A/N: Thanks to everyone who favorited/followed! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, which is pretty much 100% Tony angst.
**EDIT**: FFN has not been letting me update Passing Grade. Please go to my profile page and click the "Roodles" link next to AO3 in order to read the most update version of Passing Grade.
Thanks!
Warnings: Mild Violence/Bullying
Tony went to school the next day via taxi cab. He was lucky they took his card number over the phone (though he'd be watching his account to see if they overcharged him.) He couldn't bear to see Ms. Rogers' face when he showed his black and blue mug on the bus, so he was going to prolong it for as long as possible.
The cabbie gave a low whistle when Tony crawled into the backseat after his bookbag, but didn't remark any further on his split lip, black eye, and cut cheek (Tony had vowed to get that fucking MIT ring melted down and sold).
He got to school on time, and for once didn't go to Mr. Yinsen's classroom before first period. His father had warned him that if there were any more phone calls, the result would not be pleasant. Tony had the feeling that it would be within his best interest to behave and not call attention to himself.
When the bell rang, Tony actually went to gym, which he shared with the Blond Trio and a few other people who didn't tend to make his life hell. His clothes were in his locker, as clean as the day he'd bought them because he never bothered to dress out. Tossing his slip ons into his locker, Tony pulled out a pair of bright red and gold basketball shoes (Howard couldn't say a damned thing about shoes he would never see) and set them aside.
He felt like an emo kid, dressed in Shield High's all black uniform, only broken by silver stripes down the sides of the shirt and shorts, and the eagle rampant emblem on the left breast.
Tony really hated gym. It wasn't that Tony was completely inept or unfit. He had excellent hand eye coordination and worked out at home. Engineers did some heavy lifting, and it paid to be fit. He analysed sports with the same efficiency that he took to his coding, and it paid off whenever he hit the betting pools behind the bleachers at games.
Gym was horrible for one main reason: it made Tony feel exposed. Forced to hide in a mindless herd of black-clad sheep with no form of cover. And he had to run. That was bullshit. Running should have been reserved for when his dad was chasing him with a wrench, not for the sadistic pleasure of a gym teacher.
Still, he grudgingly trudged to the open gym area, where most of his classmates were already talking and milling about. It was fortunate that only one of Hammer's cronies shared Tony's gym period, and Doom wasn't too bad on his own. He only got Crazy Eyes when hanging out with Hammer, and tended to leave Tony alone.
When Romanov blew the whistle, the entire class fell into line almost instantly. (She was scary as fuck.) They began their warm up jog around the gym, five laps of drudgery that put Tony in a bad mood. Thor, being the ridiculous giant that he was, cheerfully loped ahead of everybody else, his bulk masking a long stride that ate up the gym floor. Steve and Clint made a game of racing. Once or twice, Tony felt someone shove him out of the way as Steve and Clint passed by, but Tony refrained from tripping the fuckers. Sainthood was yet within his grasp.
After the warm ups, Romanov gleefully announced they would be playing dodgeball, or something like it. Romanov's weird ass version had goalies and it didn't really make sense to call it dodgeball at that point. Once the teams were divided, Thor and Clint were sent to one side of the gym, while Steve and Tony went to the other. Tony was unanimously voted for goalie, because their team didn't really care about winning; seeing Tony's impending abject humiliation would be victory enough.
Gritting his teeth as he shuffled behind the three point line and into the key (the goal was a set of black mats mounted on the wall behind the basketball hoop), Tony made the decision to not suck. Normally he played 'clumsy failure' and was relegated to the sidelines, but he was fed up. They wanted to try and humiliate him? Fine. He'd shove that dodgeball so far up their asses they'd be tasting rubber for weeks.
Steve was shooting him concerned puppy dog looks from his position in defense, acting as if he were actually concerned. It pissed Tony off, because while Rogers had never actively participated in Tony's bullying, he'd never really stopped it either. Thank you, Mister Class President.
Romanov blew her whistle, looking positively gleeful. Tony theorized that she got off on her students' pain, and thoroughly enjoyed their fruitless contests for supremacy.
"Alright! First team to twenty points wins. No headshots, body checking, full body tackles, or conscious physical violence! If I see it, you're out for the game, and you get a 'F' for the day. Good luck and don't suffer too much!"
Tony stared at her, mouth agape as she brought the dodgeball to center court. What in the ever loving fuck. Thor and this guy named Hank Pym (Tony could never really peg his height. Sometimes he swore the guy wore platform shoes) faced each other, ready for Romanov's tip off. Thor, by virtue of solid European breeding and his own freakish genetics, got the ball and passed it to Clint, who was already halfway down the court. The guy zipped in and out of sight, finally reappearing to catch the ball straight out of fucking midair. Taking his maximum of three steps, Clint passed to pivoted in front of the goal just in time to see Doom's expression before he got a face full of dodgeball. Ah. There were the Crazy Eyes.
Agony washed over him, white exploding in his vision as he staggered backward into the mats, holding his face and taking gasping breaths.
For the fucking love of-
Romanov blew her whistle and sentenced Doom to a period on the bleachers. He didn't look too repentant, sneering at Romanov's back as she walked over and pried Tony's hands away from his face. He wanted to bristle at the pity in her gaze, but he let it go and let his shoulders slump at the white and black dots receded from his vision.
"Will you make it?" She asked, not unkindly.
"Yeah. Though the next person to fuck with me is gonna get it," Tony quipped, completely serious.
"Good to hear."
She patted him on the shoulder, then whistled for the game to resume. Tony picked up the ball, eyeing his options. There was a clear line to Steve, Pym, and then Janet van Dyne, Pym's girlfriend. Lobbing the ball, Tony felt a swell of satisfaction as Steve caught it, and then acted as if he'd read Tony's mind. The ball was passed down the line and made its way to Jan's capable hands. She was scary quick and accurate, and had the goal before anyone knew what had happened.
Thor bellowed out that he accepted the challenge, and retrieved the ball from his goalie and sent it flying. Tony tracked the game as it made it back to his goal. Steve tried his best to defend, but Clint was quick, and was back at the three point line with a shit eating grin.
"Can you even catch, Stark?"
Tony didn't reply, already calculating angles, trajectory, and probabilities. Percentages filled his mind and he started planning for any number of scenarios. When Clint drew back and threw the ball (it looked like a solid baseball pitch), Tony slapped it down without a second thought, looking up at Clint with a self-satisfied smirk.
The blond's flabbergasted expression was enough to make the move worth it. Crouching down, Tony picked up the ball and tossed it to Steve, who was looking rather unsettled. Tony gave him a sloppy salute (because he and Rhodey were in Junior ROTC together and Tony liked being an asshole), and returned to his goal box.
Clint jogged away, still looking baffled and confused. The rest of the game passed much the same way. Tony gave a few points, because humans were far more unpredictable than code, but it didn't matter in the long run. Between Pym, Jan, Steve, and some impressive acrobatics from Peter Parker (who always showed up late with weird ass excuses), twenty points came and went. Romanov was enjoying herself, not calling mercy till the score was 25-7 (sadist sadist sadist).
Tony wasn't sure how to respond to the pats on the back, or high fives he got from his team. Thor came to join Steve (who had settled on Confused Puppy, eerily similar to Confused Scientist, but with blue eyes), and congratulate Tony.
"Friend Stark! I was unaware you were so skilled in defense! I would have you as a football goalkeeper anyday!"
It took a moment for Tony to translate European Transfer Jargon, and he eventually replied with a small shrug.
"Eh…not too big on team sports, Point Break. But thanks, I guess."
Steve shifted from Confused Puppy to Judgmental Class President in record time, rounding on Tony.
"Have you always been able to do that?" He asked, waving at the goal box.
"Uh…I guess,"Tony shrugged, not meeting his gaze.
"So you mean you've been fucking with us all along, right?" Clint interjected as he jogged back from chatting up Romanov.
"I think it isn't any of your fucking business Barton," Tony snapped.
"I'm curious, Stark. Does that shiner make you feel like a man? Did'ya get in a fight? Did it make you feel macho?" He mocked, reaching out to shove Tony's shoulder.
Tony stumbled back, keenly aware of the roaring in his ears and the feelings of helplessness washing over him. Regaining his footing, Tony straightened his spine, gritting his teeth.
"Don't fucking touch me, Barton," Tony growled.
"What're you gonna do? Beat me up? Doesn't look like you're too good at beating others up."
"Clint," warned Steve, his voice unsure.
"No, Steve. Stark's obviously been fucking with us. If he can play sports, what else can he do? Besides play punching bag, of course."
Clint shoved him again, and something snapped. Whatever was tethering Tony to his self control disappeared, and then he was all over Clint, snarling and punching without clear thought. They hit the gym floor and Tony's knees cracked painfully against the laminate, but all that mattered was wiping that smug fucking expression from Clint's face.
There might have been blood, maybe tears. Tony's voice was hoarse with yelling and his hands were aching and then he was hauled off. He kicked and thrashed in his captor's hold, panicking as sand sun blood explosions filled his mind's eye, and he was trapped in a chair, why couldn't he move, oh God oh God.
The sensation of ice cold water being splashed in his face snapped him back to reality, leaving him gasping for air. He looked around wildly, heart pounding a mile a minute until he caught sight of Mr. Yinsen. Everything hit him at once; wave after wave of pain that left him dizzy and disoriented. His knees ached, his face ached, fresh scratches on his arms and neck burned. He panicked as he registered a pronounced throb in his hands, looking down to find his knuckles bloody and already bruising.
"Anthony. Look at me."
Tony struggled to bring his gaze up, finding Mr. Yinsen's concerned expression looming in front of him.
"S'Barton okay?" Tony slurred, his tongue thick and his mind sluggish.
"He will be fine. A bloody nose and a bruised ego. The gym floor, on the other hand, might never be the same."
Tony nodded slowly, slumping against the mat where someone had propped him.
"Why did you attack Mr. Barton, Anthony?" Mr. Yinsen asked, his words clear and slow for Tony's benefit.
"I don't…Don't…" Tony struggled, scrunching up his nose as he tried to form the words. "No one else can hit me," he said finally. That sort of made sense.
"Anthony, who else hits you?" Yinsen's voice was calming, and it almost lulled him into a confession. Almost. Until his mental klaxons started wailing. Snapping into alertness, Tony straightened a bit, taking a deep breath to steel himself.
"Just Hammer. But Stark men are made of iron."
Mr. Yinsen sighed, looking older than ever as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"How did you get the wounds on your face?"
"I fell. I'm pretty clumsy."
"Does falling include the imprint of a ring cut into your face?"
Tony's breath hitched, but he couldn't bear for Yinsen to know his dirty little secret. What happened between the Starks stayed between the Starks.
"It was a very specific fall."
Mr. Yinsen nodded, as if sensing that's all he'd get from Tony.
"Why don't you go get dressed. I'll wait for you, and then we'll go to my office. You can take your lunch there then go to Dr. Banner's classroom for tutoring during fourth period."
Tony nodded, then scrambled to his feet. The gym was empty, and even Romanov had cleared out to give them privacy. He saw a flash of blond hair at the entrance to the hallway, but couldn't really give a damn.
The locker room was just as empty when he went inside, and he wasted no time in changing into his t-shirt and jeans, then washing off the blood from his knuckles and scratches. He switched out his shoes, having no desire to go home and get slapped around for liking red.
The sounds of his classmates yelling over a pickup game of basketball filtered down the hallway leading to the locker rooms, but Tony was comforted in that they were on the other side of the gymnasium partition.
Tony slung his backpack over his shoulder with a grunt, deciding he would avoid packing textbooks for the rest of the year and save his back the trouble. Mr. Yinsen was waiting for him in the hallway, and he guided him past the auxiliary gym, not allowing Tony to flick off the assholes who had their faces pressed to the door, staring at Tony as if he were a freak show.
He still flipped the bird over his shoulder, shuffling after Mr. Yinsen with a low growl. His teacher glanced back at him with an eyebrow raised, which effectively wiped the scowl off of Tony's face. Mr. Yinsen was a badass, and he didn't take any shit, especially Tony's. He constantly challenged Tony to be better, and his efforts weren't wasted. Despite his respect for Mr. Yinsen, Tony was grateful when they reached his classroom and he could dart to his teacher's office while Mr. Yinsen relieved the administrator who'd taken over.
Tony dropped his backpack and retreated to the corner of the room that was hidden from the doorway by several large shelves and a massive drill press. A veritable safe haven, the corner was where Tony let himself create and destroy, building anything he wanted without fear of repercussions from his father, from his teachers, from the world. Mr. Yinsen allowed Tony to be, and it was the greatest thing he'd ever experienced.
Sliding down the wall into his little 'nest', Tony looked at the odds and ends strewn about his workspace. He often sat at the counter and soldered or worked on intricate circuitry, and left his coding and brainstorming to a ratty bit of rug that he'd snagged from maintenance. Dummy (the repurposed Roomba) was still docked in his charging station, but was quick to issue a series of clicks and chirps and a jaunty little wave of his arm.
Tony scooted closer, petting Dummy absently while pulling out a tablet from under one of the shelves. He dabbled in lots of tech, especially since he would never touch a weapons spec again, and his tablet was one of his favorites. The bot nudged him, claw flexing curiously as Tony booted up the tablet and started coding. Dummy chirped a few more times and settled his arm on Tony's shoulder, plucking at his hair every so often.
Smiling slightly (Dummy always made Tony smile, somehow), Tony leaned against the wall and lost himself in his programming, eager to make it to his next benchmark. He wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed until someone waved a lunch tray under his nose. Tony would never admit to drooling, but his mouth definitely watered and he didn't even complain about the interruption.
"On your feet, Anthony. I took the liberty of fetching your lunch and informing your friends of your whereabouts. We will eat, chat for a bit, then you'll spend your fourth period with Dr. Banner," Mr. Yinsen explained, not giving Tony a chance to argue.
Scrambling to his feet, Tony blushed when his stomach made itself known, a loud roar in comparison to the hush of Mr. Yinsen's office. Mr. Yinsen was eating pita bread and what Tony guessed was hummus, and a side of baby carrots and other green things Tony would rather avoid. He had a container of Greek yogurt and a water, and Tony had to restrain himself from making a quip about John Stamos.
The lunch tray that he'd brought Tony featured a cheeseburger and french fries, a fruit cup, and a chocolate milk. He didn't want to cry. He wouldn't cry. So what if this was the first real lunch he'd had in months? So what if he depended on Ms. Rogers' charity? So fucking what if Mr. Yinsen was a damned saint disguised as a high school shop teacher.
"Are you going to stare at it, or eat it?"
Tony looked up at Mr. Yinsen, biting his lip and wrestling with what to say.
"It's mine, right? Like, this isn't a joke or anything?"
Mr. Yinsen placed the bit of pita bread he'd been dipping with back in its container, his gaze sharp behind his glasses. His teacher bracketed his arms around his lunch, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward slightly, just enough to betray how interested he was in Tony's question.
"Yes, Anthony. That is your lunch. I bought it for you. What was the last thing you had from the cafeteria?"
"Chocolate milk. And pudding," Tony answered quickly, and honestly. He really hoped Mr. Yinsen would drop the subject. Prayed, even. Squirming in his seat, Tony distracted himself by snatching a fry and popping it in his mouth, barely holding back a moan. Why couldn't he eat that everyday?
"I'd like to talk to you when we don't have as many time constraints, Anthony. As it is, you'll need to eat your lunch quickly, and then I'll walk you to Dr. Banner's classroom."
Tony nodded, not needing to be told twice that he was welcome to eat the food in front of him. He cleared the plate in what felt like record time, full and sated by the time he was finished. Ms. Rogers' sandwiches were good, but it was awesome to eat hot food for once.
He was still slurping his milk when the bell rang, heeding Mr. Yinsen's non-verbal shooing motion to get his stuff and follow. Petting Dummy one last time and shutting down his tablet, Tony grabbed his bookbag and then snatched up his half-empty milk carton on his way out the door.
Whispers and exaggerated hand gestures followed him down the hallway, causing the hair on the back of his neck and arms to stand on end. Shuddering, Tony stuck closer to Mr. Yinsen, breathing a sigh of relief when Dr. Banner's classroom came into view. Mr. Coulson, a guidance counselor with wit as dry as the Sahara and a pain in Tony's ass, walked out of the room just as they arrived, giving them a formal nod before striding away.
Immediately suspicious, Tony slowed his pace, looking around for an escape route.
Then Mr. Yinsen's hand clamped around Tony's arm like a vice, just short of bruising, and Tony was hauled into Dr. Banner's classroom. Huffing out a breath, Tony rubbed his arm for show and turned to face Dr. Banner. Hazel eyes reflected tumult and confusion, and Tony couldn't bear to hold his gaze for very long.
"Anthony, Dr. Banner will see you to your bus this afternoon. Tomorrow, I would like you to come to my office before first period, and we will discuss things from there."
Mr. Yinsen turned to Dr. Banner, smiling.
"Thank you for looking after him, Dr. Banner. Have a good afternoon."
"Same to you, Ho," Dr. Banner called behind him, and Tony had the good sense not to snicker.
Dr. Banner made sure the door was shut, then rounded on him, eyes wild and his mouth set in a grim line.
"Uh…good afternoon, Dr. B?" Tony tried, wincing when a muscle twitched in his teacher's jaw. Tony saw a seat at the front of the classroom that already had a chemistry book open and waiting, assuming (correctly) that Dr. Banner had a plan in mind for his tutoring session.
"Take a seat, Anthony," Dr. Banner murmured, clasping his hands behind his back as he watched Tony go and sit down before following him to the front of the room. The difference in Dr. Banner was almost palpable. A subtle shift had occurred, and Tony was in awe. Where his teacher once slumped and wrung his hands, another man had taken his place.
Standing straight gave Dr. Banner another inch or two, and it filled out his frame. Tony realized that Dr. Banner was pissed, and was instantly on alert, ready to bolt if necessary. He didn't know where that latent rage was going to be directed, and he didn't care to be there if it happened.
"Anthony, why did you miss my class today?"
"I was in gym class, sir….or, I was. I got held over."
Dr. Banner looked him over, lingering on his face, seemingly absorbing every cut and bruise he had. Tony shrank into his seat, feeling as exposed as he did in gym class, not wanting his teacher to criticize him for his appearance or call him out on fights he didn't start.
"Did you receive those injuries in gym class?"
Tony figured he couldn't lie on that one; Dr. Banner had a weird knowledge of bruises and healing times on minor wounds.
"No, sir."
Another twitch in Dr. Banner's jaw.
"Is it your intention to be disrespectful, Anthony? If so, we can go straight to Principal Fury's office and settle this."
Tony flinched back hard enough to send his chair back an inch, panic searing through his nerve endings. His heart skipped a beat as his mind scrambled to parse Dr. Banner's statement. Disrespect? Where the fuck did that come from?! Did he really think Tony was disrespecting him?
Disrespect means punishment. Stark men are made of iron.
"No, sir. I don't mean to be disrespectful," Tony said quickly, dropping his head and keeping his forearm up in a halfhearted shield over his abdomen.
"Oh god," Dr. Banner whispered, barely loud enough for Tony to hear, though he could tell his teacher was wrecked.
Tony peeked from under his eyelashes, startling at the visage of Dr. Banner holding himself up by the whiteboard, his shoulders silently shaking. Tony scooted back to the table, a hot flush of shame creeping up his neck at his reaction. Dr. Banner wasn't going to hurt him. If anything, he always saved Tony, even if he didn't know it.
"Anthony," Dr. Banner called, his voice hoarse. "Who hit you?"
"I fell, sir," Tony recited, even as his insides went cold. He wanted to tell everyone how much of a dick his father was, how Tony was always alone, how his father belittled and demeaned him because Tony was 'normal'.
"I see. Why did you get into a fight in gym class?"
"Barton was being an ass," Tony griped, fiddling with the pages of the textbook, not wanting to relive Clint's taunts.
"Have you been purposely getting lower grades than you deserve?"
"Yes," Tony answered absently, still plucking at the pages, closing the front cover to get a look at the publisher, and making a note to correct them about page 343. In the thirty seconds that it took Tony's brain to register his slip up, Dr. Banner had slammed his hands on the desk and was leaning well into Tony's personal space.
"Anthony. Why have you been holding back in my class?"
"Reasons," Tony muttered, looking away. He tried to fidget with the book more, but his teacher took it and slammed it shut, forcing Tony to meet his gaze. It seemed as if betrayal and worry were warring for supremacy in those hazel depths, and Tony had to look away first.
"Today's class was straight from the textbook. Read chapter ten, if you need to," Dr. Banner quipped, his voice flat as he retreated to his desk. Tony glanced over his shoulder, despair settling somewhere between his shoulders and his sternum. It lodged itself there, causing him to bite back a gasp as it took his breath away. He'd gone and disappointed one of the few people that mattered to him.
Good things couldn't last forever, right?
Stark men were made of iron.
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