Author's Note: Written for the Writer in a Drawer Torchwood Fic Challenge on LiveJournal. This one was the first week winner. I'm not sure if I'm more surprised by that, or by the fact that Owen Harper was the one who spoke up for the prompts, which were "first time" and "green."

Of course, I don't own Torchwood, and Owen owns himself.

"Owen! You awake?"

Owen blinked at the torchlight. "Yeah, Reg."

He hadn't slept. No matter what the scout master said, he was afraid of something large and ferocious tearing through the tent.

He hoped he didn't sound as scared as he felt. He could still hear the taunting.

"Ickle baby never been away from mum before!"

His tentmate Reg was the only boy who hadn't teased him. Reg whispered, "Wanna show them they're wrong? Come on!"

Owen scrambled to follow his older friend into the night. The waning moon gave just enough light to feed his fear. He shivered at a distant chorus of whoops and howls, getting louder as the boys walked further from the safety of camp. Owen paused, but Reg grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the noise, now mixed with…laughter?

There was light ahead. "Here he is!" Reg announced, pulling Owen into the glow of torches held by other boys from their camp.

The ringleader, Sean, shoved a burlap bag into Owen's hands. "Prove you're not a baby, Harper. Catch us a snipe."

Those weren't in the guidebook. "What's a snipe?" Owen asked.

"A bird," Reg answered. "You call it to catch it."

Sean snorted. "Yeah, but call it right or it'll poke your eyes out! Listen!" The other boys whooped, making Owen jump. Sean grinned unpleasantly. "Your turn."

Owen swallowed, then let out a whoop of his own. The boys snickered, and Sean shook his head gravely. "Maybe it'll only poke one eye out." Owen tried (and failed) not to shudder as Sean pointed outwards. "Out there. No torch. Bright lights make them angry. Walk a hundred paces, then start calling. Don't come back till you've got one."

Owen looked at Reg, who nodded. Owen gulped and walked into the darkness, counting steps. One…two…three… His heart pounded, and his breath came in rapid pants. Tripping, he fell into a pile of rotting leaves, their green stink filling his nose and mouth. He stood and started counting steps again.

He finally reached a hundred, and whooped.

And waited.

He whooped again.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Owen's throat was sore from whooping when he heard a loud rustle.

"Harper? Where are you?" The scout master crashed through the bushes, blinding Owen with his torchlight. "There you are! Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir. I—"

"You fell for the snipe hunt, eh? And I thought you were some kind of genius!"

"Sir—"

"All the newbies get it. The younger you are, the more they try to scare you. Phew! What's that stink on you, boy? Oh, come on!"

Owen trudged after him, returning to a crowd of sniggering scouts.

Including his friend Reg, laughing with the rest.

And now the green stink was of shame and betrayal.

"I hate the countryside," ranted Doctor Owen Harper. "It's dirty. It's unhygienic. And what is that smell?"

"That would be grass," Gwen answered dryly.

But Owen smelled something else.

Shame.

Betrayal.

"It's disgusting."