Chapter 1
Life is boring. Unfortunately enough, life is boring and hard. No matter how privileged you are, you will feel pain. And no matter how exciting your life is, eventually, you will get bored. Only in the moments between, the moments of change, where things go from terrible to worse to alright again is life really what we want it to be. What we look for.
So here. Here's a story that's exciting, a story that hurts but never too much. Here's a story that starts in reality, starts with someone who knows the boredom and pain of life and yet still lives it in hopes of it all getting better. Here's a story where it does get better. I promise.
The boy lives in a suburb and he hates it. He thinks his hometown is shit like many teenagers do, and he is listening to some hip-hop band that sounds like it was from the 90s. His parents hate it, as many suburban parents do. The day is warm, slightly cloudy and smells like the beginning of summer. The boy has blond hair, sweat and acne splayed across his forehead. As the boy turns the corner and starts walking down his street, he sees something that is uncommon in a monotonous life. Nothing crazy, just a few shiny cars parked outside a house. It looks like some sort of government workers. The boy wonders whether some rich neighbour wasn’t paying their taxes, and this was the IRS. He takes off his headphones and despite his better judgement, shouts out to the workers as he passes by.
“Hey, are you guys like the IRS or something?”
A guy in a shitty brown suit turns to look at the boy, glances back at two other people in slightly better-looking suits and turns back to the boy.
“I don’t know, is the IRS an American thing? Is it the same in Canada? You know what I mean though right?” The boy speaks to shitty suit directly, as its the only person there who gave him any sort of direct attention.
“No, we aren’t the Canadian IRS. Who are you?” The guy seems a mix between apprehensive and amused.
“Oh, I live here.”
“In this house?”
“I mean I’d hope you know. But no, down the street. Are you guys the Canadian FBI?” He means the CSIS but all the good crime shows are American.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you.” He seems satisfied with his answer, thinking it didn’t give anything away and will get the boy to leave.
“Hmmmmm. Right. Well tell me, are you protecting or investigating? I deserve to feel safe in my own neighbourhood.” The boy speaks with some faux ethical authority, looking slightly foolish to onlookers; hands on hips, headphones around neck, graphic t and jean overalls. He has the air of a middle-aged woman demanding the manager because her marriage is falling apart but the look of a 17-year-old that gets high and watches 2000s Minecraft parody videos on the weekend.
Shitty suit looks him up and down, conflicted. He’s mostly impressed, with that same unease from earlier as the only film over it.
“Fine. Protecting. What’s your name.”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you, I’m not 18 yet.” The boy smirks, voice cracking making him cringe at the ruined delivery.
“Protocol.” The man mocks humour and takes out a pen and paper.
“Oliver Smith.”
“Alright, ID?” He pauses, hand waiting for the driver's license in the back of the boy's phone case.
Oliver swallows, staring at the man's open hand. He takes a breath and takes his license out of his case and hands it to the man.
“Hm, nice try Bethany Smith.” He smiles at the ID and then looks back at Oliver slightly confused.
“My parents need to sign for the name change.”
The man pauses and hands Oliver back his ID and nods, his opinion imperceptible. Oliver hopes this man won’t note down where he lives and come kill him in the night.
He feels the man's invisible gaze on his back as he walks.
The rest of Oliver’s day went as usual. Homework, silent family dinner, video games and sleep. Ordinary. He kept thinking about it though. The person they were supposed to be protecting. They were being pretty obvious about it, he thought. He simply hoped that the person trying to harm the protected only had that one person in mind. He hoped he wouldn’t be collateral damage.
The only real difference in the next day was that Oliver spent just an extra moment looking at the closed blinds in that house. Nothing moved. No signs of the cars from the day before. Oliver continued walking to his bus stop. There was a woman there today he didn’t recognize, given that usually, he was the only person at this stop. The woman had a brown purse and a pencil skirt on. She was looking at the bus map on her phone. Oliver got on a bus before the woman. He looked at her though. Through the window as the bus drove past. She looked back. She had dark brown eyes the same as his mother’s.
Oliver decided to walk through the woods on his way home today. He needed that solitary feeling after a day surrounded by so many people. He cut right through when he got off the bus, turned his music down and meandered through the little patch of woods. He took some pictures of plants for later identification and went on. He liked identifying plants and didn’t really know why. Its not like he ate them, or even harvested them. He just liked to know. Looking around, he noticed a flash of orange growing on a tree. He went closer, investigating the large mushroom. It was right at the edge of a house’s porch so he looked closer, making sure some suburban dad wasn’t going to come to yell at him. He spotted someone moving in the window upstairs. They looked vaguely familiar. At least, he thought, from this angle. He aimed his camera at the man. I’ll identify him later too, he thought to himself, smug. He looked down, going through the pictures he took the man, the mushroom and the various plants.
“Put your hands above your head.” The voice came as a startle, even if barely audible through Oliver’s headphones. The gun came as more of a startle, causing Oliver to swear and stumble back harshly, headphones falling off with a satisfying crack. He put his hands above his head, the phone still in hand.
“You're the cops, right? Or related?” Oliver sounded scared, he knew he sounded scared. He also knew that if this guy was a cop, he had rights. “You can’t just, pull a gun dude just, chill out.”
The man with the gun spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Yeah, we got a possible threat over here.” The man didn’t take his eyes off Oliver. “Give me the phone.” His free hand extends expectantly.
“Am I under arrest? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You took a picture didn’t you?” More people came from the back door of the house. More people with guns drawn. “Give me the phone and put your bag on the fucking ground!”
They were treating Oliver like he was armed. Like he could kill them all in a moment. He just took a picture, he didn’t understand. “I can delete the picture please, I didn’t mean any harm I just-” The first man hit him across the face with his gun. Oliver stepped back onto his already broken headphones. One of the people behind him wrangled off his backpack before his hands could fly to his face. It stung worse than a punch, he thought, I was cooperating who the hell are these people? He looked up, shit suit was pointing a gun at him, and he looked down again. Protecting, he thought. Shit. They think I’ve got like a bomb or something, genuinely. Fuck, these people might not even be in government, maybe they’re like a mob or some shit. No that's stupid. Oliver looked at a spot on the ground as he thought. There were still multiple guns pointed at him. He didn’t like this. He felt like this either ended with him being shot or arrested, honestly being shot would be easier. Wouldn’t have to defend himself against his parents and he’d get time off school.
The sliding backdoor opened again and Oliver looked up to see who had opened it again. Holy shit, that’s Tony Stark, the fucking billionaire. Oliver recovered from his shock quickly. What the shit is happening, he thought.
“Mr. Stark, I advise you to get back inside immediately while the threat is being neutralized.” The first man spoke. Tony Stark looked over the top of his glasses at Oliver and took a sip of what Oliver could only assume was coffee. He's not as put together as Oliver thought he’d be.
“I take that advice and I offer you some in return, Phil. That,” Tony Stark waved his hand at Oliver. “Is a child.” Tony Stark came to the edge of the porch, leaning on the rail. He took another sip of coffee.
“Mr. Stark, as you should know, our threat is not above using children to get their business done.”
“Plus he’s 17” Shit suit spoke up. Mr. Stark and Phil looked at him. “He asked some questions yesterday.”
“And you didn’t happen to let any of us know, Jeremy?” Phil lowered his gun, momentarily too distracted by annoyance to be the sixth gun pointed at Oliver.
“He just seemed like a teenager. I took his name though.” Shit-suit looked at Oliver for a moment before looking back.
“For fuck’s sake guys. He is a child, you clearly just ambushed him walking home from school, pointed a ton of fucking guns at him, and hit him in the face.” Mr. Stark waved his hand over the entire scene. He seemed genuinely mad now, not terribly mad, mad nonetheless. The people in suits seemed to be taken aback by this. “Jesus guys, did they ship you straight from the academy? Not everything is a threat.” Mr. Stark finally looked at Oliver. Oliver thought Mr. Stark’s eyes looked tired. Mr. Stark thought Oliver’s eyes looked scared. They were both right. Mr. Stark took a deep breath and walked over to Oliver. Phil made a move to stop him but seemed to think better of it.
“What’s your name kid?” Mr. Starks voice was considerably less angry.
Oliver swallowed. “Oliver Smith.”
Mr. Stark looked down and picked up Oliver’s broken headphones. “Can I fix these for you, and get you some frozen peas for your face?”
“Mr. Stark I must advise-”
“It’s the least we can do. For this obvious misunderstanding,” he said through his teeth, giving dirty looks towards Phil.
“It’s fine I should go home anyway my-”
“You can’t go anywhere. We have to check through the rest of your stuff. It's protocol.” Phil looked at Mr. Stark with these last words.
“Great so Phil can snoop through your stuff while I fix this, okay kid?” Oliver nods his head hesitantly. He was pretty sure he wanted to just get out of this situation. Mr. Stark turned and started walking back towards the house. Oliver put his hands down, waited a beat, and followed him.
Mr. Stark was rustling around in a freezer when Oliver walked in. The inside of the house looked straight out of a catalogue, if you ignored the tools Oliver barely recognized scattered everywhere. He handed Oliver a bag of frozen peas and sat down at the kitchen table. The cold bag gave little relief the throbbing of Oliver’s cheek, but he appreciated the sympathy.
Mr. Stark started fiddling with the wires and the broken plastic of the headphones. Oliver had no idea what he was doing really, he was an art kid.
“Can I ask why the hell you are here?” Oliver finally said. It came out a bit harsher than he meant, but no one was pointing a gun at him now, so all the adrenaline had to do something.
Mr. Stark glanced at him. “Eh, someone sent me a threat.” he looks sadder than his voice sounds.
“Don’t you get millions of those a day? Why does this one mean you run off to Canada?”
He pauses what hes doing. “They also send me one of my interns heads in a box.”
“Oh.” He looks more guilty than anything. Oliver wonders if they were close. They both sit in heavy silence for a while.
“There. I think that's good.” Mr. Stark hands Oliver the headphones.
“Thanks.” They both look away from each other, not really sure where to go from here. Oliver puts them on, scrolls through his phone and plays a song. “Hold on, I think there’s something wrong, the left side is making this really weird sound-”
Mr. Stark takes the headphones off his head and puts them on his. “What, let me-” As soon as he puts them on he hears the sound of Rick Astley’s “never gonna give you up” and turns to see Oliver forcing down a smile. Mr. Stark takes a deep breath through his nose.
Phil enters the kitchen, Oliver’s bag and phone in hand. “You’re free to go, sir. Apologies for the intrusion.”
Oliver was too relieved to be pissed at this point. As well as a little bit scared. He took his things from Phil’s hands, awkwardly set the slightly mushy peas on the kitchen counter and saw himself out.
The woman from the bus stop was walking by when he left. They made eye contact. The woman kept walking.
Oliver’s mother was waiting for him when he got home. It had been a while since school ended, after all. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting and here you are an hour late? Care to explain?” she stood with her arms crossed, looking expectantly. She didn’t mention the cut and quickly forming bruise on the side of Oliver’s face.
“I had a club.” Oliver knows the lie is not believable. He isn’t in any clubs. He is just tired and hopes his mother will give him the benefit of the doubt or at least talk about it later.
“Do not lie to me, young woman! Were you out with those Fag friends of yours again?”
Oliver winces at her words. “No! I just-” He takes a deep breath, there was no way she was going to believe him. Besides, he probably wasn’t supposed to talk about it anyway. “I got into some trouble snooping around the neighbour's backyard.” Half truth. Always a half-truth. Real truths always end up hurting too much.
“Really, huh? Well, why don’t you bring this neighbour over for a proper apology then huh?” She doesn’t believe him. Jesus christ he was tired. Fine, he thought, let the weird guards deal with this problem. Oliver sat his bag on the ground and walked out the door.
Dealing with a bunch of guys with guns is easier then dealing with my mother, he thought, as he rang the doorbell. At least they are probably somewhat monitored for legality. Phil answers the door and Oliver sees him put away his barely concealed gun.
“Did you forget something?” He asks, clearly annoyed by Oliver’s presence.
“So my mom needs an explanation.” He doesn’t let Phil time to respond. “I already told her I got into trouble with a neighbour for snooping.”
Oliver sees Mr. Stark looming in the background. Phil turns to address him. “We can have one of our guys go over and back up the story.”
“Are you kidding? The kid is a minor, we can get his parents to sign a confidentiality agreement. They deserve to know what happened. They’re probably worried about your face too huh?” Mr. Stark says to Oliver. Oliver shrugs. “Right, I’m going over.” Phil moves to speak. “I will have the Iron man suit seconds away and you can send someone with me. I’ll even wear a disguise.” Oliver thinks that maybe Mr. Stark has more control here then the FBI guys. Phil closed the door in Oliver’s face. Minutes later Phil and Mr. Stark opened the door. Apparently, Mr. Stark’s version of a disguise is a hat and different glasses. They both carried a briefcase.
“Alright kid, let's go.” Mr. Stark offered Oliver a smirk. Oliver looked at him with a weary dread. My parents are going to freak the fuck out, he thought.
He was right. Mr. Stark, Phil, Oliver and Mr. and Mrs. Smith sat at a kitchen table. Oliver’s mother nursed a cup of tea she hurriedly brewed for the surprise guests.
“- so overall, you’re son did nothing wrong, but you will all need to sign a non-disclosure agreement and you will be arrested if you share the location of Mr. Stark.”
Mr. Smith blinked at Phil and nodded.
Mrs. Smith finally set down her cup of tea and took a breath. Oliver could see the suburban persona being turned on. “Well, I am so very sorry my daughter caused you stress and inconvenience and of coarse we will sign whatever, I’m just so glad everyone is safe.” Oliver thought his mother’s voice sounded like a voice actor playing pleasant when she spoke to other people. “And Mr. Tony Stark. I have to say, I am so honoured to have you finding safe haven in our neighbourhood, let alone our house.” She let out a fake pleasant laugh.
Mr. Stark pushed his glasses up. “Thank you, but like Phil here said your son caused no trouble whatsoever, it was our mistake.” Oliver was shocked. He had no idea, Mr. Tony Stark. philanthropist billionaire Tony Stark was a trans ally. He was also shocked that both his mother and Mr. Stark could have such a vicious fight with such intense eye contact while only saying pleasantries.
Phil cleared his throat and pushed the non-disclosure agreement forward with a pen. “Alright so if you three could just-”
Mrs. Smith pulled herself out of the eye contact battle and refocused on Phil. “Of course.” Oliver’s mother signed the paper.
“So, Tony, you got any super suits locked up in that house?” Mr. Smith said. Mr. Smith wasn’t very good at reading social situations.
“Yup,” replied Mr. Stark. Mr. Smith smiled awkwardly and signed the paper.
Mr. Stark stood from the kitchen table. “Alright, well, thanks for understanding and uh kid,” He turned to look at Oliver, squinting slightly. “Stay in school or whatever.” He left the house, Phil in tow.
Oliver’s family sat in abrupt silence for a good few moments after the door closed.
“Why did you tell them your name is Oliver?” Oliver’s mother didn’t look at him as she asked.
“Come on mom, you know why.” The weight of air in the room suddenly started to weigh more as the three sat in silence under the pressure of tension. Oliver wasn’t sure whether or not it would be a fight today.
“Alright. Go to your room and do your homework.” Oliver knew he probably wasn’t going to come out of his room until tomorrow.