Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

#

“You’re Howard Stark’s son, aren’t you?” -- is the first thing Steve says to Tony when he first moves to Avengers High School.

“Yeah, he is. Got anything to say about that?” Tony shoots back, crossing his arms. “If you’re one of those bible-thumpers howling about the sinfulness of weapons of mass destruction, come at me, bro. I have plenty of Old Testament lines to counter you, brat.”

“Hey, hey, hey -- lay off him, Tony,” Pepper Potts cuts in, scowling in disapproval. “This is Steve Rogers. The new kid. He was just curious.”

Steve gives Pepper a quiet look of thanks; she’d been acting as his escort around the school, and had elected herself as a bodyguard, too. “Nice to meet you,” he says to Tony.

Tony snatches off his sunglasses off with a flourish, tucking it into his jeans pocket. Jesus, could this kid be any more dramatic? He says, “Rogers, is it? It’s been a pleasure, etc., etc. Glad you don’t hate my dad, thanks for dropping by, and I’m too busy for autographs. Maybe next time.”

Pepper snorts. “Rude much.”

“You’re one to talk, Pep. If Stevie here knew what you called me at the party yesterday, he’d probably scrub your mouth clean with a bar of soap.”

“If Stevie here saw how you were acting at the party yesterday, he’d stab you with your own Ray Ban, Tony.”

Tony holds his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “Hey, hands off the glasses, all right? They’re brand new.”

Steve watches the two teenagers exchange insults. He has a weird feeling that this must be sort of a routine between them. It probably is. “Um, guys?” he says. “The bell rang.”

Tony halts. “Looks like we’re back in business. See you later, Pep.” He strides off, a swagger in his step, and Pepper seethes at his retreating back. She storms off to her next class period, and Steve follows her in exasperation, wondering if he’ll have to deal with this every day now.

#

Steve sees the poster during lunch time. He’s seated in a tight circle with Pepper and her friends, picking at a half-microwaved Cup of Noodles. Tony’s not part of the little group today, which is kind of a relief, but he bets that he drops by occasionally.

“There’s a play?” he asks, jabbing a finger at the paper on the wall.

“Yeah,” says a guy named Clint Barton. “It’s Peter Pan.”

His girlfriend, Natasha Romanov, says, “It’s not like the Disney movie, though. Pepper rewrote the script with, like, a combo between the movie and the book or whatever.”

“You did?” Steve says, surprised. He didn’t take Pepper as the drama sort of gal. More of a science-and-math kind, not really into the arts.

“The cast is anyone in the Theatre Department, including me,” Pepper says with a shrug. “I honestly can’t act or do any special effects, so I was stuck in the production role.”

Thor Odinson -- a rowdy, upbeat guy with no indoor voice-- lights up. “It’s a very well-written script, Steve! My brother is to play the part of Wendy.”

In reply to Steve’s confused expression, Pepper adds, “The best actors in the department were automatically assigned the main roles. Which are Peter and Wendy. They just happened to be two guys, so I made Wendy into Windy.”

“...Windy?”

“It’s a nickname for Winifred,” Pepper explains. “Stupid, I know, but I had no idea what else to call him.”

“Huh,” Steve muses; he’s never been to a play before. “That sounds interesting. I guess I wouldn’t mind going to see it.”

Pepper beams. “Will you? There’s a dress rehearsal today; I can bring you there after school, if you like.” She smiles at him excitedly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“S-sure,” Steve stutters, slightly taken aback. “That’s real nice of you, Pepper. Thanks.”

(Clint mimes thumbs-up at Steve from behind his Coke can; Steve chooses to ignore him.)

“Good,” she says, and well, it’s a date.

#

One reason, Steve thinks, that Pepper brought him along, is due to the main lead. He’s an outlet for Pepper to vent at because of the fool that is Tony Stark, who right now traipses across the stage dressed in emerald green. He’s shouting at the backstage workers about prop placements or the like. Frankly, they look rather irritated.

Steve drags his eyesight away from the quarreling. Hmm, there’s a man frowning below the stage, tapping his foot impatiently -- that must be the teacher in charge of play, a Mr. Fury. The name looks like it suits him well. Then--

“That’s Thor’s brother, over there,” Pepper says, noticing Steve’s gaze. She points to a guy in the corner of the stage. “Loki. He’s a bit of a loner, really, but he’s a decent actor.”

Steve examines the guy carefully -- his black hair is slicked back carefully, and he’s thin and lean. He doesn’t look much like Thor, not blond or muscular at all, and there’s a hard set in his jaw that makes Steve think that he doesn’t smile as much, either.

“Is he in our year, too?” Steve asks.

“No, he’s a tenth grader,” Pepper says. “Very bookish -- he always seems to be in the library, when he’s not in class. It was a shock to everybody when we found out he can actually act.”

Finally, finally, the play rehearsal begins. The curtains draw to the close, and a sophomore named Sif takes the microphone and starts to narrate. Steve relaxes in his seat, focusing on the events that play out in front of him.

“Everyone says Tony’s a brilliant actor,” Pepper says in an undertone, as the boy himself grins charmingly on the stage, smiling and laughing and speaking. A full display of emotions pan across his face, changing as the lines flash by. “‘Course, he’s an idiot in real life, but he can actually act.”

Steve blinks. “You’re talking about Tony, right? The same Tony Stark we both know.”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s starting to star in some television shows, as minor roles, but he’s working his way up. It doesn’t help that Howard Stark is his dad.” Pepper makes a face. “Which he uses as an excuse to be absolutely awful.”

On stage, Tony says, “Don’t you see how clever I am?”, accompanied by a stupidly proud grin and a swagger. Then: “Come with me, Windy! Let’s go to Neverland. Second to the right, and straight til morning.”

Loki responds with a scowl. “That’s a strange address.”

The eager look on Tony’s face falls, but he presses on. “Let’s go,” he says, extending his hand. “My name’s Peter Pan.”

“Is that all? I am Winifred Angelus Darling.”

A frown. But Tony reaches into a bag and sprinkles gold dust into the air. “Windy, Windy, don’t just stay there sleeping in your stupid bed. You can fly with me and we can say funny things to the stars.”

He reaches forward, completely and utterly out of the script, and graces a glittering thumb across Loki’s cheeks. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Pepper can see the moment: Loki catches his breath, surprised. His eyes are very green, a sharp contrast to the red stripes of his pajama costume, and he accepts the offered hand.

“He’s doing it again,” she says, sighing.

“What?”

“Flirting,” Pepper says. “Tony does that on screen a lot. The actors or actresses playing opposite of him always goddamn fall for it. There’s never a time where they walk away without some sort of ridiculous crush on him. He’s just that good of an actor.”

“But isn’t that good?” Steve says. “That he’s being realistic?”

“He’s being an asshole,” Pepper says decisively. Loki seems to have recovered himself, but casts a long, searching glare towards Tony’s direction. “He doesn’t exactly stop, offstage or offscreen, either. So...Tony Stark, he’ll break your heart, everybody says in the industry.” She rolls her eyes.

“So he’s like some sixteen year old playboy?” Steve says disbelievingly. “I don’t really think--”

“Oh yes he is,” Pepper says, as Tony and Loki maneuver above the stage on wires; Tony leans forward to grasp Loki’s arms, giving more support. “What an asshole. ”

#

Chapter Text

Loki lies on his bed, staring dully at the ceiling above him. The plaster is cracking, the white chipped slightly, and he wonders whether he should bother Father about whether it should be repaired or not. He is still dressed in his costume, red-striped pajamas settling softly against his arms, and it feels oddly comfortable.

There’s a knock on the door. Thor.

“Loki!” Thor booms, after his hands rattle the door knob. It’s locked. “Can I come in?”

“You forgot to knock,” Loki throws back at the door, hands balling around the bed sheets. Thor, completely missing the point, raps his knuckles against wood, and waits expectantly.

“Just...fine,” Loki says, sighing; he knows that Thor won’t go away. He reluctantly unlocks the door, and Thor steps in, a tentative smile on his face.

“Are you okay, Loki?” Thor says softly.

“It’s been two weeks, Thor.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” says Thor, and he’s such an open book, he looks hurt, of all fucking things.

Loki clenches his fists. This is the closest Thor’s gotten to an apology, but he doesn’t want an apology. Logically, Loki’s the one who owes his brother one, but--

He doesn’t really know.

“Go away,” he says instead, instead of the million other things he could probably rattle off. “I just had rehearsal, all right? I’m tired. Good night.”

Thor clears his throat, and starts to retreat back to the hallway. “Okay. Sure. Good night. Pepper said that you’re a good actor, did you know?”

Loki inclines his head. “Yeah,” he says, “she says that.” And yeah, Pepper Potts does, but she’s a childhood friend of Anthony Stark, and so he’s probably second on her list of the school cast actors, after Stark. Anthony Stark, probably second, childhood friend, his mind reels off, and he crosses his arms like he’s hugging himself.

“I’m doing fine,” Loki says finally, but Thor’s already out of the room. He shuts the door, and returns to his bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around his body.

There’s an iPod on his bedside table; Loki slips the white buds into his ears, and loses himself to the pounding of music. His eyes are still open halfway through the night, staring blankly at the cracks in the ceiling.

#

“Dad, the school play’s this weekend,” Tony says into his cell phone, one of his hands drumming on the poster. “From six to eight, on Saturday.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “Tony, you know that your mother and I have to go to a charity event that night. Isn’t there another showing?”

“The Saturday after that,” Tony says. “But you’re going to be working that day, with the scientists from MIT.”

Okay. So maybe he’d memorized his father’s schedule, so screw him. But he’d like to know what times he’d get to see his own fucking father, whether it’d be to drag him out to watch one of Tony’s movies or I don’t know, one of my own fucking plays.

“Next time, then, kiddo,” Howard Stark says. “All right? I went to the opening premiere of that television show of yours, remember? So give me a rain check.”

“Rain check duly noted,” Tony says dryly, scratching at the table with an imaginary pen.

“Smart mouth,” Howard says, a laugh in his voice, and he draws the conversation into a close. “See you -- tomorrow morning, is it?”

“Evening,” Tony says. “You’re going to be visiting Osborne Labs for most of the day, Dad.”

“You should be a secretary, kid.”

“Nah, I got Pepper for that, thanks.”

“Tomorrow evening it is,” says Howard. “Good night, Ton. Make sure you learn your lines.”

Tony’s mouth is dry when he says, “Good night, Dad” and Howard hangs up -- he’s always the first to press the button after every call.

There’s a stash of beer behind one of the tool boxes in Howard Stark’s lab at home, and it’ll be waiting for him tomorrow evening. Tony doesn’t know why his father bothers to pretend every single time, but hell, he goes along with it. Why not?

“Motherfucker,” he says under his breath. He drops his cell phone, and it skitters across the dining room floor, spinning.

#

Thor has a baseball game the next day, and Loki goes to watch him. It isn’t out of support or anything, but it’s an excuse for him to tell his parents, if they ever noticed, that he’s skipped his last period. It’s spring, so it’s raining, and Loki shivers through his green jacket, wiping raindrops on his black jeans.

“I think they’re going to win today,” a voice says behind him, and he recognizes Sif, an uncertain smile quirked on her mouth. “They’ve been getting better.”

“I think so, too,” Loki says, as his brother streaks across the muddy field, making his way to the next base.

“They weren’t doing so good, ever since they lost Clint to the archery club,” Sif says conversationally. “But the team’s picking up the pace. The coach bumped up one of the JV kids to the team, and he’s not bad at all.”

“Hogun?” Loki asks, nodding his head towards the current batter.

“Yeah. Quiet guy. But he’s--”

“Just talk,” Loki says, tiredly. Sif’s been his longest friend since elementary and middle school, and she easily went back to his side once their tenth grade year started here. He hadn’t been to Avengers High for freshman year; he’d actually convinced his parents that he’d been fine if Mother just homeschooled him. But Father changed his mind, so here he is now.

Sif sighs. “Loki, I’m dating your brother, you know.”

“I expected that you might,” Loki acknowledges.

“But we’ve got to clear some things up, okay? You-- you kissed me, two weeks ago, and you’re not bothering to talk to me about it.” Sif presses on, her eyes blazing dark and angry.

Loki stiffens. “Don’t, Sif.”

“I know you’ve got brother issues, Loki. That’s why we’re friends, remember? Thor and Volstagg and Fandral and Freyr; they’ve grouped together since elementary school, no younger kids or girls allowed. And you’re jealous of Thor, and ever since you’ve finally come to the same school with him again, you’ve been afraid of--”

“Don’t over analyze this,” Loki says sharply, and he’s growling, because how dare she. “How about you, Sif? The pathetic girl who has a crush on the big, strong Thor Odinson, hanging in the sidelines trying to get his attention. You’ve been running to his brother, all this time--”

“And you found out that he actually liked me back,” Sif says. “That’s why. I know you’re gay, Loki. He doesn’t, and you were trying to hurt him.”

Loki shakes his head. “You’re--it’s something else, Sif. It’s not about this, you’re wrong.”

“So maybe you had another argument. But it is about this, I think, when it all comes down to it.”

“Not another argument,” Loki says, flattening his palms against his jeans pockets, the rain water pooling into denim. “More than that.”

Sif just smiles sadly, and she walks back to the bleachers. Loki wonders if they’re still friends.

Across the field, Thor yells in jubilation -- the Avengers Team has won the game, and he’s cheering up towards the grey clouds. His team surrounds him, exchanging enthusiastic high-fives.

Loki turns his head up to the rain.

#

Chapter Text

#

Meanwhile, while Loki watches Thor’s baseball game, Tony sent texts to Bruce and Pepper in class. It’s not anything unusual -- he always tries to get away with texting during class time -- but he’s rarely one to invite only Bruce and Pepper at the same time abruptly, when there’s not a celebration or anything.

Pepper knows that this is a warning sign, of sorts. As in: Tony’s pissed at his dad, kind of warning.

want 2 go 2 my place & watch the new ep of a tv show i just was in? the text reads. just bruce & u & me.

Sure, OK, Pepper types back immediately. And no more texting, Tony. Miss Hill’s going to take away your phone again.

i have more than 1 phone, u know.

You’re going to get in trouble. And you’re going to get /me/ in trouble. You could have just texted me after school.

fine, geez. just wanted 2 make sure you didn’t have any plans w/ the new kid again. if you know what i mean. ;)

Shut up, Tony. I just met him.

Then Pepper promptly turns off her phone, slipping it back into her purse. She’s going to need a lot of patience in the next few hours, and the last half-hour of school is the closest thing to calm she’ll have for a long time.

When the bell rings, she walks out of the classroom with Steve. “No play practice today?” he says; she’s obviously headed for the school exit, and not the gym.

“Nope,” Pepper says. “Not today. Mr. Fury thought it would be nice to give us a break until the Saturday show.”

“Got any plans after school?” Steve says, and he’s blushing.

Pepper stills. Is he--? Oh, hell. She rubs her forehead. “Sorry, Steve. Tony invited me over today to go watch an episode of one of his shows. He’s in a cameo role as one of the murder suspects.”

“Oh,” Steve says, “um, okay, have fun. You think you can--?”

“On Saturday, the play,” Pepper says, a light smile dancing over her face. “I’ve got a free ticket that I can give you, since I wrote the script, after all. We can go together, if you like. It’ll be much better than the rehearsal. There’s also going to be a party afterwards, at Tony’s house.”

Steve grins at her. “A free ticket? Wow, thanks!”

“Tony’s having his chauffeur drive a whole bunch of us to his house,” Pepper adds, “so you don’t have to worry about getting a ride.”

“Thanks, Pepper, that’s awesome of you!” Steve exclaims, and he gives her a look like he wants to hug her.

“No problem.”

Steve suddenly halts at the parking lot. “That’s your ride, isn’t it?”

Pepper follows his eyes, and sees a sleek limousine parked ostentatiously out in the front. “Yep,” she says. “Gotta go. See you later, Steve.”

“Bye, Pep. Have fun.”

“I hope so,” she says, shutting the door, and she waves to him through the tinted windows.

#

Bruce gives Pepper a lopsided grin when she sits down on the comfortable seats. He looks entirely out of place -- loose baggy khakis, simple striped shirt, all against the backdrop of fancy cupholders and mini refrigerators. But he and Pepper have adapted to carpooling with Tony, so they both crack open a can of chilled soda apiece without hesitation.

Pepper calls a hello to Jarvis, the driver, and he tips his cap at her through the mirror. Bruce waves; another hat tip.

“Hey, Pepper,” Bruce greets her, “do you know what we’re watching tonight?”

Pepper shrugs. “A crime drama, I think. Tony’s a sociopathic kid.”

“...That’s original.”

“He was bragging about how much money he got out of it,” Pepper says. “But he said it was still stupid.”

“Which show is it?” Bruce ponders. “There’s so many these days.”

“Maybe it was a Law & Order spinoff,” Pepper suggests. She takes a sip of her soda, and she savors the taste of vanilla cream. Tony has the strangest things in his fridge, but they’re wonderful.

“God, no,” Bruce says, horrified. “Please don’t let it be a SVU episode.”

Pepper hides a giggle behind her hands. “I hope not. The press will have a field day if he does. Well, they’ll still have a field day as long as he’s involved. But I think SVU’s done a sociopathic kid episode before.”

“Maybe it’s one of those USA shows -- wait, you watch SVU?!”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “It’s a guilty pleasure, Bruce, okay? I’d rather see Olivia Benson tackling criminals instead of the ‘reality’ crap on the other channels.”

Bruce bristles. “Coulson and I both like Supernanny, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Pepper laughs so hard that she almost cries.

At this point in the conversation, Tony slides into the limo. Fashionably late, as always. He reaches into the fridge and gulps down a bottle of sparkling mineral water. “Hey, you two, whatcha talking about? My illustrious career, maybe?”

Pepper entertains the thought of Tony being a participant for Supernanny, and to Tony and Bruce’s consternation, she laughs even harder.

#

The episode doesn’t air until eight o’clock in the night, so Pepper declares the evening official homework time. Tony tries to protest, but Bruce readily agrees, and they all sprawl on the carpeted floor of the sitting room, chatting and scribbling away.

“Let’s watch a movie when we’re done,” Bruce says, his gaze trained on the glass case next to the television, brimming with countless films. It’s his life’s goal to finish rewatching all of them -- he’s pretty much watched all of them at least once, and he’s been egging Tony on to pop at least one movie into the DVD player every visit so that he could have another rewatch.

“Star Wars, episode one?” Tony drawls, just because he knows that it’ll annoy them.

“No!”

Because, honestly, they really don’t need to hear Tony extolling the virtues of Jar-Jar frakkin’ Binks every time he appears: meesa tink dat he’s a-better dan Chewbacca!

“Fine,” he says, amused at their collective reaction. “How about the new Star Trek movie?”

“Number eleven,” Bruce says.

“Whatever.”

“I’ve only watched it a handful of times,” Bruce says in a deliberating tone -- Pepper thinks maybe once at Tony’s, four or five times in the theater? One of which was on opening night, of course, and Tony and Pepper had been with him. And Tony had employed a variant of Punch Buggy for every camera glare from the Enterprise’s lights.

They’d almost gotten kicked out of the theater, but Tony had flashed the steward his school ID. (Also, Pepper socked him back. Hard.)

“I’ve only saw it once,” Pepper says, fondly remembering Tony’s yelp of pain. “Why not?”

To her surprise, Tony doesn’t argue, he grins and says, “Anything for my guests! Jarvis, do you mind getting us the usual? We’re going to watch a movie.”

“Of course, sir.” The voice is from the next room over, later accompanied by the clatter of soda bottles rattling against each other.

Tony sets the movie up, turning on all the features of the elaborate sound system, fetching the remote. Pepper and Bruce settle on the sofa, homework long forgotten. It’s a familiar routine: the room falls into darkness, all lights turned off; the blue glow of the speakers around the room flicker on; the DVD player accepts the disk with a whir and a click. Then he takes his place on the couch -- in between Bruce and Pepper, so he could bother the both of them.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Pepper says, when she feels an icy glass pressed against her fingers; Tony and Bruce echo her sentiment.

She can feel the warmth of Tony’s waist against her hip -- he’s always touchy feely, unnecessarily taking the space in a boneless, slumping position -- and she lets him lean, this time. Because, okay: she allows him his moments, sometimes.

#

Tony calculates that he’ll be silent for the first two-thirds of the movie, and then lose it by the last one-third. He can get really twitchy sitting still for such a long time, especially when watching a movie he’s already seen.

What should he say, when his period of temporary silence expires?

‘Doctor Who is better.’

Huh. Lacks tact, and has plenty of style -- and best of all, Pepper will be on his side this time. Bruce can be an utter rage monster when it comes to sci-fi stuff. The last Firefly versus Battlestar Galactica free-for-all had been a blast.

Or maybe school gossip, if he’d like to avoid a less geekier topic. Like how Clint and Natasha both might be dating Phil Coulson -- a senior, and one of Bruce’s buds. Now, that’s news!

He won’t bring up the play, even though it’s Pepper’s masterpiece, because he doesn’t want to think about the piece of shit that’s his father.

Across the screen, James Tiberius Kirk flies a car off a cliff (another kid these days with parent issues, Jesus), and Tony leans against Pepper on one side and curls his arm around Bruce’s shoulders on the other; he’s Peter Pan in his head and Jim jumps.

#

Bruce reaches for the popcorn bag on Tony’s lap, crunching salty kernels underneath his teeth. Tony shifts so that it’s more accessible, and Bruce mumbles a quiet thank-you.

You’d think that being one of Tony Stark’s best friends means that you’re completely free of microwave popcorn, but nope, no cigar. Bruce doesn’t mind, actually, but it was a surprise the first time he came around -- so now, he’s rather used to it.

He’s used to a lot of things here: the bubbly orange soda, the constant stream of movies and television shows, and Tony and Pepper’s arguing. He’s wondered how those two have stayed friends after all these years, what with the bickering and the sniping, but he thinks that they’ve turned it down a lot, ever since he’s become the third of their group. Having a middleman, mediator, a I’m ranting to you, Bruce, because you’re Switzerland most of the time kind of guy probably does that.

Or maybe some kind of goddamn therapist, because mentioning TV and movies is a surefire way to lighten the atmosphere.

Bruce isn’t blind: Tony’s screwed up, he’s difficult, he’s a rich kid with an attitude and Pepper is the only one who Tony can’t faze. And...Howard Stark. Tony’s never a person to share personal details, but it’s obvious that he’s got some sort of similarly screwed up family life.

(You should’ve seen him out-snark that last guy who said right to his face that his career was just because of his father.)

But, well, Bruce really isn’t a therapist.

“Doctor Who is better,” Tony whispers into his ear, disrupting his thoughts, and Bruce shows his teeth and launches himself into battle.

#

The credits are rolling when Jarvis steps into the sitting room. The three teenagers sleep soundly on the couch, stretched against each other -- Tony’s head in Bruce’s lap, Pepper half-cuddling around the remainder of Tony’s body, Bruce draping his arm around Tony’s forehead.

Jarvis quietly insinuates the popcorn bag out of Tony’s grasp, throwing it into the wastebin. Then, he palms the remote from the sofa’s arm, and mutes the sound, the Star Trek theme fading out, disappearing.

They won’t get to see the new episode of Tony’s show, after all, but Jarvis thinks that’s okay. Young Mr. Stark had his friends entertain him for the evening, and they’re resting now.

#

Chapter Text

#

In the morning, Tony kicks down the lab’s door and sets a cup of coffee on one of the counters. His father lies, softly snoring, on a workbench, reeking of alcohol: he’d been here since the evening.

Tony stirs a spoon in the cup, inhaling the warm smell of coffee and milk and sugar. The scent chases away the stink of beer lingering in the room, and Tony stands there for a moment. Breathing.

Then he leaves, door swinging behind him, and a cloud of stream wafts above the coffee mug.

#

Sif finds Loki spread on the porch swing in front of his house, green eyes following a moth waltzing in between the porch lights. His iPod blares a pulse of loud beats -- she can hear the rhythm from only two steps away.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

Loki’s eyes flicker to her face, and something like a smile travels across his mouth. “Yes. Of course.” He pulls himself up, porch swing swaying behind him like a pendulum. He shoulders his backpack, and they both walk side-by-side across the pavement.

“Thor’s at the bus stop already,” he says, slowly.

He’s testing her. What an ass.

“I don’t wake up as early,” Sif says shortly.

“Neither do I,” Loki says -- she knows, she knows, but it’s another confirmation of boundaries.

When they’re not with Thor, they’re with each other. That’s really how it’s usually gone, all these years. It’s strange, it’s weird, it’s not normal.

Loki’s been going out of his way to avoid Thor these days, so they’re kinda at a dead end. It’s hard to hang out with Loki without making it somehow about Thor.

But it’s okay. Sif thinks it can be more than that -- it has been more than that -- because she knows Loki’s favorite bands and his favorite books, she knows that he smiles around that jackass Tony Stark and that he doesn’t want to be better than Thor, not really, he just wants to be seen as his equal.

#

“What’re you reading?”

Loki looks up from his book -- it’s lunch period, and he’s curled up on the stones ringed around the rose planters in the middle of the quad. He doesn’t eat in the cafeteria; he eats out here instead. He’d just finished his meal a minute ago.

He bookmarks his page and sticks out the cover so the title is visible.

“Peter Pan, huh?” Tony Stark says. “You’re really that dedicated to the play?”

“Research,” Loki says, “and appreciation. Your friend Pepper did an amazing job combining the book details into the play. I thought it’d be interesting to see the extent of her work.”

He pulls himself up into a sitting position, stretching languidly. The weather is pleasantly warm today -- the stones he’s sitting on have sucked in the sunlight, and it feels good against his skin.

Loki’s semi-aware of Tony’s approving eyes. He allows Tony a look, smirking slightly, and then he relaxes. “So you haven’t read it?” he says, vaguely chiding.

“I’ve watched the Disney movie.”

“Well,” Loki concedes, “I guess you’d rather focus on the acting than any tedious fact checking.”

“Wrong, actually,” Tony says triumphantly, as if he’d been waiting for Loki to slip up. “My agent wants me to audition for this upcoming movie called The Lost Hero. It’ll be my first major role if I get the part. I actually read the book because I want to get the character work done right.”

Loki’s eyebrows crawl upwards in disbelief. “The sequel to the Percy Jackson movies?”

“That’s the one. I’m s’posed to be Jason.”

“Stark...”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what to think of this casting choice.”

“Well, who’d you rather I be? Piper or Leo? There’s no other roles that’ll fit. And I can’t wait for The Red Pyramid either -- same deal.”

Loki stares at Tony with a bemused expression. “You seem very much more of a reader than I first thought you’d be, Stark.”

“Call me Tony,” he says smoothly. “And come on, Bruce is my best pal, and he’s a total geek. Not my fault some of his geekiness rubbed off on me.” Tony wrinkles his nose. “Ew. That sounds wrong.”

“Tony, then,” Loki says, eyes crinkling into an almost-wink. Who would’ve thought?

Perhaps Tony shares his taste in films.

Tony blinks. “Y-yeah. Thanks. Oh, I wanted to tell you something. You can come to a party at my house tomorrow after the play. There’s a spot open for you in my limo.”

“Thank you,” Loki says, and he’s sincere. Then he remembers Sif: black hair tucked in a ponytail, a tight line across her mouth when she turns to him in the morning sunlight; he thinks of the look in her eyes earlier today. “Can I invite a friend of mine? It’s Sif, the narrator.”

“No worries. There’s plenty of room. See ya there.”

Loki nods, and Tony walks away, flipping his hand back at Loki in farewell.

#

After school, Tony lets Bruce off by the small convenience store near Avengers High. The place isn’t big: it’s called Shield Shop Stop, and Jarvis eases the car across three? four? parking spaces. Bruce walks into the store, bells rattling as he opens the glass door.

“Hey, Phil,” he says to the guy at the cash register.

“Hey, Bruce,” Coulson says. His family owns the store.

Clint and Natasha are here, too, lounging by the magazine stand (right next to the candy rack) and speaking softly to each other in hushed voices. Phil keeps glancing at them warily every few seconds; Bruce wonders if the rumors really are true.

He reminds himself to ask Coulson later.

Bruce tugs open the glass fridge, removing an orange soda. Tony’s actually run out of them in his car, and anyways, he’d like to have some candy. It’s Friday -- so, hey, might as well. He picks an almond Hershey bar from the candy rack, and Clint and Natasha fall silent.

“Hey, guys,” Bruce says awkwardly.

Natasha tilts her head in greetings, and Clint makes this wincing face that’s probably supposed to be a grin. They huddle closer together.

However, it’s a blessed moment later when Tony bursts into the store, peeking at the candy rack through his sunglasses. “Bruce, get me some gum, will you?”

“You go get it yourself.”

“It’s just right there.”

“Exactly. Closer to you.”

“Tony...”

“Fine, fine.” Tony scoops a pack of Wrigley’s into his hands. “So, how’s Happy Threesome Times at the Shield Stop Shop?”

“Tony!” Bruce snaps. He delivers a this-really-might-be-serious face to his friend, because really? If Phil’s having honest-to-god relationship problems, then he’s having honest-to-god relationship problems. End of story.

“Sorry,” Tony says, and it looks like he’s actually guilty this time. Since Natasha had sent him her best scorching evil eyes his way; Clint seemed like he wanted to turn his archery hobby into a hunt; and Coulson had looked like a combination of the two, which, hey, is rather fitting.

“Let’s just go, okay?” Bruce says, steering Tony to the register. “I’m paying this time. You always spend a ridiculously high amount of money on me -- I owe you.”

“It was the complete Star Trek seasons, Bruce, nothing in the world could ever serve as repayment for that. So the best repayment is no repayment. Because it’s a gift. From God. But it’s also a gift, so.”

Sorry about him, Bruce mouths to Coulson, pointing an accusing finger at Tony where Tony doesn’t notice him. Tony’s currently locked in a staring contest with a faded Uncle Sam poster, fingers adjusting his sunglasses downwards so that he’s eye-and-eye with the picture.

Coulson merely frowns, and Bruce sighs.

#

Chapter Text

#

“Hey, you drew these?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Pepper, I told you not to look!”

“They’re good, Steve,” Pepper says. Her fingers card through the crinkled notebook paper. This fragment is the mast and sale of Captain Hook’s prop ship that Steve saw during the rehearsal; this blurred sketch of lines is a cat standing on the windowsill (labeled Bucky in neat, blocky letters); this--

“Oh,” Pepper says. There’s her, sitting in a darkened theater with an exasperated smile on her face. It’s sketched in pencil, but there’s a smudge of red on her drawn counterpart’s hair. “It’s brilliant, Steve.” She flips the page over. “You did Tony!” she laughs.

Steve ducks his head. “I like drawing. You’re a great model -- just really pretty ...y-yeah. And, well, I can tell why Tony’s in the acting business. He has a very expressive face, y’know?”

“Mind if I borrow this?” Pepper asks gently, turning back and forth from her face to Tony’s face: in this sketch, he’s pouting, sunglasses masking his eyes. “I’d like to maybe photocopy this for myself. And show Tony his picture, of course.”

“You can keep it. It’s fine -- it’s a picture of you, Pep.”

“Are you taking an art class?”

“Next year,” Steve says. “There wasn’t room this year, since I just moved.”

“You’re brilliant,” Pepper repeats again. She pauses, and considers Steve’s previous words. “Oh, and by the way: you’re really pretty, too.”

Steve sneaks a look at Pepper’s face -- that silly boy, is he trying to see if she’s teasing or not? “Thanks,” he seems to decide to say.

“‘Course,” she says cheerfully, and they both grin at each other like maniacs.

#

“Tony, you’re a child.” Pepper tiptoes up to stick the red feather in the green cap. “I can’t believe you didn’t see this drop.”

Tony crosses his arms. “It’s a feather, Pepper. I’m not going to be paying attention at the littlest details.”

“It’s part of your costume.”

“Just go, get ready,” Pepper says, pushing him to the dressing room door. “Good luck, all right? Do justice to my script.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Pep,” Tony says, smiling. “You’re not going to be traditional and tell me to go break a body part of your choosing, are you?”

“Do you want me to, Anthony Stark? Go get dressed!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony drawls, and then he’s gone.

Pepper swivels around to find herself face-to-face with Loki Odinson -- he, unlike a certain main character, is dressed up, his head bent over a book. “And you. Stop staring at him, will you? It’s kinda obvious.”

Loki looks up. “Sorry, Pepper?”

“You’re attracted to Tony,” Pepper says, wondering why the hell she has to spell it out to him. “Ask him out already. It’s giving me a headache the way he keeps on flirting with you, and you’re watching him back.”

A tight smile. “You’re mistaken,” Loki says. “He’s rather like this to everybody, I’m sure.”

“Try,” Pepper says. She reaches into her pocket and unfolds the sketch from earlier, holding it up to the dim stage backlights. There. There it is: Loki’s face softens when he catches the shadow of Tony’s face, smirk and swagger and brag. “You can have it, if you like. It’s not the original; it’s actually a photocopied one. The new guy -- Steve Rogers -- he’s the one who drew it.”

“Pepper--”

“Ask him,” she says firmly, pressing the sketch into his hands. “And I got to go now. My date’s waiting for me.”

She walks away. Pepper wonders if she’s doing the right thing, encouraging someone else to handle Tony: Tony, with all his baggage and arrogance and ridiculousness.

#

“You’re here,” Loki says to a blond head in the stands.

“It’s your play, Loki,” Thor says, and Sif eyes them cautiously at his side. “I wouldn’t miss it -- tonight’s the premiere.” He meets Loki’s eyes with a piercing blue-eyed gaze.

Loki slips his hands almost casually into the pajama pockets. “Father’s not here.”

“He doesn’t come to my game last time, Loki. You came to my match.” Thor forces a jovial smile.

Father’s usually there for you, Loki doesn’t say. Father doesn’t usually bother with me. He says, “You won. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, bro. Good luck up there, okay?” He extends a knuckle. Nice of him. Brotherly.

Loki reciprocates the gesture, his own knuckles glancing awkwardly against Thor’s. He pulls away quickly. “Of course.”

“Good luck,” Sif says, and Loki acknowledges her with a nod, wishing her good luck as well. She’s probably going to pull him aside after the play, perhaps at the party. A talk, a lecture, maybe about how siblings always quarrel but they’re siblings in the end. Can’t choose your family.

Loki closes his eyes. Breathes.

#

The play starts off smoothly, for the most part. Tony doesn’t depart from the script as much as he usually does -- maybe there’s a brief ad-lib or two, but nothing drastic. Loki plays his part -- he swings from the stage wires; he balances on cardboard clock hands; he clings onto Tony when the mermaids taunt from below the plastic rocks.

It’s near the middle, when the spotlights rain an array of lights at Tony and him, when it slips out. “Peter...I should like to give you a kiss.” He inclines his head, hiding that wry deprecating wondering turn of his mouth, and the angular shadows slide his cloudy green eyes from view--

Tony responds, without even blinking, by holding his hand out.

“Don’t you know what a kiss is?”

“I shall know when you give me one,” Tony says, eyes reflecting Peter’s childish innocence and trust and--

Loki reaches to his pocket, and detaches one of the pins that he’d been using to adjust the pajamas’ length. “Here,” he says, and drops it into Tony’s outstretched palm.

Tony snaps a green string off his shirt and threads it through the pin; he hangs it around his neck, and the play goes on.

#

“What was that about, Loki?” Tony says during intermission. “You don’t usually improv.” He’s sitting on a stool backstage, balancing his hat on his knees. The dimmed stage lights highlight the falling dust mites around them, framing their shadows -- they’re the only ones here right now. The rest of the theatre department’s outside psyching themselves up or mingling with the audience.

“Not going to join your friends, Stark?” Loki says, not glancing up from his book. His fingers brush across the paragraphs as he reads, and they’re shaking a little.

“Not now. It looks like you’re not, either -- how about Thor or that tenth grader you invited to my party? And I asked you a question.”

“Not now,” Loki echoes mockingly.

Tony frowns. “Just wondering what the hell you’re doing, is all. Is everything okay? You seem a bit -- I don’t know -- off today.”

“Everything’s fine, Stark.”

“Tony.”

Loki shakes his head, an almost imperceptible movement. “Thank you for not breaking character due to my unfortunate deviation. I apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize -- I’m used to straying off-script myself,” Tony says, huffing a breath. “It’s my job.”

Loki says, “I know. I still did something that may have ruined the play. Mostly, I suppose, I’m surprised that you have watched the live action Peter Pan movie.” Loki smiles, a crooked twist, as he tries to steer the conversation into a lighter subject.

“Research, Loki. Research. How do you think we should solve the pin situation, then? This belongs to you and always will -- is that how it goes?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“Isn’t that before--”

“A kiss, yep. I think my cheek would be enough. Peter and Windy are kids, after all.”

“...Okay. Yes.” Loki’s hand goes to the bookmark marking his page, the sketch that Pepper had given him earlier. He feels like--

Like Father.

“I have to go,” he tells Tony, and he runs to the bathroom and leans over the toilet, and retches, dry heaves tumbling out from his throat.

#

Chapter Text

Tony leans back against the restroom door, head falling back onto the sign. He hears a stream of hacking coughs, dry and restrained and frantic. The noise soon recedes, however, and it recedes into something like a choked sob.

“Christ,” he mutters, because, hell, did he just cause Thor’s little brother to have a fucking breakdown?

He sighs and slips away, a green figure fading into black.

#

When the play resumes, Tony pretends that the red under Loki’s eyelids isn’t tears.

“This belongs to you and always will,” Loki says, and Tony tugs on Loki’s arm and makes their lips meet instead because this is the only way he knows how to say sorry.

Even later on, Tony doesn’t know how to describe the expression on Loki’s face. It’s just--crap, cold and beautiful and a touch desperate, and Tony can’t help but wonder.

And Peter Pan leaves Windy, because that’s how the story ends. Everyone on stage take their places and bow altogether. Tony can still hear the sound of applause as the curtains swish shut.

“What was that about?” Loki says, wry and perhaps a little biting. Tony feels the urge to pull his hair out because he cannot figure this guy out.

“Not now,” he shoots back at Loki, and Loki’s fingers catch at his wrist and it seems like maybe they might kiss again, positions reversed, but Loki just lets go and pushes Tony further away.

“See you at the party,” Tony calls at Loki’s retreating form, and he thinks that maybe he’d picked the worst way to apologize.

#

Loki sits the farthest distance away from Tony, all the way in the back with Sif. They’re talking to each other in short, harsh whispers, and Tony peeks at them every few minutes as if he could divine their conversation.

“Stop staring,” Pepper says under her breath, and Tony reluctantly diverts his eyes onto her. She says, “That was--kind of a dickish thing to do on stage, Ton. I know that he did some improv for your pin scene, but you actually kissed him. Kissed him, kissed him.”

“It’s called being an actor. You’ve seen me kiss plenty of people on screen,” Tony snaps.

“First of all, this is a play, and I saw that he was surprised, you didn’t plan it out that way -- I’m not blind. And you could’ve easily gone for the forehead or the cheek. Ask him out, and then you can do whatever you want to him--”

“Is that a challenge--?”

“Listen to me, Tony, I’m speaking. He likes you, you know, and I think he’ll probably say yes if you ask him. You two have been dancing around in circles ever since you’ve had play practice.” Pepper massages her temples, projecting the perfect image of a exasperation and frustration.

“Wait. Hold your horses. You told Loki to ask me out? Pepper, you're not a fucking matchmaker."

"You were being a chicken and not actually doing anything."

Tony scowls. "Look, okay, I barely know him well, alright? Maybe if I get to talk to him more -- I dunno, one or two weeks -- and actually be friends with him or something, then maybe I'll make a move. And he's Thor's little brother, for God's sake. I don't even know how interested he is."

And I think I just made him cry, his brain adds unhelpfully, and Tony unhappily sinks further into his seat.

"You just admitted that you are interested, though," Pepper says smugly. "And just to let you know: he is, too. But for the love of God, please don't do the creepy thing and keep stealing kisses from him."

"'Stealing kisses'? How old are you? I thought you were sixteen, not six."

"Funny, and here I thought the phrase fit your maturity level."

"Don't try and teach me about romance, Pepper. How's it going with Rogers?" Tony glances pointedly at the said guy, who is chatting comfortably with Bruce. "Have you even kissed him yet?"

"No. But when I do, it's not going to be under false pretences."

"Ugh, stop already. I hate it when you gloat."

"You hate it when you know I'm right, you mean."

Tony pauses. "Yeah," he admits, "I do."

#

It's a small party. Even though Tony knows he's always been the partying type, he's aware that Jarvis will very much disapprove if he throws a wild event. All the people he'd invited only consists of the usual Pepper and Bruce, as well as Loki, Sif (as Loki's guest), Thor (as Sif's date), Clint (he made some props, including the Native American bow and arrows), Natasha (as Clint's date), and Coulson (as Clint and Natasha's date). But honestly, they're pretty hyper enough -- especially with Thor and Clint on that list. Tony feels a throbbing headache coming on -- especially with the loud music blasting over the music system -- and two hours in, he decides to take a break. It hasn't been particularly interesting, really: just eating and talking and dancing, the last of which Tony uses as an excuse to hassle Pepper.

Tony leaves Inception in the DVD player, and he skulks out towards his father's laboratory once everyone is glued to the television screen. (Clint, Natasha, and Coulson are having what seems like a Very Important Talk together in one of the spare parlors, and no one dares interrupt them.)

He dials up the lights, and a waxy yellow glow beams onto the white walls. The lab is a familiar place to him: with all its sterile smells and metal smells and chemical smells mingling into all one scent, as well as the faint tang of coffee and just a hint of beer. Tony bends down to his father's toolbox and hauls out a glass bottle of beer, softly juggling it back and forth between his hands. Then he pops off the cap with an opener right beside a screwdriver, and takes a swig. God. Awful stuff, but if you drink enough, there's a pleasant buzz in the back of your head.

He sits there for about half an hour when the door creaks open, and Bruce finds him. He doesn't look--he doesn't look mad, or angry, or even shocked, just disappointed in his Bruce-y way. Tony squints to focus on Bruce's face, and Bruce is looking at him like he's pathetic, like something to pity.

"You're a mess, Tony," Bruce says softly, prying the bottle from Tony's hands.

Tony lets Bruce's fingers unhinge his grasp. "What, you've finally noticed?"

"No," Bruce says, giving Tony that sad-eyed puppy look dead-on. "But really, Ton. You're not your father. You don't have to--"

"Shut up," Tony says, words slurring. "Don't talk to me about him. And don't tell me what to do. Everyone's had an underage drink once in a while, yeah?"

"Maybe. But not everyone will go far as you might go. Tony, come on, please." Bruce crawls over to Tony, and plops a hand onto Tony's hair, kneading his fingers through the disarray strands.

"You're petting me," Tony grumbles, but the hand soothes his throbbing head, gentle and careful. He presses back into the touch, hiccuping. The beer bottle clinks to the ground, falling from Bruce's other hand.

He is fourteen again and he's fighting with Pepper and his dad is up to the usual shit, and god, there's only Bruce, and puberty hits him like a fucking brick. He’d noticed things, things he usually hadn’t -- the way Bruce's eyes turn almost green in the right lighting, the way that Bruce lights up when he talks about movies and television shows, and the way Bruce savors orange soda like it's the best drink he's ever had.

Two years ago -- not now, not now. He is sixteen, Dad’s being a douche, and Pepper did something well-meaning but drastic, and Tony kinda resents her for it, but it’s okay. Bruce is right here, and Tony is noticing green again but perhaps not the same shade.

He closes his eyes. Breathes.

God, he’s a mess.

#