never have i ever
—
What Tony realizes after the first 24 hours is that he certainly doesn’t understand teenagers.
The senior campers all range from thirteen to sixteen, and almost all of them must either be, A, on crack, or B, have terrible parents. Why else would this kid—named Peter Quill—steal a fishing pole from the shed, using it to retrieve a pair of socks he threw off the bridge? For fun, no less? The only logical answer must be drugs.
Others that Tony meets are either terrified of him or try to be buddy-buddy with him. He can’t count the number of random girls who’ve tried to get his number in the past few hours, and the number of awkward kids who look at him as if he’s the president of the United States is almost comical.
Tony soaks up the attention like a sponge. A very, very bored sponge.
The previous day, he was able to briefly meet all the members of his cabin at dinner. They only barely acknowledged his existence, which he was sort of annoyed about, but it also felt like a breath of fresh air.
First, there’s Bruce. A short, shy kid, with thick framed glasses and dark brown curls, who’s probably the only one that Tony can click with on an intellectual level. They spent a good chunk of the night discussing gamma radiation and the effects of it on the human brain. Tony has a feeling that he’ll like Bruce.
Then, there’s a tall, blonde jock named Thor. He can only be described as sunshiny, Tony supposes, with the way that he booms in any room he walks into and his bright, charming laugh. He and Bruce are constantly staring at each other with longing expressions, so Tony assumes the obvious.
Steve, Bucky, and Rhodey need no introduction; they’re the exact same as when Tony first met them. Rhodey is logical, jokes around occasionally but for the most part treats Tony like he doesn’t exactly know what to make of him. Tony doesn’t blame him, honestly. Then, there’s Barnes and Noble (he came up with that ship name himself, and he’s damn proud of it), who are the ‘it’ couple in the entire camp. No one really dares to mess with them, and Tony doesn’t really understand why at first, not until he sees the fiery redhead named Natasha Romanov that they hang out with. Tony wouldn’t blame anyone for being terrified of her.
Clint Barton, whom Tony first discovers because he jumps face first off of Tony’s bunk and down to the floor, is a human train wreck of a boy. He’s covered in white bandages from all the scruffs and scrapes he endures, and he frequently steals coffee from the counselor’s office as the rest of the cabin is eating breakfast at the dining hall.
Sam Wilson is basically the Sam Puckett to Bucky’s Carly Shay. They both create constant mayhem together, and Steve is always the one who acts as their impulse control, even though he’s probably the most reckless one in the damn group. Sam is nothing short of hilarious, though, so that’s that.
Scott Lang, the ant kid, as many call him, is another guy that Tony can say he doesn’t understand in the slightest. He’s the only other fourteen year old in the cabin, almost always sobbing while reading John Green books and doing overall random shit that Tony joins in on. The two of them had made friendship bracelets while Steve and Bucky wrestled in the middle of the cabin floor.
In the matter of only a day, Tony had gotten on quite well with the rest of his cabin, which he’s extremely grateful for. It’s not often that he’s welcomed into groups with such open arms. Typically, he’s placed on a pedestal so high that those below him treat him like dirt beneath their feet.
And, well, the Emmaus cabin couldn’t give less of a shit about him. Which he sort of loves, and sort of wonders why.
Surprisingly enough, the food isn’t half bad. Sure, it’s loaded with carbs and sometimes the meat is a bit dry (last night’s meatloaf was as dry as the Mojave desert) but it’s not as horrible as the movies make it seem. Tony’s only been surviving off of coffee and protein bars all summer, so the full course meals at camp are fucking amazing to his poor stomach.
He’s clinging to consciousness as he holds his tray to his chest, the chatter of the dining hall a buzz that bounces around his skull. It’s way too fucking early for almost everyone to be so happy-go-lucky.
“Bacon or sausage?” the old, grouchy looking lunch lady behind the counter says.
“They don’t call me a sausage sucker for nothing,” he says slyly, mostly to get a reaction from her.
The lady snarls in disgust, plopping three breakfast sausages onto Tony’s tray and turning to the next kid in line.
Rhodey saves a seat for Tony right next to him at the Emmaus table. Pepper from yesterday is sitting with them too, lightly chattering with Bruce until she sees Tony and scoffs. He plops himself into the seat between her and Rhodey regardless.
“I see you haven’t been beat up again,” she says, poking at the food on her plate. “I also see that the boys must not have let you sleep last night.”
“Sleep is for the weak,” he manages, reaching for the pitcher on the table and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “It wasn’t just them, though. I was chatting with Bruce about neuroscience, making bracelets with Scott, talking shit about kids from middle school with Rhodey, building a fort with Steve and Bucky—“
“How much sleep did you get?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
The girl shoots him a pointed look.
Tony, as he pretends to stare down at his food with interest, happens to catch onto the fact that Pepper’s gaze lingers on his for a few moments too long. A usual occurrence for Tony to notice, really, but the only difference between Pepper and any other girl is that he doesn’t find Pepper annoying or a try-hard bitch. She’s pretty, really pretty, in an almost simple way that really makes her stand out to him. Maybe it’s her fair, porcelain skin, that sets her apart from all the girls with fake tans that Tony meets normally. Maybe it’s her natural, long and beachy hair, that reminds Tony of the type of girl-next-door that he’d see on TV.
This should be fun.
“I like your hair,” he grins, hoping to get a favorable reaction, watching from across the table as Clint hops into his chair, coffee pitcher in hand, Thor begging to share it with him.
“Thanks,” she says without batting an eye, still stoic as she takes a bite of pancake. “I grew it myself.”
Even better than expected.
“Look,” Tony says lowly, hand propping up his tilted head as he looks up at her through his lashes, “I know you think I’m some asshole, playboy, loudmouth, clueless, dumb as a rock, cocky man-slut, and that I’m not worth your time—”
“You’re not completely wrong,” Pepper says, but she’s smiling.
“But that’s not true at all,” he says.
He looks deep into her eyes, taking in the orbs like a moth to a lamppost, giving the award-winning smirk that he wears like a crown. The smirk that has let him get away with almost anything, even dating back to when he convinced Adriana Sommer to kiss him in the second grade playground.
“I’m not dumb as a rock. I’m not clueless, either. I know exactly what I want, and how to get it.”
It’s a conversation that Tony would prefer to have somewhere that’s... not in the middle of a busy cafeteria. But no one really notices the two as they stare right through each other, so who gives a rat’s ass?
“And what, exactly, do you want, Stark?” Pepper says, looking unamused yet enthralled, like she doesn’t expect the bomb that Tony is about to drop on her. She’s not flustered by his antics, not at all, but she doesn’t seem disgusted.
He grins smugly.
“For you to give me a piece of your bacon.”
—
Their first activity of the day is swimming, and upon hearing that there are fish in the lake water, Tony immediately opts to sit out.
“Why, man?” Clint whines as he takes his shirt off, throwing it on top of Scott’s head. “There’s only, like, a ten percent chance of catching worms—“
“Dude,” Rhodey warns.
“I just don’t feel like it,” insists Tony, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he climbs up the seating platform. Kind of like wooden bleachers but smaller and with a flat top over it, keeping him in the shade, thank god. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. I still have to finish the friendship bracelets that me and ant kid were doing last night.”
“Bum,” Clint grumbles.
“If I tell you that I’m on my period, will you leave me alone?”
“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “How heavy’s your flow?”
“I bled through three tampons since breakfast,” says Tony, frankly.
Clint gives him a look before approaching the lake and throwing his body into the water.
Tony sighs in relief, watching as most of the track splashes around in the nasty ass green lake water. He almost finishes weaving the blue and red bracelet together when the track counselor calls his name. The woman—named Maria, or something, that’s what Tony heard Bucky calling her—with her low slicked back bun and camouflage cargo pants, looks like a damn military official. “Hey, Stark?”
“Yes ma’am?” he says, politeness seeping through as an instinct. Howard always dragged him along to work meetings and business parties with the pretense of impressing adults, so Tony got the memo quickly when it came to being a poster child around others.
The woman holds out a clipboard, stacked with papers and a list that looks like it has the names of all her campers in it. “Take this down to the office for me? You know where that is, right?”
“Well, considering that I was sent there yesterday after getting beat up by Johnny fucking Hammer—“
“Yikes. You weren’t seriously hurt?”
“No,” Tony says. “I’ve been hit by a lot worse than him.”
Maria purses her lips. “Well,” she says, thankfully not asking any questions, “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. Little asshole’s been a bother all summer. It’s a good thing he was expelled.”
“Sure was,” he agrees. “Also, I was watching you and Barnes arguing this morning. Fucking hilarious,” Tony says, climbing down from the benches and glancing at the clipboard in hand.
“Had to add your name to the track list, is all,” she says, adjusting her sunglasses.
She smiles. It looks fond. “Yep. Barnes is a little shit. At least he has Steve, though.”
“Have they been together all summer?”
“Before then. Even last summer, they were boyfriends. Then again, last year they got a lot of shit for it,” Maria says, “But they’ve surrounded themselves with the right crowd now. They’re lucky to have each other.”
Tony looks out into the water, sun glistening over the lake, as track 44 splashes around and yell at each other. Steve sits atop Bucky’s shoulders, having an intense chicken fight with Thor and Bruce. Predictably, Steve is knocked over and falls face first into the water.
“Yeah,” he agrees, heart feeling sad.
—
Tony decides that Natasha Romanov is a very, very important girl.
She’s just shy of fifteen like him, she has a head of deep red hair that’s surprisingly all natural, and her stare has the piercing effect of sewing needles. This camp is chalk full of terrifying teenage girls, and Natasha is no exception.
She reminds Tony of Pepper, sort of, if Pepper were eerily silent and had Tony anticipating her every move.
When Natasha first meets Tony, it’s during snack shack time, where all of the Emmaus cabin mates sit at a bench table while squeezing water bottles at each other. The girl, who sits with Steve and Sam more than anything, gives Tony a cold stare before introducing herself.
“Natasha,” she says, holding out her hand.
“Stark,” he utters, “Tony Stark. I’m assuming you know who I am already.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard quite a lot.”
She squeezes his hand in a death grip before letting go.
Tony wanders off after a while, desperately trying to find something or someone to entertain him. A big group of girls his age, some pretty and some average, approach him shyly with their phones in hand and ask for his snapchat.
He declines. “Sorry. I don’t have one.”
“O-Oh,” one of the girls say, looking disappointed, “What about Instagram?”
“Nope,” he lies.
“Phone number?”
“Don’t have one,” he says shortly, and walks away.
He mentally smacks himself in the head, once he’s far enough away, walking towards the sports pavilion with no purpose. There were some pretty girls in that group, girls that he could see himself having a fling with to entertain himself.
Yes, Tony can confirm that he’s a bit of a playboy when it comes to girls. He’s not ashamed, either. He pretends to care when he dates a girl and pretends to feel regret once he breaks her heart.
Howard had always encouraged Tony to fuck over as many girls as possible. ‘Don’t stop at one,’ he would say to Tony once he got to middle school, ‘Date as many bitches as you want. They’re all useless to you, anyways. When you’re rich like us, boy, you don’t need to find love—girls will practically beg at your feet just to have a chance with a Stark.’
Tony had followed his father’s advice through and through. He doesn’t know why, exactly. Maybe it was the fact that he was so desperate to impress Howard, to be a source of pride by his own father.
And so, when he walks away from those girls and catches sight of Pepper Potts standing with Bucky and Steve by the basketball hoop, he decides that Howard isn’t fucking worth the effort to impress.
—
Tony decides, by the end of the day, that meeting so many people at once is damn close to exhausting.
During free time from 5-6, Emmaus decides to branch off and do their own thing for a while. Rhodey and Thor stick by Tony’s side, though, knowing that the boy doesn’t exactly have anything else to do.
“Water—Water is wet,” Rhodey says exasperatedly, fingers on his temples as he looks at Thor and Tony with a strained expression. “It’s fucking water. Water is wet.”
“No,” says Thor, throwing his hands up in the air to motion his thoughts, “When a goldfish is in water, it’s not wet. When it’s out of the water, it’s wet.”
“The goldfish is wet,” Rhodey argues.
Tony shakes his head. “The definition of something being wet is when there’s water on it. Is there water on water? No. It’s just water.”
“I’m going to throw you both into the water if you don’t—”
“Hey, dickwad!” a voice says, and Tony immediately prepares himself to fight someone. He straightens his posture, eyes flying to the young fair boy with long black hair approaching the bench they sit at. Another boy, a younger one, probably only eight or nine, follows behind sheepishly.
Thor and Rhodey don’t seem alarmed in the slightest, Rhodey glancing up with indifference and the blonde lighting up.
“Brother,” Thor grins, springing up and pulling the long haired boy into a bear hug. The brother—brother?—scowls in disgust. “I haven’t seen you in a day or two! How have you been?”
“Don’t call me your brother,” he says, brushing his dark green shirt down of any wrinkles. “Anyways, you’re not the only one with a new camper to enslave.”
“No one’s enslaving anyone, Loki,” says Rhodey.
Loki (what a weird ass name) rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I meant ‘mentor.’ This,” he says, turning to the little boy hiding behind him, “Is Peter. Peter Parker.”
Peter, with his big brown eyes and mop of curly brown hair, hides behind Loki like a shy child using his mother as a shield from strangers.
“Hi, Peter,” Tony says softly, waving at the boy in a hopefully comforting tone, “I’m Tony.”
Peter shrinks into himself, completely blocking himself from view behind Thor’s brother. They don’t look alike in the slightest—maybe one of them is adopted? That would explain the ‘don’t call me your brother’ line.
“He’s shy,” says Loki, not acknowledging Tony any further. “Anyways, Thor, I wanted to ask; have you seen our sister anywhere? She promised that she’d sneak into town and buy me some McDonald’s, but I haven’t seen her since.”
“Aw, she’s getting you some but not me?” Thor frowns.
“Hela hates you. She loves me more.”
“Uncle Loki,” Peter says quietly, “I want a happy meal.”
“Kid, me too,” Rhodey mutters. “I’d fucking kill for a happy meal right now. I’ve only eaten camp food for the past three weeks.”
“What about pizza party Fridays?” Thor asks.
“I hate Domino’s.”
“You’re cut off,” Loki says. “I’ve never felt such a sense of betrayal. I can’t believe this, Rhodes.”
“I can have Jarvis send an assistant to drop off a happy meal for the kid,” Tony offers.
Everyone is silent for a moment. “What’s a Jarvis?”
“My robot AI. I’d be dead without him.” He leans down to his wrist, holding down the button on the side to give Jarvis an order. “Hey, Jar, daddy needs you to send an intern or something to camp to drop off a happy meal.“ Tony turns to Peter. “Chicken nuggets or burger?”
“Nuggets,” Peter says, eyes wide.
“A chicken nugget happy meal. Have it here quick, and have them leave it in a box disguised as a care package.”
“Yes, Master Tony,” Jarvis says. “Would you like an extra toy for you to play with?”
“Not necessary,” he scoffs.
“Order received. Stark Industries employee on it’s way.”
When Tony looks up, everyone is gaping at him, eyes wide in shock.
“What the fuck?” Rhodey says, grabbing Tony’s wrist and inspecting the watch. “Is—Is this StarkTech? I didn’t see anything like this on the market.”
“Is it a prototype?” Loki says, climbing on top of the table and grabbing Tony’s wrist himself. “Lemme cop.”
“It’s custom made my yours truly,” Tony says, pulling away. “Spent hours coding and downloading Jarvis’ consciousness into a basic StarkWatch I found in my dad’s lab. It’s probably one of the smartest computers in the industry, for its size. It’s not very impressive but I didn’t have much time to work out the hijinks.”
“You downloaded a fucking human’s consciousness into a watch?!”
“What? No. Jarvis is the AI that I invented when I was ten. I’ve been upgrading him constantly ever since. He’s my personal assistant.”
“Oh, thank god,” Thor gasps. “I got worried you were an evil mastermind, for a second.”
“There’s no way you were able to invent something like this at age ten,” says Rhodey.
“Well, when I was ten, Jarvis was pretty basic. He was just an average AI with a voice and access to the internet, like Siri.”
“And now?”
“He can do full body medical scans, has access to all of Howard’s schedules and security cameras, can effortlessly hack into basic computers, the works.”
“Who taught you how to do that?”
“I’m a genius. Have you forgotten who my father is?”
Peter looks up at him as if he’s in the presence of a superhero, to which Tony winks.
—
“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Bucky shoves his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. The rest of cabin Emmaus, all sitting in a circle in the middle of the cabin floor, urges Steve to go on. “Never have I ever...”
“Come on!” Sam yells, two of his fingers already down due to the fact that he’s the only one in the group who has gotten a lap dance before, as well as the fact that he’s the only one who lied to his parents about being hungover.
“Okay!” Steve barks. “Never have I ever smoked pot.”
Everyone puts a finger down.
“You never have?” Clint asks, unbelieving.
“No?! Why would I have?”
“Weed is fucking amazing, man,” Tony says.
“Oh, god,” Steve groans. “Rhodey, you too?”
“Tried it once. Never again.”
“I already knew Bucky has. I just never knew I was the only one who’s never—never done weed. Guys, what the fuck? We’re so young.”
“I mean, don’t you want to try it at least once?” says Bruce. “Just to see what it’s like?”
“The smell is enough to draw me away. Plus, it doesn’t seem like it’ll bode well for my asthma.”
“The smell sucks, but it helps with my anger issues,” he says, unsettlingly calm.
Tony snickers at the joke.
“Alright, next,” Sam says, pointing to Thor, who’s next in the circle.
“Never have I ever cheated on someone.”
Tony hesitates for a moment, but when he puts a finger down, he also notices that he’s the only one who has.
“Wait, I wanna hear this tea,” says Scott.
“There was no tea,” Tony scoffs, “I was just a bit of an asshole in sixth grade, is all. Poor Nichole Messina, I kissed her own twin sister.”
The group collectively sighs in relief when the words leave his mouth; a short confirmation that it’s not the type of person he is, at least, not anymore. But he doesn’t miss the way Bucky and Steve frown at each other, looking... disappointed?
“I—I wouldn’t do that now,” Tony sputters, not exactly knowing why he’s trying to justify it. “I’m loyal. I guess. I haven’t played with a girl’s feelings, in, like, six months. I’m on a streak.”
“Wow, six months!” Scott cheers. “You’re a whole new man.”
Bucky goes next, thank god.
“Never have I ever, uh, stolen from my parents’ liquor cabinet.”
Tony and Thor are the only ones who put their fingers down.
“Vodka,” Thor explains, waving a hand. “I was, like, twelve. Wanted to try it. I thought I swallowed a ball of fire, when I did. Hela walked in on me shoving ice into my mouth.”
“That only what it’s like before you build up a tolerance for it,” supplies Tony. “It took me a while.”
Rhodey looks at him in confusion, eyebrow raised. “When was the first time you drank vodka?”
The fourteen year old pauses to think. “Well, the first time I had straight vodka, I was thirteen. The first time I drank alcohol in general was when I was six. I think it was whiskey?”
“What the fuck?” breathes Bucky, staring at Tony in intrigue. “How did you get it?”
“Howard,” he says. “Howard gave me some in a glass. Told me to drink up, that it would make a man out of me. I did it, and I cried. Like point break said—it feels like you swallow a ball of fire. But back to the topic at hand; I steal from the liquor cabinet every few weeks. One time Howard caught me, he slapped me straight in the side of the head. He didn’t care that I was drinking liquor, though. He was pissed that I took it from him.”
Tony expects to be awed at, maybe to be thrown a few unsympathetic ‘damn that sucks,’ because that’s all he’s ever received when he tells people about his, uh, drinking experience. What he does not expect in the slightest is the way he’s stared at, stared at like he’s some poor soul in need of help. He shrinks into himself.
“What,” says Clint, mouth practically on the floor, “The fuck.”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, “Are you being serious right now?”
“What? What’s... yeah? Why would I lie about that?”
“That’s not—oh my god. That’s not okay, Tony.” In clear discomfort, Steve stands up, Bucky doing the same after his boyfriend. “Your father shouldn’t have given you whiskey when you were six fucking years old. He shouldn’t hit you. He should care that you drink, he should punish you and tell you that it’s wrong, especially when you’re so young, and that you’ve drank enough by now to build up a tolerance.”
“Why do you care?!” Tony yells, defensively. “You’re not my dad!”
“Thank god I’m not,” Steve huffs.
“Stark, you’re a clear case of daddy issues. You don’t even see that it’s wrong,” says Bucky. “Look, obviously Howard Stark is an asshole and the public knows nothing of it. I mean, don’t you see what’s wrong with him? Do you not know any different?”
“Of course I do,” Tony insists. “My mom. But she died three years ago.”
More silence. Tony wants to throw himself off a fucking cliff.
“Tony,” Bruce says softly.
“No. No—No. You,” he says, pointing to everyone in the now disassembled circle, “Don’t have a say in my life. You don’t get to pity me. You don’t get to tell me what’s right and wrong. My mother is dead, there’s nothing to change that fact! A drunk driver crushed her into a tree, so what?! It’s a fucking blessing that she’s not around to deal with Howard anymore. That fucker treated her worse than me. I’m happy for her. I’m proud of her.”
“Oh my god,” Scott cries.
“None of you,” he says again, voice cracking, “Understand shit. So you can keep your damn friendship bracelets,” he throws the red and gold one off of his wrist and to the floor, “Go fuck around in your track,” he throws his jacket over his shoulders, “Trash the cabin,” slips on his shoes, “And do whatever the fuck you want. Just keep me out of it, and stay out of my damn way.”
Tony slams the cabin door shut behind him, running into the darkness of the summer night with his heart hammering in his chest.
He can’t fucking believe how entitled these assholes feel. They think they can tell him what to do, how to feel—Tony knows that Howard is an asshole. He knows that Howard doesn’t care about the things that he should. He knows that Howard doesn’t give a shit about him, about his life. He doesn’t need a reminder. He doesn’t need people to tell him so.
He kicks a tree. Hard.
“Stark,” a voice huffs from behind him. It’s Steve. He sounds out of breath.
“What?” Tony snaps.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he says. “I’m sorry your dad’s such an ass. That he sent you here.”
“Whatever, Rogers,” grumbles Tony. “You—No one will ever understand what it’s like to—to live under the shadow of Howard Stark. To live to those sort of expectations, to see the things that I do. You never have and you never will.”
Tony can feel the world closing in on him, the weight of Jarvis’ watch on his wrist, the itch on the back of his neck due to the mosquitoes and the way his eyes sting with tears. He blinks, and only the tears manage to leave.
“You know what your problem is, Stark?”
“You’re going to have to elaborate on that. I have plenty of problems.”
The two boys stare each other straight in the eyes. Steve is only a few inches shorter than Tony, his eyes a bright, brilliant blue, making Tony feel basic and dull. His plain brown eyes and dark brown hair are far from impressive. Far from being as beautiful as Steve.
God, he’s such a fag.
“You think you’re better than everyone else,” the blonde says, and Tony scoffs.
That’s not true at all, he thinks to himself. There are plenty of people better than him. People who have a heart, who feel compassion and are generous and kind—people deserving of love. Someone who’s nothing like Tony.
“I don’t think,” he says, mouth only inches away from Steve’s as he purposefully bends down an inch or two. “I’m better than you, Mr. Rogers.”
The door of the cabin opens, light flooding out and over the two boys. Steve’s breath hitches, and Tony’s satisfied.
“I know I am.”