Tony had hated a lot of people in his life (the stalkers, the ex-girlfriends, and don't even get him started on his father), but he'd never quite hated anyone with the same sort of passion in which he hated Tiberius Stone. Frighteningly smart and unbelievingly cunning, Tiberius was a worthy adversary in every way. But while Tony appreciated good competition, Tiberius had one tiny little flaw: he was pure evil. The two had been in all the same classes since kindergarden, and Tiberius had tried his very best to make each and every moment a living hell for Tony. Tony had a running bet going with Clint that under all that blond hair, Tiberius was hiding demonic horns, but all he'd actually seen so far were several disapproving stairs across the classroom.

In some way or another, Tiberius was always the first to get the news. Whether it was a picture message gone viral of Tony passed out on some jackass jock's couch, or a newspaper article on his latest DUI, Tiberius always knew, and he never could keep his opinions to himself. Class president, junior event coordinator, and yearbook editor, he'd made it his life goal to keep the 'public' aware of Tony's miscreant behavior and to always have at least two stupid pictures of him in the yearbook (last year, there had been a picture of him getting pantsed at the homecoming dance; he would never go again). Any chance Tony ever had of being popular (because hello, good-looking inheriting billionaire here) was instantly and forever thwarted by Tiberius' long list of contacts and his endless quest for 'high school hierarchy justice.'

By that afternoon, Tiberius had all the dirt he needed to spin the story of Tony's life into his twisted little web, and unfortunately, Tony was all too used to it. Based on what he could only assume was the very lie he'd told Clint about his sex-filled weekend (something someone in that very busy hall had undoubtedly overheard), Tiberius had began to pass along the rumor that Tony had hired a live-in prostitute because that was the only way he could ever get laid (because his good looks and overflowing bank account couldn't possibly land him a date. Please note the sarcasm. Right there, about the not dating thing…oh, never mind, who was he kidding? He hadn't had a date in months).

"Pathetic, isn't he?" Tony overheard Tiberius saying as they both took their seats in Dr. Banner's fourth period class.

"At least I'm having sex, fucker. Oh, I'm sorry, that'd be the incorrect term, wouldn't it? Let me know how the blue balls are coming along," Tony snapped before he could even think to stop himself. Unfortunately, at that very moment, Dr. Banner called the class to order and every one—Banner included—heard his little outburst. All in all, not his strongest moment, and thanks to a impromptu trip to the Principal's office, he never did get to find out what happened when you mix gummy bears, baking soda, and vinegar.

Principal Fury's office was at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway, the sort of construction you just knew was built that way on purpose because walking down it felt like walking the road to your own execution. As Tony approached, a tall gangly kid with a spider on his backpack walked out carrying a tissue under his still bleeding nose.

"If you won't tell me who did it, I can't help you, but try and work it out, alright?" Fury was saying, patting the boy awkwardly on the shoulder. As the kid—Peter Parker, if Tony remembered correctly from yearbook—passed by, he caught Tony's eye then quickly looked back at the floor, a dark blush creeping up the back of his neck.

"Stark," Fury barked, and Tony, snapping out of his daze, walked into the office that would surely be the setting of his death.

Fury contemplated the slip in front of him that detailed Tony's "inappropriate behavior." "Bad words? You're up here, ruining my lunch time because you had to go and use a bad word? This is a school, Stark. Public school. This isn't one of those progressive prep institutes where kids use their teachers first names and students are partners in learning and there's a fundraising auction at the end of the year where the more creative parents put on musical skits about the community garden! This is public school. If I can keep the girls off the pole, and the boys off the pipe, I get a raise. I don't have time for this. Bad words. Really? Don't let me see your face up here again, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Tony said, biting down the urge to salute the man. "I mean, I think so; I got a little lost in the middle there, but you brought it back around—"

"Detention, after school tomorrow," Fury cut him off and handed him a white slip of paper. "Now out."

Tony attempted a smile and then left in a rush when it did nothing to calm Fury's rage.

He was relatively used to getting in trouble, but before that day, it had always been more of a 'I can't stop breaking the law' sort of problem than anything else. Underage drinking was a big fat check on his personal record, but detention was a whole new ball game. Sarcastic and reckless as he might be in his personal life, school was something Tony understood, something he excelled at. He could complete a test in his sleep and still ace it, and he'd pretty much outsmarted all his teachers four years ago. As unpopular as he was, school was his playground, all up until the moment it turned into a prison.

By the time Tony left Fury's office, Dr. Banner's class had ended and the school day had come to a close. As Tony crossed the quad and headed toward the parking lot, a voice snuck up beside him. "Hi, Tony."

Steve kept up with Tony's pace, smiling brightly, with the school mascot's head—big woodchuck teeth and all—tucked under his arm. Steve still wore the rest of the costume, it's fat woodchuck body surrounding his own fit figure, a ratty old school t-shirt stretched over the creature's fur.

"The illusion is shattered!" Tony exclaimed with a look of mock surprise. "That's exactly why they'd put you in the gas chamber at Disney World if you took off your head. I'm devastated, truly. The games just won't be the same from here on out. I might have to stop going."

"You're talking about Disneyland. Disney World just puts you in solitary confinement for ten years," Steve said, and if it wasn't for that slight quirk of his lips, Tony just might have thought he was serious. "So I heard you had a giant orgy last weekend," Steve continued. "With Paris Hilton, all of the Kardashians and the Olson Twins. Sounds like a busy couple of days. Think you'll have time to go to Thor Odinson's party this weekend?"

Tony opened his mouth then promptly closed it again, unable to think of a single rational response. Steve laughed, and the sound would have reminded Tony of church bells and angels singing if it hadn't sent all his thoughts (and blood) racing southwards.

"See you around, Tony," Steve said, and just like that, he was gone, crossing the parking lot in the opposite direction of Tony's car. Tony seriously contemplated grand theft auto—maybe there was a nice car parked right next to Steve's where they could talk for hours and make out a little on the hood of Steve's hypothetical Mercedes (because Tony knew for a fact he had a beat up old van that he shared with his mom). Before he could act on this genius impulse, however, Clint called out his name from across the lot.

The archer was standing by the passenger door of Tony's car, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Tony liked to think that Clint stuck around after school so as to have a few extra minutes in Tony's excellent and stimulating company, but Clint also didn't have a car. Or a bus pass.

"Tell me you've heard. You've heard, right?" he asked once Tony was within earshot.

"Heard what?"

"That you're now the most popular kid in school," Clint said as though it was obvious. "Tiberius' plan backfired big time. His prostitute story matured into an orgy story, and the orgy turned into you sleeping with all twelve of last years Maxim cover models, and now literally every person I've seen today has asked me if I made out with Angelina Jolie at your last party."

Once more, Tony opened his mouth to counter this ridiculous rumor when the image of his new bot popped into his head, claw drooping in shame when they'd run out of soda. Yeah, this story was better, and Angelina was hot. Really hot.

"Yup," he said, sliding into his car in one smooth motion that would have made James Bond proud. "That's exactly what happened."

As Tony started up the engine and drove out of the school parking lot, Clint yelled, at the top of his lungs out the window, "We're popular!"

That night, Tony had dinner at Pepper's house. Her parents were cooking macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, and garlic bread in some sort of carb overload spectacular, and as Tony's own parents were out of town on a business trip, he wouldn't be missed (that is, his father was on a business trip; his mother, no doubt, was entertaining his father's drunken friends and thanking God for her husband's credit card—the one thing that didn't make her whole life a waste).

'Eccentric' never could quite sum up Mr. and Mrs. Potts, but in all the years he'd known them, it was the closest Tony had ever gotten. They weren't hippies, and they didn't run around the house naked or sing show tunes as they cooked or anything, but they didn't stop smiling either, and, despite being married for decades, they still kissed every chance they could get. Tony couldn't remember ever seeing his parents kiss unless you counted in their wedding picture, and he'd certainly never seen them look so happy in each other's company.

Pepper's brother, Rhodey, was there as well, and while the Potts cooked and Pepper finished her homework, he and Tony played a racing game on the X-Box Tony had bought for them last Christmas (Pepper claimed all his gifts were all just intruments for his own amusement, but Rhodey played it too, so that made it valid and thoughtful, okay?)

Tony won by a millisecond, and may or may not have knocked Rhodey's controller out of his hand at the last lap.

"You're cheating, and I give up," Rhodey said, throwing down his controller.

"The Potts weren't made for speed, Sweetie. We're slow but steady people. Always paying attention to the details," said Mrs. Potts from the kitchen. She smiled at her son over the top of an oversized mixing bowl.

"What does that matter?" Rhodey asked. "I'm adopted."

There was a loud clatter of metal on linoleum as Mr. Potts dropped the spoon he was holding and slammed his fist against the refrigerator. "Who told you?" he exclaimed, and the whole house exploded into laughter.

Just as dinner was served—two heaping piles of noodles stacked on a couple pieces of bread for all but Pepper, who, instead, chose a salad and warned them all of an impending heart attack—Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket.

Steve: The football team saw me with my head off. I think I traumatized them for life.

Tony laughed through a mouthful of spaghetti. He waited a full minute (he counted off the seconds in his head) so as not to seem overly eager before he replied.

Tony: You're a life ruiner, Rogers. What's next, telling kids Santa isn't real?

Steve: He isn't? Well I have a lot of letters addressed to the North Pole I need to retract…

Tony snorted into his plate.

"Who are you talking to, Sweetie?" asked Mrs. Potts. "Is it an admirer? Honey, I think it's an admirer." She smiled knowingly at her husband.

Tony most certainly did not blush.