A/N: alright guys this is a tie in to my other one-shot fic "Karma," and will actually be a two-shot.

Disclaimer: is this really necessary?

Summary: Everyone always says that high school is hell. As true as that may be, they really have no idea what they're talking about unless they have skipped as many grades as I have.

Hell

Everyone always says that high school is hell. As true as that may be, they really have no idea what they're talking about unless they have skipped as many grades as I have.

It wasn't like I tried to outsmart everyone—I just did what I always did. But I guess when I had been building circuit boards and engines with my dad since before I really even understood what they were, what I always did just happened to be a little too much. Even for that preppy privet school my parents had sent me to—the kind that tries to get kids to read and understand Byron by third grade and is usually full of kids with more money than manners.

The headmaster practically had my parents on speed dial and it wasn't because of the same reasons as the other boys—at least not completely. I'd get into just as much trouble as the delinquents, but most of the time it was just because I already knew how to do the things the teacher was trying to teach us and so I found a way to entertain myself. Was it my really my fault if that often ended in some sort of fire and/or explosion? Of course not. Boys will be boys, after all.

It didn't take the teachers and my parents long to come up with a solution: bump me up a grade or two. The work would keep me challenged and out of trouble. That worked… for a while. At least until I started to get bored again. And thus the cycle would repeat until finally I was stuck as a twelve year old senior in high school; even then many of my classes were correspondence courses with various universities.

When I was little I thought it was cool, getting to hang out with all the big kids and they thought it was cool too. But it took me a while to figure out why. It's easy to say now, but how do you understand as a nine-year old sixth grader that the only reason your 'fiends' were your friends was because there daddy was a superhero?

It wasn't an easy lesion to learn—trust me.

Unlike most schools that rich kids like me got sent to, Aquinas Academy was not a boarding school. So after my first few days of sixth grade I thought it was only fitting to invite my new friends to come home after school with me. After all isn't that what normal big kids did?

I thought we could play video games or maybe watch a movie in the home theater but they had other plains. They played along well enough at first, but maybe they were just waiting for their window of opportunity to open. Or maybe it was the overload of excitement when the window did open that made them do what they did—nah, the truth was that my ever trusting young mind had failed to see the most obvious fact about my new friends: they were the class bullies that had only been saved from expulsion from several generous donations to the school by their families.

American education at its finest.

Dad was watching us while my mom was at the office doing important CEO things. He showed us his car collection and even some of the more high-tech gadgets he had been working on (nothing Ironman related, of course—that was all top secret).

I had already seen all this and was completely board but my friends were having fun so I tried really hard not to complain or fidget too much.

The boys politely asked if they could see the Suit. I don't understand why Dad didn't see what they were up to—I had an excuse, I was nine—their voices had the same tone, like honey dripping from fangs, that Astrid used when she was trying to manipulate a grown up into giving her something she wanted.

Before Dad could even tell them 'no' JARVIS interrupted him.

"Sir, Nick Fury is on the line. It appears to be of the utmost importance."

And with that Dad shooed us out of his workshop while he took the call. The boys stood outside the glass door trying to hear what they were saying. They couldn't—the door had long ago been sound proofed. Dad gave them a stern look from behind the monitor and they knew it was time to leave.

We went back to playing video games but it didn't take Dad long to interrupt us. The moment they saw him in the door way they paused the game and gave him their full attention.

"Listen Kiddo, something's come up. You'll be alright with the usual drill?" He asked and I nodded. I was too young to be by left by myself so whenever he had Ironman stuff to do JARVIS and Happy would watch me. JARVIS could have done it alone but apparently the law said an actual person had to do the kid sitting—I refused even then to think of it as baby sitting—and I think my mom agreed.

"Mr. Stark?" the quietest (and, as I would latter learn, the most vicious) of the boys asked, "if it's for a mission, do you… could… do you think it would be oaky if we maybe watched you suit up?" he put just enough stutter and hesitation into the question to pull the heart strings of even the most hard assed of grownups. It really wasn't necessary—dad probably would have said yes even if he had straight up asked—but he didn't know that.

Dad thought about it for a moment then shrugged. "What the hell. But you'll have to stay on the other side of the glass. I don't want you in my workshop while I'm gone."

All the boys nodded in unison looking not unlike a collection of babble head dolls.

They watched in wonder as JARVIS created a visual catalogue of all his suits and, when dad had picked the most appropriate version for whatever mission he was going on, the rest of them despaired back into cyberspace.

"He has all those suits?" one of the boys asked in wonder.

"Un-huh. There's one for space, one for when he has to be under water, one for when he has to be around a lot of radiation, there's one for when he has to be in a lot of cold…" I said as I ticked them off on my fingers.

Dad gave us a theatric little salute as he stepped on the black square that marked where the suits were really held. The boys watched as my dad turned into Iron Man and took off, flying right out of the skylight that he had installed for a quick exit.

Before the glow from dad's repulsors had even disappeared from eye sight, the leader of the boys walked over to the control panel and tried to put in random numbers in the hope of getting in. after a couple tries he hit the panel with the side of his fist.

They wanted to get into dad's lab and maybe even try on one of his spare suites. They were convinced that if my dad just saw how cool they were in those suits he would beg them to join the Avengers. Idiots.

First off, the suits wouldn't have fit—there was at least a foot of height difference between Dad and the tallest of these clowns. Second, those suits are a bitch to get used to. They would have accidentally killed each other before they got ahold of the weapons systems. And thirdly, the Avengers have much better standards (most of the time). They don't let kids join. The only time kids were EVER involved in a mission was if it was a kidnapping retrieval or something of the like.

Even Franklin Richards wasn't allowed to fight at our age (we were less than a year apart) and he was an Omega level mutant. If you don't know, that means he's stronger than the Professor and on the same level as The Phoenix. Yeah. That strong.

Dad's workshop has one of the most sophisticated security systems known to man and beyond (I'm pretty sure he somehow managed to convince Loki to apply some magic locks or something to it) so it's no surprise that after more than a few tries at imputing random numbers, they didn't get in.

They turned to me, convinced I could get them in, after all, if they knew where their parents kept the keys to the liquor cabinet then there was no way I could not know how to get into something so much cooler.

I didn't know the password but I could probably have hacked into it. Hell, now it wouldn't surprise me if dad had encoded my biometrics into the locks just in case. He knew I wouldn't go in there without reason. I had my own lab (which at the time wasn't as stocked with possible explosives as dad's was) and I was content with that, if I ever needed anything more I could just ask.

I don't know why they did it—they were defiantly old enough to know better and yet that didn't stop the kick from hitting me in the ribs. Up until that point I hadn't had much fighting experience (mom thought it would be best to let the whole school thing settle a bit before I started any extracurricular activities like karate) so I went down like a ton of bricks. Oaky, a tiny ton of bricks but the idea's the same.

I tried not to scream and sound like a baby but it hurt and the more that showed, the harder they kicked. Each time a foot came in contact with my flesh they would laugh. They had no reason not to—they thought there was no one here to hear them. No one here to stop them.

In my head I kept screaming—praying—someone would show up and help. Actually, I was only mentally crying for one person and it wasn't my mom or dad or Happy. It was Astrid. She had always been there for me.

I knew who it was that came to my rescue the minute the beating stopped. No one else could have stopped them without a word but Astrid.

She looked so angry but all I saw was my pride being more wounded than my body. I shouldn't have to be saved by a girl, even if it was Astrid. Unfortunately I was a nine year old little prick who didn't know when to shut up and accept the gift fate had given me.

The older kids were frozen where they stood, but I knew they could see everything. They saw her save me, and if I went running to her it would just get worse. I couldn't have that. I couldn't let the big boys think I was just a little baby.

"I don't need help from a girl," I hissed through what I would latter learn to be at least two cracked ribs as I struggled to sit up against the wall.

Her head turned away from them and I could see the pain in her eyes—and Astrid normally had an amazing poker face. She was just as hurt by my words as she was furious at their actions. That hurt me more than those boys ever could but I said nothing (nine year old prick, remember?).

"I guess you don't," she whispered sadly before puffing out. A part of me wanted to scream and beg her to come back but I knew she was gone. Screaming to nothing wouldn't help me now.

As soon she was gone the spell on the boys lifted. They were wide eyed and confused over what had happened but it didn't take them long to come up with an expiation that, while close to the truth, was completely wrong.

"He's friends with a mutie," the leader spat in disgust. No boys, she has always been so much more.

Even though it had been years since Hank McCoy was elected to the presidential cabinet and a whole bunch of laws were passed to hinder discrimination and racism (or was it speciesism? I'm still not sure) there was still a lot of deep seated biased.

And apparently I had chosen the most prejudiced of my classmates to be my new 'friends.'

The kicks resumed and I instinctually curled up into a ball to protect my already damaged ribs. In that moment I learned a very important lesion: don't refuse help if you need it just to save face—it doesn't help in the end.

"Hey!" a deep baritone called from down the hall and my little bleeding heart lifted at the sound.

See what the boys had failed to realize is that dad hadn't left us alone. Come on, do you really think he's that irresponsible—never mind, don't answer that. I had known Happy was there to watch us, but I didn't think to tell them that; it had just seemed so natural an occurrence that it went without saying. When all this was going on he was just in another part of the house.

If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have enjoyed watching Happy pulling them off me with a little more force than necessary, but I could barely think straight. All I could think about was how the kids at school were going to make fun of me even more when they found out that a grownup had to save me like I was a little kid trying to pet the neighbors pit bull.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" he asked when he could finally see the damage. I could feel the bruises and at least one black eye forming but I don't think he noticed the ribs yet. I nodded. I hated the attention—it would just make things worse latter.

While Happy was distracted with me the boys saw an opportunity and took it. They quietly tried backing out of the room—I guess they thought if they could somehow get home their parents wouldn't hear about it.

They didn't get far. As soon as it became clear what they were trying to do all the doors slid shut with a defining finality that later I would compare to the fall of a guillotine blade.

"I do not believe it is wise for you to leave the premises until this matter has been sorted out."

"You know, it's pretty bad when even the AI can tell you're an asshat," Astrid said staring at the boys with crossed arms and a disgusted look on her face. They backed away but there was no were to go.

Seeing her standing there I briefly wondered if she had been the one to go get Happy but I didn't have much time to think on it before he all but confirmed it.

"Astrid, can you get him to his room and heal him? Let me take care of the asshats," Happy said. Astrid narrowed her eyes and I could tell she almost said no—that she would rather take care of my tormentors—but then she saw just how much trouble I was having breathing. Without a word she walked over to me and grabbed me gently by the shoulders.

I screamed as we teleported to my room. Normally I didn't mind but the confining pressure associated with traveling through the third dimension was hell on my ribs.

She sat me down on my bed so that my back rested against the headboard and my legs were stretched out on the bed. Without warning she summoned a small intricate dagger and slowly stuck it under my shirt. The fabric split so easily it was like she was running scissors through wrapping paper.

My eyes went wide and, if I had had the strength or room, I would have backed away from her. What the hell was she doing? We were too old to play pretend doctor and too young to really play doctor.

"We're not playing doctor; I'm playing nurse. There's a difference," She said and smiled, "JARVIS, can you take photos of his wounds in case Uncle Tony and Aunt Pepper want to take legal action against those stupid boys."

I could tell by her tone of voice that she thought it would be unnecessary—that she had something better in mind.

"Astrid leave them alone. For me. They're just stupid boys," I said as she began to heal the bruises. Simultaneous feelings of heat and cold radiated from her touch like one of those Icy-hot patches athletes used for sore muscles. I could feel the pain melting away and I knew it showed on my face.

She let out a hiss when she came to the broken ribs but said nothing. Instead I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was revising whatever plain she had in mind for them.

I should have let her tear into them but I guess some small part of me still wanted to fit in—even if that meant being their friend. Pathetic, right? But keep in mind that I was just nine at the time. I needed them to like me if I ever wanted to fit in with the big kids.

Astrid's eyes softened.

"I know that. If they weren't so stupid, they would have seen that being your friend is worth a million times more than getting to see your dad's stupid suit," she said healing my face last so I was forced to look her in the eyes as she said it.

I said nothing. I didn't know what to say; in some ways it was so like Astrid to say exactly what I needed her to but at the same time it was so unlike her to just let a trespass like that go. Luckily she put me out of my misery after only a few seconds of silence.

"Why do you want to fit in so badly?" she said looking out the glass wall that gave a prefect view of the moonlit ocean. For once there was not even the slightest judgment in her voice, just curiosity.

I took me a minute to find the words but she didn't rush me; she just patiently stared off over the water while I collected my thoughts.

"I don't fit in anywhere," I whispered, "all the Avenger kids—you, Franklin, May—all have powers but I don't. I'm always the one who has to be saved and who can't go and say 'look what I just learned to do.' But around everyone else I'm just the freaky smart kid. I don't belong anywhere. I'm a freak no matter where I am."

I expected her to laugh at me or at least completely blow me off but surprisingly she didn't.

"We're all freaks sometimes," she muttered dropping all glamour. Her dark blue skin blended in perfectly with the darkness, her blood red eyes the only feature clearly visible in the night.

"What do you mean?"

"There are a lot of other kids in Asgard but most don't play with me. they don't call me names—but they don't play with me" her voice wasn't sad but it wasn't exactly neutral either.

"Why not? You're a princess!" she looked at me oddly and at the time I didn't understand why. But I got it latter. I had always wanted friends who cared for me for me, not because I was my father's son. This was the same thing. Wasn't she allowed to want the same?

"I'm more than that: I'm a Jotun."

"What?"

"Frost giant," she clarified. I was no stranger to her blue side (there really was no way to be ignorant of it—when she was little she liked to strip off her glamor like most kids that age insisted on stripping off their cloths) but I hadn't heard the word for it until then.

"Oh… So what? Why would that matter?" I didn't get it. So what she was blue and a little spiky sometimes, but she was still Astrid.

"I asked my grandmother the same question a couple years ago and she explained it to me. To the kids on Asgard, the Jotun are like the boogie man—they are the monsters under the bed. In their bed time stories it is the Jotun the heroes slay, not dragons." Her voice was an odd mix of acceptance and sadness that broke my heart. I knew she didn't care about what others thought of her but she was not as unaffected as she wanted others to believe.

"But they know you, you're not like that."

"But the prejudice is still there," she said resting her head on my shoulder. "Asgardians are a long lived race; it takes will takes longer for them to change."

"So what did you do to get the kids to play with you?" I asked honestly curious. Only a small whisper in the back of my mind thought of the fact that if it could work for her then maybe it could work for me. But most of my thoughts were on her—always on her.

"I started to walk around without my glamor on," she muttered snuggling her face deeper into my chest. I could tell she was tired—she was already half asleep.

"What?" My shout jolted her. She looked at me before explaining as if I were a little child.

"If they're not going to accept me for all that I am why should I care what they think? That's there loss. This way I can immediately tell who is worth my time." She placed her head back on my shoulder and there was silence in the night.

We stayed like that, curled up together in atop my dark, Star Wars comforter (what did you expect, Ironman?) for what seemed like an eternity before I spoke. She listened to the rhythm of my breathing as I enjoyed her warmth—not physical warmth, for she was still in her Jotun form, but rather the inner warmth that only a few people got to see and feel. The warmth of the truest form of Astrid.

"Astrid?" I asked quietly, not wanting to wake her if she was truly asleep. She looked so peaceful like that. Even though I was still in the phase where girls were kind of gross, I had never once thought of Astrid like that. To me she was and would always be just Astrid.

"Mmmm?" she muttered into my shoulder.

"Do you regret it—being what you are?" I asked. Even through the fog of sleep her answer was immediate; she didn't have to think about it.

"Never." She let a single beat of silence echo in the room before she turned the question around on me in classic Astrid fashion, "Do you regret it Howie, being what you are?"

My reply took just a couple heartbeats longer than hers did.

Did I regret being super smart? Sure there were down sides like always being the little kid in class and all the teachers looked at me like I could do no wrong (which wasn't really a good thing) but there were good things too. If I wasn't so smart than all the stuff my dad and I did together wouldn't work. I mean really, what not smart nine year old can help build an engine or circuit board?

And what about the whole 'my dad's a superhero' thing? Did I regret that? I regretted that it lead to things like today. Did I regret that I would always be known as Ironman's son? Yes, I regretted that all. But did I regret actually being my father's son?

"Never." I whispered resting my head against hers.

And that's how the adults found us after they had gotten the whole thing sorted out with those boys. Sleeping together, curled up in my bed. And yes they did get pictures.

AN: The next chapter should actually be out some time next week at the latest. I have been asked if I have sequels planned to Karma and the answer is yes. There will be at least two more one-shots of about the same length that also take place while they're in college and a sprinkling of shorter one shots that take place either before or after college.

The suit list is cannon; I stole it from Wikipedia. And yes all that stuff I was saying about Franklin is true (again at least according to wiki). He's the son of Sue and Reed Richards of the fantastic four. The May referred to is May 'Mayday' Parker, the daughter of Spider-man.

I have not read many comic books so I may be taking some liberties with the characters. Sorry. if it makes you feel better you can think of them as the movie versions.