here comes the king
“What the hell took so long?!” Natasha’s cracked voice yells at him. On her end, the sound of a sea of people in the cafeteria makes her almost inaudible as she whisper-screams into the radio.
“Got tied up,” Tony huffs, running out of the back entrance of the kitchen and into the hot summer day. “Where’d you get your talkie?”
“Stole it from Coulson’s belt,” she says. “Why did we need you to be in the kitchen again?”
“One,” he says, “because there was easy access to a walkie talkie, which I thought I saw on a table when I passed by the dish window this morning, and which Peter confirmed when he talked about one of the lunch ladies using one. Two, because when you pull that fire alarm, I’ll be given an alibi. When they’re looking for me, they’ll go to my cabin, and they’ll say that I was in the kitchen on dish duty. Lower chance of Emmaus seeing me leave, or any cabin, for that matter.”
“Okay. Now, all we have to do is set the evacuation. You see the nearest—“
“I’m standing right next to it,” Natasha hisses.
“Alright. Alright, I’m gonna count to three. When I do, you need to pass by the fire alarm and don’t make it obvious that you’re pulling it.”
“Hurry up and count, then.”
Tony huffs, looking at his watch. “Jarvis, did you send a chauffeur?”
“Apologies, Master Stark. Your father has already removed you from the contact list due to your placement at camp. No chauffeurs are able to come.”
“Fuck. Okay, I’ll figure it out once I’m out. Call me an Uber.”
“Yes, sir,” the AI says.
“What’s your father going to say once he sees you home after barely two days away?”
“Probably’ll hit me, but that’s nothing new. I’d rather take a punch than stay at this shithole much longer. I’ve learned way too much about myself than I’m comfortable with.”
Natasha coughs, a subtle reminder for him to get on with it.
“One.”
Tony squints down at his watch. Noticing that he had unconsciously pulled his sleeve up while doing dishes, he pulls it down to his wrists, heart dropping in fear that anyone saw.
“Two.”
Natasha shuffles from the other end, and Tony sighs, just wanting to be somewhere alone. Like his room, or something. There is no ounce of privacy here. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Three.”
The alarms begin to blare. Tony runs around the building and towards the tree line, which then would lead to the road outside the camp’s perimeter.
“Thanks, Kim Possible,” he huffs as he takes cover behind the first aid building, watching the cafeteria doors as students and counselors rush out in a sea of confused people. From the group of buildings, it’s too far a stretch to the tree line. He’d be spotted for sure if he made a run for it right now, with all the people outside now.
Tony takes a moment to collect himself, hand to his chest as his heart pounds.
The walkie-talkie cracks to life.
“I don’t know,” a muffled voice says—Steve?—as Tony recoils, turning the volume down. Did Natasha lose her radio? Is she turning it on accidentally?
“He was on dish duty,” Bucky says.
It sure sounds like her talkie is close to the ground or in a pocket, like she’s trying to hide it. Maybe she’s doing it intentionally, like she wants Tony to hear.
“No one saw him exit the kitchen when everyone else did,” says Steve, huffing. “What if—what if he did something, like, to escape—“
“Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he’s mad at me for last night,” Steve says pathetically. “That’s why he keeps leaving, going missing without explanation. He doesn’t want to be around us.”
“I doubt that’s why,” Natasha’s clearer, louder voice says shortly.
“Nat, you’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?” begs Bucky. “What we told you?”
The girl clears her throat, and then the radio cuts off.
Chest heaving in confusion, Tony stares at the device in his hand. His cut up, dirty, unfamiliar hand.
He watches in the distance as Emmaus, in the crowd of campers and counselors, looks around. They’re looking for him. Then he sees Peter, who’s equally as confused.
Tony stands up, slowly.
“Shit,” he mutters, and he turns around.
He runs head first into someone tall’s big, broad chest.
—
Brock Rumlow is an intimidating guy.
He wears all black, his skin is tanned and olive, and he has this weird long scar across the side of his face. He wears a permanent death glare, and his muscular stature is nothing to discourage people’s expectations of him.
If you were to survey the entire camp, over half of the population would express their distaste for the counselor. Some say that he’s a prick, or that he’s an asshole, or that he constantly targets girls who fail to follow the dress code. This is the first time that Tony’s seen him in person, and he certainly didn’t expect for it to be in the circumstances. He didn’t think that Rumlow would have a death drip on his wrist, dragging him to Camp Director Fury’s office.
“I already told you, get your fucking hands off of me, you asshole—“
He’s thrown into a chair before he can even finish his sentence.
Scoffing, Tony sits up straight and dusts himself off. The room is dim, smells of whiskey, and the combination of that alone as well as being damn near dragged and thrown down by his already fucked up wrist is enough to make his heart pound in a panic.
Rumlow stands behind him, posture straight and unmoving.
Tony looks ahead. Behind the desk in front of him (which reminds him somewhat of a principal’s office), sits a man with an eyepatch and a permanent scowl, who looks Tony up and down.
“Rumlow?” the man—Fury, Tony realizes—says.
“I caught him hiding behind the first aid cabin, holding a counselor walkie-talkie. He looked like he was up to no good.”
Fury pauses, reaching for a file on his desk and opening it up. Tony stares up at him. He knows better than to take his eyes off the predator.
“Anthony Edward Stark,” he reads, almost lightly, as if he’s trying to size the boy up. That’s Tony’s file he’s reading. “Fourteen years old. Son of Howard Stark, and the heir to Stark Industries. Eighth grader.”
“I’m about to be in high school,” Tony spits.
Fury looks up at him with one eye. One sharp, dangerous eye, but Tony isn’t afraid. He’s been dealing with a lot worse all his life. “You’re a smart kid,” he says, putting the file down. “I can tell that much.”
“Sir, I believe he stole a radio from one of the counselors.”
“I did not. I stole it from the kitchen.”
“Do you have anything to do with the fire alarm that went off without warning?” asks Fury.
“So what if I do?”
Fury glares at Rumlow. “Brock, get out. Me and the boy need some time to talk. Alone.”
The man complies, but he slams the door behind him.
“Anthony,” Fury starts.
“Don’t call me that. My name is Tony. And for the love of god, do not call me ‘young man.’”
“Stark,” the director says grimly, and loudly. Tony shuts his mouth. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble since Monday. With that fight with Johnny Hammer, an incident I’ve just heard of you kissing a thirteen year old camper unprecedented, and now this?”
“I didn’t think news of that would travel that fast,” he says, mostly to himself. “And, first of all, it wasn’t unprecedented. That girl and her friends were harassing me while I was on dish duty, trying to get my number, and I told them to stop. Then they were giving an attitude to this kid named Loki Odinson, I’m sure you know him, and then they started talking shit about two boys from my cabin. Steve and—“
“Steve and Bucky,” Fury finishes.
“Yeah. They’re my friends.”
“So you kissed her.”
“I did, and then I told her that she’d be catching the gay.” Don’t mention the other bit, don’t mention the other bit, don’t out yourself to this stranger— “Then I stole a walkie talkie and I left out the back door.”
“Why?”
“Because I was going to make a run for it.”
“Why?”
“Because I hate this fucking camp!” Tony cries. “I want to go home. I can’t do this. I’m not used to this, to having to interact with so many people, to not having any privacy when it comes to anything. I hate it.”
Before Fury can reach for a glass of what looks like whiskey that sits on his desk, Tony stops him. “Please. Don’t drink that in front of me,” he says quietly.
Fury stops in his tracks, looking at Tony in confusion. He puts his hand down, not asking any questions but still seeming wary.
“Thank you,” the boy sighs.
The man clears his throat, adjusting himself in his chair. “Stark, I know of the rumors that go around. I know of all of them. I know that you’re hiding something, and I know that there’s something concerning about your home life.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“So,” Fury says anyways, “I’m not going to call your father. It seems like you don’t need that extra burden on you, and frankly, Howard doesn’t seem like a pleasant person.”
“He’s not.”
“Let’s make a deal. You do your best to adjust, to stay out of trouble for the rest of your month here. No more fights, no more escape plans, nada.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“My protection,” Fury says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Your father gets good weekly reports. Camp record kept clean. If you do happen to be picked on by another camper, I’ll be sure to take your side, but only if the situation isn’t against you. We already have our hands full as it is—you haven’t heard the news, have you?”
“What news?”
Fury glares at the boy. He doesn’t speak for a moment. “One of the junior campers is missing. No one has seen him since last night, at dinner. I’m sure you can understand why we’re so wary to have people not where they’re supposed to be. Rumlow is being extra cautious of that.”
Tony fidgets with his watch. After another moment of silence, Fury holds out his hand.
“I’ll protect you, Stark,” the man says.
Tony swallows before holding out his own, accepting the handshake firmly. Firm handshakes are a sign of dominance, of respect and control, and Tony and Fury are equally equipped.
—
When Tony steps through the door of the cabin, he doesn’t expect for everyone to be sitting around the room in a big circle, going silent as they see the boy come in.
It’s not just the Emmaus boys there, either. It’s Pepper, Natasha, Loki, and Peter, as well.
Pepper shoots up from her place leaning on a bunk, nose scrunched up, looking furious. “Tony, what the fuck?!”
“Where have you been?” Rhodey scolds, shooting to his feet as well. “We were worried sick!”
Tony rolls his eyes, closing the door behind him. “Fury’s office.”
Bucky peers up in shock. He sits atop the dresser (with drawers full of cleaning supplies and other things like shampoo bottles, bug spray, etc, Tony remembers, albeit he should probably focus on the situation at hand rather than obscure details of dresser storage) with Steve around his arm. “You—You were sent to Fury’s office?! And you’re still alive?!”
“We respect each other,” Tony says. “He’s not as bad as you all make him out to be.”
“I told them everything,” admits Natasha. She’s snuggled up next to Clint on a bottom bunk, only looking slightly guilty.
“I got that much. It’s whatever, toots, I don’t care anymore.”
Pepper cradles Tony’s face in her hands. A motherly instinct, he assumes, but he can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Tony,” she says sternly. “I was worried. Why—Why are you so cold? Your face is freezing.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“Mr. Stark,” says Peter softly, coming up from behind Pepper and hugging the boy.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony says.
“Mr. Stark, a boy from my cabin went missing,” Peter cries. “No one has seen him all morning. We thought he just... w-went home early, or something, but just now they told us that no one... no one knows where he is. I thought you went missing too. No one could find you during the fire alarm.”
His heart shatters. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” groans Loki. “Besides, news has already spread about the lunch line, Stark. What the hell was that about?”
“What was what about?” Scott, Steve, and Pepper ask simultaneously.
“You didn’t hear what Tony did?” asks Bruce. Fuck, great. He knows too.
Loki grins—a crooked sight. “Let me enlighten you, then, because I’m the only one with a first-hand account. Stark kissed some pre-teen girl through the dish window!“
“TONY!” Pepper scolds, whacking him in the arm.
“It wasn’t like that!” he screams. “Loki, you trick-ass, that’s not what happened at all!”
“You kissed a little girl in line?!” Steve shrieks.
“NO! That’s not what happened at all! She—she was 13, by the way, so she’s only a year younger than me—she was harassing me with her friends, trying to get my number, and they wouldn’t leave. Then Loki tried defending me and told them to back the fuck off, so then they were like ‘oh, doesn’t your brother hang out with the gay kids named steve and bucky’ and then she was going on and on about how being gay is bad, so I kissed her, and then I...”
Loki coughs. He knows what happens next, but he probably doesn’t want to say it without permission. He most likely doesn’t know if Tony is going to admit it. Tony doesn’t know either.
“I told her that I’m friends with you guys, too,” he lies, “And that she might ‘catch the gay.’ That’s all I said.”
“And then he left,” Loki scoffs. “And the fire alarm went off.”
“Is that your doing, Nat?” asks Sam.
She shrugs.
From over Pepper’s shoulder, Steve and Bucky look guilty, eyes trailing to the floor as they draw back. All Tony wants is to tell them that it’s okay; that they didn’t do anything wrong. That he’s not in trouble, or anything, that he’s happy he did it.
“We’re sorry, man,” Steve says softly.
“It’s fine, Rogers.”
“No—No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have had to kiss some snotty girl to defend me an’ Bucky.”
“First of all,” he says, “I defended you because I wanted to, that’s it. Don’t give yourself so much credit. It was on my own will.”
Bucky sputters. “But—“
“Second,” Tony says, holding out two fingers as if he’s counting it off. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a kiss.”
“Tony, kisses are important,” says Pepper.
“Not to me. I’ve kissed so many people that I’ve lost count, alright? I’ve yet to kiss someone and have it matter to me—and no, it’s not because I don’t care about it, that’s not true at all. It’s because I’ve never found the right person to make it count with. Most of the time, it’s not even me who initiates it. The girl does it—sometimes, even other boys. Why, you ask? Because that’s the type of person I’ve been...been expected to be. And no one understands.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Steve asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” Tony huffs. “Maybe it’s because I don’t want you to think that I’m some sort of playboy whore. I mean, I am one, sometimes, but it wasn’t my intention when I kissed that girl.”
When he’s met with a burning, almost unbelieving silence, Tony sighs. He walks past Pepper and Peter, steps over Scott laying down on the floor, and flops onto his bed.
“I’m tired,” he says, shoving his head into the pillow. “When the track heads back to activities, and if Maria asks where I am, tell her to call Fury. He’ll give me an excuse.”
—
When Tony was in eighth grade, he had a babysitter named Christine. Don’t ask why he had a babysitter.
Okay, fine, he’ll tell you. It’s because Howard caught him stealing out of the liquor cabinet, and even though he taught Tony a lesson by beating the shit out of him, the guy still didn’t trust Tony to be home alone. It was stupid. There were maids and attendants scattered all throughout the mansion, anyways. Howard wanted someone to stay in Tony’s room with him.
Cue Christine—a gorgeous, blonde, tall, sexy eighteen year old girl who went to the local high school. Howard hired her to take care of Tony for two hundred bucks an hour for over two months, while Howard went out and did god knows what a few times every week.
The girl was a hoot. She told Tony about her dreams of being a reporter, about how she had experience babysitting little kids throughout high school to make money for her car payments, about how she thought that Tony was definitely the cutest one she’d ever had the pleasure to take care of. He would always resist, telling her that he wasn’t a little kid. He was thirteen. That’s barely a kid anymore.
It was all bluff, Tony would tell himself, as the girl would flirt and call him cute and treat him like a person. Like a living, breathing person. He liked her a lot, and who could blame him? He was a hormonal mess, attracted to anything with a pretty face, and she was the dictionary definition of prettiness.
When Christine continued flirting with him, he told himself that she was just being nice.
When Christine kissed him, he told himself that he was in love with her.
When Christine wanted to do more, Tony didn’t stop her.
—
Tony sleeps for so long that when he’s shaken awake, it’s dinner time and the sun is setting.
He wakes up in an antsy mood; for some reason, he had a nightmare (more like a flashback—but he refuses to disclose that to anyone, fuck off) that sends bile rise up his throat, making him nauseous, like some sort of green venom that travels through his veins and makes his face numb. He dreamed about something that all he wanted to do was forget.
Every time he sees someone make a sudden movement as they walk to the dining hall, he flinches. When Scott accidentally bumps into Tony while they’re walking, the boy recoils as if he’s been burned.
Scott is apologetic, of course, understanding that Tony is going through something, but not understanding what. No one does, the teenage boys glancing at each other in question.
“I think I’m just sleep deprived,” he assures them, despite the sacks under his eyes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
The moment he steps through those cafeteria doors, all eyes are on him.
The dining hall is silent, aside from a few whispers. It makes him want to curl up in a ball and die—the way that all the campers stare at him and whisper what they’ve heard, looking at him like he’s some sort of sideshow attraction. It’s so much. It’s too much.
‘did you hear what stark did?’
“Oh, yeah, by the way,” Sam says to Tony as he passes by, grabbing a tray from the stack on the counter, “Ever since lunch, you’ve become a household name. Everyone’s been talking.”
Nostalgia hits him like a truck.
‘on friday night, him and christine everheart—‘
“About what?” he gulps.
“The kiss, fire alarm, your fight with Hammer, the missing kid. All of it is coming back to you, for some reason. They’ve been saying how everything has been fucking up as soon as you came.”
He can only be relieved that seemingly no one else knows about the whole ‘I’m bisexual’ thing, besides the girls, Loki, and possibly the others in line. Maybe the girl felt so embarrassed about kissing a homo that she swore everyone else to secrecy.
Tony shrugs, feigning ignorance, even though his heart is exploding in his chest and his head feels like it’s crushing into itself. They’re all staring. They’re all staring at him, making him feel so small, like he’s some fuck-up. Like he’s some sort of joke.
‘christine everheart? you mean the high school senior?’
‘yeah. i always knew stark was a whore.’
‘he’ll probably put his dick into anything with two legs.’
“It’s whatever,” he grins, anyways. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
—
He doesn’t sleep much that night, but everyone else does.
He can’t blame them—it was a long, stressful day. The news of the missing boy has spread around camp, an ever looming topic of conversation that’s constantly being speculated. People are scared. Some are amused, those sick bastards.
While Thor, Rhodey, Bruce, Clint, and Scott knock out as soon as it’s lights out time, Tony pathetically lays in his bed with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep that’ll never come.
“Hey, Tony?”
He opens his eyes. Fuck sleep.
“Yeah?” he asks to the darkness, a hush in his voice.
“Can’t sleep,” Steve says. “Wanna hang out?”
“Steve? Tony?” Bucky’s voice says, next. “Oh my god. Let’s have a blanket party.”
“Fuck, it’s the two of you,” Tony jokes, sitting up in his bed. “Wouldn’t I be third wheeling?”
“Nah. It’d be more like a triple date.”
He can work with that. “Okay. Which bed?”
“My bed,” Steve sing-songs.
All of a sudden, Tony is struck with glee. It’s the first time in a while that he’s put in a good mood so quickly, especially with the simple pretense of a blanket party. He bumps into Bucky as they both climb out of their bottom bunks, the pitch black darkness not helping them navigate at all. “You stepped on my foot!”
“Your foot was in the way!” Bucky hisses.
Helpfully, Steve points a flashlight in their direction. “Over here. Come on.”
The two boys race to the bed, throwing themselves on and giggling as they fail at staying quiet. They scramble to put the blanket over the three of them as they build a blanket fort, Steve in the middle as he holds the flashlight up, illuminating the three of them.
“What do you guys wanna talk about?” Steve says.
“We should play truth or dare,” Bucky suggests.
“The last time we suggested a game like that, Stark literally went missing all fucking night.”
“We can play truth or dare,” Tony says, going for unbothered but missing by a long shot. “I don’t care. I won’t flip out.”
“See?” Bucky says. “He’s fine.”
“Alright. Who’s going first?”
Bucky grins. It’s a breathtaking sight. “I will! Tony, Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Buck, don’t ask something weird like you always do,” warns Steve.
“Stark, how old were you when you had your first kiss?”
Tony pauses, scratching his chin. It’s almost embarrassing that he has to think about it. “Uh...”
“You don’t even know?”
“I think I was in second grade. It was the prettiest girl in school, her name was Adriana. She only kissed me because I gave her a StarkTech phone I stole from my dad. She kissed like a fish, anyways.”
The boyfriends snicker, hands to their faces as the double over in a fit of amusement.
“Okay, fair,” Bucky grins, looking at Steve next. “Babe, truth or dare?”
“Should I start off easy? Do truth?”
“It’s an unspoken rule in Truth or Dare to say truth first,” Tony supplies.
“Well, I’ll just have to take your word for it, then. Truth.”
“What’s the first thing you would do if you woke up day and you were a girl?”
Steve snorts, and Tony smacks him in the arm as they both take in the question. God, he’s so whipped. “I’d fucking grab my boobs, that’s what I’d do,” Steve says.
“Same! Same! Same!”
“Ewww,” Bucky spits, making a disgusted face. “Boobs.”
“Gay?” Tony asks.
“Yeah. Attracted to dick, and strictly dick. My boyfriend Stevie here swings both ways.”
“I like both and I’m proud,” Steve says, smiling from ear to ear. “I mean, like, what about you, Tony? You ever liked a boy before?”
Tony’s brain goes dead for a moment, like a slow computer that can’t process a file. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, should he tell the truth? “Uh...”
“Don’t answer if you don’t want!” Steve assures. Fuck, his jawline is beautiful. “Ugh, I must sound like such a creep. A bi guy trying to ask a straight kid if he’d ever swing that way. I’m sorry.”
“No—No, you’re fine,” Tony sputters. “I mean, I’ve kissed other boys before. I’m not picky, I guess. If someone’s hot then they’re hot.”
Bucky sighs in relief. “Oh, thank fuck. I thought we’d been joined by another heterosexual.”
“Wait, you just reminded me of something,” the shorter brunette says. “So, Thor and Bruce. Are they...”
“What? Gay for each other?”
“I get that kind of energy, I just wasn’t sure. I haven’t really seen any obvious signs.”
“We’ve all placed bets. Mine was twenty dollars for them getting together by the third week.” Steve frowns. “It’s the fourth week now. I had to put in, like, half of my allowance.”
“So far, me and Clint are in the lead,” says Bucky cheekily. “I put in fifty.”
“You’re gonna be fifty dollars poorer, then.” Tony shuffles around, pulling the blanket over them to be less saggy, so that now he can actually see the top of Bucky and Steve’s heads when they’re speaking. “End of the week. Hundred bucks.”
“Woah, woah woah! You’re awfully cocky, sweetheart.”
His heart, deadass, as pathetic as it sounds, skips a beat at the flirtatious name. He hopes that Steve’s okay with it, because Tony wouldn’t mind Steve calling him sweetheart, either.
Tony clears his throat. “Okay, uh... who goes next?”
“You can,” Steve offers, fiddling with the flashlight.
“Okay. Bucky, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he winks. Jesus Christ, Tony’s gonna die.
Cut. Holt. Freeze frame. Okay, first; obviously, he usually knows what he’s doing when it comes to relationships. For his young age, it’s impressive that he’s been able to gain as much experience as he has. In middle school he was always the one that boys questioning their sexuality would go to. Tony was always the receiver of love confessions, the one that people would talk about and say, ‘ugh, you have a crush on him? everyone has a crush on him.’
He’s never had to be the one to pursue something. That’s the one thing that he’s clueless about. Clearly, boldness is the only thing he has to go off of. He gives Bucky’s dare impulsively.
“I dare you to kiss Steve.”
Bucky moves without hesitation, cradling Steve’s face in his hands as he envelopes the blonde’s mouth in his own, moving his lips as Steve closes his eyes and takes it—head backed up on the wall as his boyfriend works.
Tony desperately tries to hide his enticement by covering his mouth with a laugh. “Jesus, I said kiss, not french the life out of!”
“I can’t help it,” Bucky laughs, pulling away. Tony watches in aroused horror as both of their lips separate, both pink and wet and looking absolutely devoured. Steve is flushed; pale yet bright red around his cheeks, nose, and ears. “You can’t just ask me to kiss Stevie and expect me to not do the most.”
“When was you guys’ first kiss?”
Biting his lip, Steve gives Bucky an unimpressed glare. “In sixth grade, top of the Rip Ride Rockit. Class field trip to Universal.”
“Was it magical?” Tony jokes.
“Well, I fainted less than two seconds later, but other than that it was pretty nice.”
“I was horrified,” Bucky mutters. “I thought I killed him. Turns out it was just because of the ride. Asthma things.”
“Steve, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“What was your first impression of me?”
Tony braces himself for the answer; it’s sure to be a negative one. The first thing he even did at camp was get thrown into a fight, for crying out loud. He just needs to know what Steve thought of him; if he thought Tony was a priss, or if he thought Tony was charming, or if he really did mean what he said last night. That Tony thinks he’s above it all.
“I thought,” Steve says, “That you were the dumbest kid I’d ever seen.”
Heart sinking, Tony smiles nonetheless. “You’re not wrong,” he says, “but just so you know, I’ve already taken calculus.”
“No, I already knew you were book smart. Howard Stark’s a genius—people call him the DaVinci of the twenty first century. I only assumed you’d inherited that. And then, you started clawing the shit out of Hammer, and I thought you were insane.”
“You act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing, Stevie,” Bucky says.
“And then, I found out that Howard’s not the brilliant, kind, generous and charismatic guy everyone says he is,” admits Steve. “And then I heard what he did to you, and...”
“Do you really think I’m a stuck up jerk?” Tony asks quietly. “Like... like I think I’m better than everyone else?”
Frowning, Steve puts a hand on Tony’s knee, reassuringly. “No.”
“I get if you do,” he says. “I mean, I do act like an asshole sometimes. Most of the time. I’m a prick, actually.”
“Tones...”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just—Okay, Steve, it’s your turn. Ask me.”
“Tony, I...”
“Just ask me truth or dare,” Tony begs. “Please.”
Steve hesitates. His small, frail fingers trace circles into Tony’s knee. It traces three circles before he speaks.
“Truth, or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Do you have a crush on Pepper?”
He chokes on air at the blunt question, punching himself in the chest as he recoils, blanket around them thrashing as Tony coughs. “W—What?”
“Do you like Pepper?” Bucky asks as well.
“I mean... yeah, I like her, I guess. She’s a nice girl.”
“No,” Steve deadpans. “Do you have a crush on her?”
“I don’t know,” Tony mutters.
“Do you think she’s pretty?”
christine was the dictionary definition of pretty.
“Beautiful,” Tony corrects.
“Do you ever fantasize about her?” asks Bucky, looking the boy dead in the eyes, his own a piercing blue. An uncanny resemblance to the eyes of a husky. An emotionally confused, frustrated husky. “You ever think about kissing her? About holding her hand, about taking her to a school dance? Don’t tell me—wow, Stark, you sly dog! Do you ever think about fucking her? Making her yours?”
‘trust me, tony,’ christine had whispered into his ear. ‘make me yours.’
“Bucky!” Steve cries, furious. “Shut up!”
‘i don’t—
“What the fuck are you guys doing?”
The three boys go silent, pausing as they hear Rhodey jumping down from his bunk. Steve switches the flashlight off and tears the blanket off of them.
Rhodey walks over to the light switch, turning it on, much to the dismay of the other boys trying to sleep. They grumble and curse, but they don’t wake up, thankfully.
“It’s two in the morning,” Rhodey groans, crossing his arms. “Your yapping woke me up.”
“Sorry,” Tony grumbles, head hung over.
When Steve and Bucky sit in guilty silence, Rhodey sighs in defeat. “Alright. I know our cabin doesn’t really give a shit about lights out, we all do. But Maria and Coulson are really jittery about the whole missing kid thing, and they’re gonna get pissy if they notice anyone awake during the middle of the night. That’s the time that they think the boy disappeared.” He pauses, rubbing his eyes. “Just... try to go to sleep. It’s been a long day, and you guys need it. Please. For me.”
Bucky and Tony climb out of bed, walking to their own like two petulant children being scolded by their fathers. Steve gets under his own covers, shoving his head into his pillow.
“Goodnight, guys,” Rhodey says, and then everything is black again.