprints were filling with sketch after sketch, and yet they kept going – tinkering and pushing their bounds until the design took on a heartbeat and breath and life -

“ - whoa,” there was a low whistle from over his shoulder. “You’re really throwing in everything but the kitchen sink, aren’t you, Hank? Where’s the moat and the alligators? And why, for everything that is good in the world, doesn’t my suit have explosive wrist rockets? Can you explain that to me, Hank?”

Ah, the kids were back. Dutifully, he fought back the haze of creation from his mind, and blinked to focus on the new arrivals in his suddenly full lab.

“Cassie,” Hank stood up straight again – all the while fighting back a wince from maintaining a position hunched over his bench for too long, “deserves nothing but the best from me, Lang. What can I say?”

Scott managed to convey a look that was equal parts horrified and offended. Still dressed in his own suit, with his hair sweaty from doffing his helmet and something that looked suspiciously like carbon scoring blackening his chest, he looked as pale as Hank had ever seen him.

“Nah uh, no way,” Scott protested. “Cassandra Elanor Lang, you are never coming within a mile of wearing anything like this -”

“ - but Grandpa Hank has really played up the suit's defenses, just to make you feel better!” Cassie chirped. She was giddy to see her father returned, and launched herself across the lab to wrap her arms around him. Even as perturbed as he was, Scott spared the moment to hug her back, no matter that he continued to glare at Hank all the while. Cassie tilted her head back just enough to beam up at him, and continued, “There’s knock-out gas and taser lines and a grenade launcher -”

“ - a grenade launcher?! No, that does not make me feel any better! I do not feel the slightest bit better!” the whites around Scott’s pupils turned visible in his distress. “You will never be anywhere where a grenade launcher is even remotely necessary! Obviously. Hope – back me up on this, will you?”

Hope, who'd been looking over his designs with a thoughtful eye all the while, simply arched a brow at Scott. Her own suit, Hank critically noticed, would need some maintenance after going through . . . whatever it was they’d just gone through. Her ponytail was mused and tangled, but her eyes were still bright from the adrenaline of their fight. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “After, all, a grenade launcher would've really come in handy tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hope!” Scott nearly screeched. “Now is not the time to be discussing work.”

Ignoring her husband, Hope winked at Cassie. “What I mean to say is that, when the time is right, I’ll help talk your parents into it. Your mother is going to need some convincing, after all – and reassurances. Mom and I can provide that.”

“And what about me?!” Scott continued to panic. “Because I could really use some reassurances right about now. Like, reassurances of how your father is not going to build my little girl a walking, flying death trap - ”

“Not until she’s old enough, of course,” Hank breathed out from his nose, insulted. “Honestly, Scott – have a little faith in me.”

“And,” Hope continued matter-of-factly, as if Scott was not on the verge of having a hysterical meltdown, “I think I want those grenade launchers added to my suit in the meantime, Dad. That way, what happened tonight . . .” she slid her gaze over to Scott, and her eyes flickered up and down, “won’t happen again. You know - you were lucky that Stark decided to get up from the bench for this one, dear. That was cutting it a bit too close, even by our standards.”

“Always Tony freaking Stark,” Scott calmed down enough to mutter under his breath, and for that, Hank could agree wholeheartedly. “I would’ve been just fine without him.”

“Of course,” Hope agreed blandly, her eyes twinkling. In reply, Scott very maturely made a face, and muttered under his breath.

“Alright,” a moment passed before Scott threw his hands up. “Whatever. You’re all crazy, and I’m crazy too for going along with you. Just . . .” but there his voice softened, and an open, vulnerable expression slowly unveiled over his face, “if she’s going to do anything remotely similar to what we do,” he turned to catch Cassie’s eye with a glower. He restated, “If, in a hundred years, she even watches from the sidelines, just . . . make sure she has every possible safeguard to take care of her. Please?”

“Scott,” Hank met his eyes, and stated, with the utmost sincerity, “that is how I always work.” He let his own expression fall on Hope, who flushed before tucking a loose strand from her ponytail back behind her ear. But she didn’t look entirely displeased by his words. Her glance in reply was soft, and fond.

“I know,” Scott blew out from his nose. “I know, believe me I do.” The next breath he took in he held, and then exhaled slowly.

“Alright, peanut,” he held the bridge of his nose to invite. “Show me the suit that Ant Girl is theoretically going to wear fighting these theoretical bad guys. I suppose I want to see.”

“One,” Cassie grinned to drag her father over to the blueprints, “my name is not going to be Ant Girl – it’s going to be Stature. Two, wait until you see this, Daddy: Grandpa Hank says that he can make it purple.”

And there, hunched over the workbench together, their small, newly formed family planned for the future.



~MJ