Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey pop, how come your show called you “Girl Adventurer” if you're a boy?”

The TV shuts off abruptly, followed by the boys groaning loudly in dismay. It has been Hank asking the question that time, as Rusty rubs the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Because boys, your father wasn't always a man in his life. Didn't I explain this to you already the last hundred times you asked?” He scowls, adjusting his glasses with an annoyed huff.

“Oh, yeah. You're a transformer right?” It was Dean’s turn to say something stupid. Which earns him a prompt (but mostly gentle) bonk on the head with the remote. Before rusty drops it back between the two teenagers.

“Dean it's transgender,” A deep voice cuts in before Rusty can open his mouth to speak. Brock, who stood off by the window.

“Yeah dingus, pops not a robot toy!” Hank joins in, “Pop cut his peepee off, not turned into a car!”

“Hank-” Brock starts to speak.

“I did NOT cut my penis off Hank, I never had one! Seriously, how do you two not know this?! I’ll need to update your beds.” Rusty huffs, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. Seriously, how did he give birth to such idiots?

He was a man of genius! And these two were so… Not.

“Don't be too hard on em doc… Their memories probably got screwy with the last cloning..” Brock whispers into Rusty’s ear, massive calloused hand placing gently on his shoulder.

Rusty sighs. “Fine..” He whispers back. As he turns to leave back to his lab.

“Whatcha whispering about?” He flinches as he hears Dean ask. Quickly jerking his head back to look at his son. Putting on a scowl.

“Grown up scientist things! And what your Christmas present is- NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS,” He huffs. Which somehow, is enough to satisfy the curious teens.

Smooth…

—

“You're having a beautiful baby girl, Mr and Mrs Venture, isn't that lovely?” A cheery nurse sings, turning back from the screen toward the expecting parents.

Jonas Venture stands over his wife, grinning from ear to ear as she looks up at him. Laughing happily.

“Oh Jonas! Isn’t that wonderful!”

“Oh yes darling, it's amazing..” He'd grumbled, looking away. Not even bothering to believably feign excitement. “Just wonderful..”

Later.

“I could have had a son, Rusty. But you ruined that. You know that? You ruined that.” Jonas would say to him when he would have a little too much to drink. How many nights he'd hear it as a young girl he lost count.

Barely 8, hearing how much his father hated him for being born as the ‘lesser sex’ in his eyes. How he had better have a son when he grew older.

“Give me a damn proper Grandson to carry on our legacy. Make all this shit worth it.”

But somehow, his father still found some way to make SOMETHING from this.

“Maybe it's time for a young GIRL adventurer, right Rusty?” His father would say, placing a hand on his small shoulder. It wasn't ever a question, more a demand.

Make me some money at least, to make up for failing me this badly by being born.

And somehow, a little freckle faced red headed girl fighting monsters worked. People loved little Talia.

But…

Well. That wasn't him.

–

Jonas has wanted a son so badly. But his wife, Rusty’s mother. Well. She had died before he could really even form memories. Sickness or a villain attack?

Rusty still never figured that out.

So why? Why when he tried to approach his father wanting to give him one. Why wasn't he happy?

Rusty was 13. Holding chunks of red hair and scissors in his hands as he runs up excitedly to his father. Holding them up and bouncing on his feet.

“Pop! Daddy look!” He cheerfully started. As his father looked down from his desk wide eyes. Foolishly, he had thought it was excitement at first. “I'm a boy now! I can be a boy now!”

“Talia you little bitch!” His father had roared, pushing to his feet. The chair fell with a boom. And the scissors had ended up through his hand when he fell. A stinging pain across his little face. Jonas had slapped him so hard he threw him to the ground.

“No daughter of mine will be a dyke!”

He hadn't understood it then. Why? Why was he so angry? Hadn't he wanted a son? He would always talk about how disappointing it was to only have a daughter, that he just wanted a boy adventurer.

Rusty hadn't brought the subject up for a long time after that.

But the short hair did WONDERS for the show, and that meant he could keep it.

Thanks dad.

He was 17 when he brought it up again. Well, it hadn't been him.

It was when his father hugged him, posing for a picture after his 'graduation’ and noticed a suspicious lack of a raised chest.

He yanked Rusty’s shirt off as soon as they got home to see the bandages wrapped tightly around Rusty’s chest.

And simply… Sighed.

“Fine.” He said. “Be whatever you want at that stupid college. Just bring me home a damn grandson once this phase is over.”

Well. He couldn't really keep that promise could he? Not then anyway.

Somehow his father didn't seem as enraged when he helped pay for those little vials and a proper chest binder. Or when he found some loopholes to get his name changed.

Maybe he just didn't need to worry so much about the profit anymore. Rusty was too old to be the girl adventurer anymore.

Or maybe the promise of a grandson was enough to tolerate this. Good ol dads vision of his only child going from profit, to womb.

But college, it could be different right? Something resembling relief rushes over Rusty as the last box is shoved into the tiny dorm. Freedom.

For a while, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Brock pull over, I need to go now,” Rusty grunts. Watching as his bodyguard gives an annoyed grunt. Gripping the steering wheel.

“We've only been driving for thirty minutes Doc,” The large man huffs; But he seems to watch for rest stops anyways.

“Well you push kids out of your body and tell me how well you can hold it!” The small man laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. Grinning when he makes Brock visibly cringe.

“Okay! I get it! I don't don't need to hear about that, come on man!” He groans. As he turns the car into the exit lane.

“It's just nature, Brock. Come on, and besides, why can't we just use the X-1? We’d have been there by now.” He leans back in the seat, fingers tapping impatiently against his arm as he looks out the window.

“Because this is a very remote secret base we're going to Doc, we can't just take a fucking jet there. We have to be subtle.” Brock grumbles, brow twitching in irritation as he grips the steering wheel. Knuckles white.

“Tch. Maybe then they should have sent a more subtle invitation, what kind of super secret spy organization sends their mail with wax seals?”

“This one does, now shut up Or I'm passing this gas station and you're gonna wait until we find another one.” Brock shoots a glare at the grumpy scientist, until Rusty’s mouth thinned in an annoyed line and he looks away.

“Fine, but don't expect me to go in there alone, who knows what's hiding in some run down shithole in the middle of nowhere!” Rusty huffs, waving a hand up in annoyance.

“I'm not going with you to piss doc,” Brock turns the car into the parking lot, tires screeching as he pulls into a spot. He looks up, staring at the rundown gas station, windows dirty and cracked in some places. Litter blowing about in the crisp autumn winds. And his brows furrow, looking down at Rusty who practically shrunk in his seat. Eyes on a few sketchy people lurking around the side of the gas station in a small group. Before locking back into Brock’s gaze with a nervous look.

“Okay yeah, I'll go in with you.”

Rusty would have bailed immediately, if not for the fact he hadn't been exaggerating about how badly he needed to go. As they step out of the car, the group averts their gazes upon seeing Brock stand up straight, closing the doors and locking them as he quickly loops around to keep close to Rusty. And they go inside.

The clerk looks up from a magazine when the door’s bell chimes. Definitely an older man, tired and certainly done with it all.

“Bathrooms over there.” The clerk grunts, pointing toward the back before looking back to his magazine. “Not like anyone comes for anything else…”

“Thanks.” Brock says, and practically pushes Rusty toward it. Which earns him an annoyed look from the scientist.

But still, Rusty shuffles over toward it as best he can manage without his bladder bursting and pushes the door open, grimacing at the grim look of the mens room. Half the stalls didn't have doors and the ones that did, the locks were probably busted. But thankfully, it seemed only Brock was there with him. And well, it wouldn't be anything he hadn't seen before.

“Hurry it up Doc, I don't like the look of this place.” Brock grumbles.

“Oh please, like I like it either.” Rusty scoffs, going into the stall and pushing it shut. Groaning at the sight of the toilet. Of course, whoever used it last was disgusting. Not even bothering to lift the seat. “Oh that's foul, if I’d known years ago that THIS was what I'd deal with in men's rooms I would have stayed a damn woman.”

“Weren’t you the one saying all that about birth and shit and your bladder, hurry up,” Brock growls.

And Rusty rolls his eyes and elects to just hover, flushing with his foot once he's done. Pushing the stall open and taking one look at the grimey sink… And he pulls the hand sanitizer out of the pocket of his speedsuit.

“Okay there, all done. Lets just go okay,”

“Hold on, I need to grab some cigarettes first.” Brock says, patting his pockets. He’d need more.. If he was going to survive several more hours of this.

“Oh come OOONN, please tell me you aren't going to smoke in the car with me. I have delicate lungs, you know!” Rusty whines as they walk back up to the counter. His towering bodyguard leaned over the counter to get the Clerk’s attention.

“Yeah, sure you do.”

Chapter Text

“A ROOMMATE? Are you killing me?!”

“Yes, his name is Brock Samson, he's a freshman.” The RA sighs, already rubbing his temples in frustration as the redheaded sophomore sits before him, arms crossed.

“That's ridiculous! I had to sit through all that paperwork about having a room to myself!” Rusty scoffs, leaning back in the chair and glaring down at his feet. “My dad even had to come up here about it! Now I have to call him and ask him to come up here again?!”

“Look, about that… It was your father that sent us this to have the plan changed, I don't really like it either with your situation but they’re twisting my arm on this.” The RA pushes over the paper. As Rusty’s eyes widen as he gawks down at it, skimming over it. His heart drops as he sees the familiar signature down at the bottom.

“Wh… Are you shitting me!” He jerks to his feet, grabbing the paper in his hands and stammering. Crumpling the sides from how hard he grips it before throwing it back to the desk. “Where does he get off doing this shit!?”

“He moves in next week, so.. That should give you time to-.” The RA starts, but Rusty is already storming out before he can finish.

He didn't understand it! What was his dad thinking? He had to know this was a stupid if not dangerous idea! Sure, he was able to pass pretty well with the testosterone injections, but his dad flat out refused to let him get any surgeries, claiming “We can't reverse those if you change your mind”. If he even changed his shirt with a roommate around, they'd know immediately that something was up. He could get harassed, or worse. A complete stranger in his room with him, a strange MAN.

To say he was pissed was an understatement, and even that was nothing compared to the sheer anxiety washing over him. He was already shaking as he practically sprinted down the stairs and into the floor of his dorm room, hands trembling as he digs through his pocket for his roomkey.

“Hey TS, ya alright pally?” A familiar voice cuts through his thoughts. And he spins around to see the pimply pale face of his albino classmate. They shared a few classes together, and happened to like the same nerdy things.

“Not now Pete, I have to call my dad.” Rusty huffs, unlocking the door with a click and shoving it open.

“What he do this time? Try an’ send girly clothes again?” Pete doesn't seem to get the hint, inviting himself into the room as Rusty grabs the phone, before turning and dropping it back down.

“No! Worse! He decided to tell the school to give me a roommate!” He throws himself onto his bed, “Behind my back! And he gives then these fat wads of cash so of course they're gonna just do whatever he says!”

Pete is quiet for a moment, sitting down next to him.

“Oh jeez, you think they're actually gonna do it?”

“They already did, he's coming in next week.” Rusty grumbles. “Now I have to hide all my shit and find somewhere else to change whenever he gets here.”

Pete sighs. Giving Rusty a small pat on the shoulder.

Pete was a decent guy, he hadn't even originally told him. But with Pete’s tendency to just let himself in whenever the door was unlocked, it had to happen some day. When he'd forgotten to lock the door while getting changed, But… When he had walked in, and realized pretty quickly. He simply… Didn't care. He just shrugged and walked out. Only mentioning it a few days later when he asked how he managed to get a good amount of facial hair going when Pete himself could barely get even any body hair.

He could trust him.

“You can uh. Come change in my room if you need to.”

“Thanks…” He sighs, as Pete stands up. Walking to the door.

“I’ll tell Mike he should just come study in my room today, you should call your dad.” And he walks out, closing the door behind him. And Rusty groans. Walking to the phone and dialing the number.

It rings a few times, before a woman’s voice speaks.

“Hello? This is Jonas's secretary Karen, he is a bit busy at the moment so if you could tell me your name and reason for calling I can leave a mess-”

“I know damn well he isn't, tell him his SON needs to talk to him.” Rusty cuts her off, foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

“Oh! Rusty, of course let me just…” She gasps. And seems to call out away from the phone. “Ah! Dr Venture, sir… It's Talia… Can you-”

Rusty grimaces hearing his deadname, and would say something but his father's voice is on the line before he can even open his mouth.

“Rusty! What a surprise, usually I'm the one calling you,” His father's voice is booming even through the phone, and he has to hold it away from his ear a bit.

“Yeah, hi dad. What the fuck is your problem sending a letter about giving me a roommate?!” Rusty didn't intend to yell into the phone, but he did. Rage bubbling back up into his chest just hearing his father's voice right now.

“Oh. Well.” Jonas is audibly taken aback by this, clearing his throat over the line. “I thought you could use the real college experience, and having a roommate is-”

“Are you INSANE? You want me to bunk up with some guy I don't know?? Aren't you the one who tried to get me in the GIRL building because ‘Oh it isn't safe’?!” Rusty feels like he might explode, voice cracking as he grips the phone tightly enough his fingers ache.

“Well you are the one who insisted on being in the male building, wanting to ‘keep it subtle’,” Jonas's voice is laced with poorly hidden irritation.

“Yeah! But in the fucking single bed rooms! Which by the way you practically threw money at them for! It's embarrassing enough that I have to walk all the way across campus to get to the private shower room YOU insisted on!”

“You-” Jonas starts. But pauses, the deep breath he takes is audible through the phone. “Look. If you want to be a man so badly you have to act like it now! And that means you have to live like one,”

“Wh-” Rusty gawks for a moment, sputtering before his father interrupts him again.

“Real men live with other men in college and they don't whine about it, so you deal with having a roommate or you live in the women's dorms like I told you before.” Jonas’s voice cuts into him like a razor blade, laced with a venom he rarely heard so… obvious.

“Dad this isn't fair-” Rusty tries to say, his anger in his own voice fading and replaced by a scared tremble.

“I don't want to hear it Rusty, I've put up with this life you want to live, so now you have to prove you aren't wasting my time and money. It's the roommate, or you drop this “being a man” thing. And that's that.” Jonas is firm.

Rusty swallows dryly, voice wavering as all he can say is a tiny “Ok.”

“Alright. Now daddy has to get back to work, now be good and get back to your studying pumpkin,” The way Jonas’s voice somehow switches right back to sweet and doting is… far from comforting.

“Okay, bye dad..” Rusty mumbles, slumping in defeat.

“Goodbye, remember daddy loves you,” Jonas says, as the call ends with a loud click. Leaving Rusty with the low buzzing. And he slowly puts the phone back down. Turning slowly to his bed and throwing himself into it.

His eyes well with tears and he grabs his pillow, letting out a muffled frustrated scream into it.

Chapter Text

Rusty hated parties. Especially frat parties. It reminded him too much of the kind his father would have, too much noise and horny morons sucking face and practically dry humping each other. At least at this one he could actually have some of the free booze littered just about everywhere.

He only even came because Pete insisted they all come. And it gave him some freedom from hearing his roommate groan like some kind of brain-dead walrus with whatever cheerleader hurled herself at him that night. Seriously, why couldn't he just go to THEIR rooms for once? It was like he wasn't even there whenever the dude wanted to get his rocks off. And no matter how many times he complained, his father would simply say “Men have their needs, get used to it” and the spineless RA would simply shrug.

But this wasn't all that better, as he resigned to lurking with a cup of beer in the least populated corner he could. Pete was nowhere to be found, and Mike scurried off saying something about “I wanna see if Leslie is here.”

Typical.

So he was simply sitting there now, nursing on the lightest beer he could find in the mess of a folding table loaded with alcohol and whatever hellish concoction of six different kinds of vodka they dumped into a bucket of red Kool-aid. Trying to avoid a headache from the booming music and toxic fumes of hormonal body odor filling the house. Debating if the complaining he’d get from Pete in the morning would be worth sneaking his way out.

That is until, he’s suddenly joined by a familiar bushy browed brick wall of a man. He looks up from his cup, sighing.

“Pete managed to drag you here too, Werner?” He asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Ja. But he seems to have vanished somewhere,” Werner sighs in a heavy accent. He was alone this time, it seemed. Without the little scrawny dude who usually followed him around like a lost puppy.

“What happened to your babysitter?” Rusty snarks, motioning at the empty space behind Werner. Who chuckles slightly as he rubs the back of his thick neck.

“Ah. He had to return home, mein father fell ill again and he was needed there.” He admits sheepishly, looking over the party.

At first, Rusty had thought the guy was German or something, based on his accent and occasional language switch. But eventually Werner had (rather proudly infact) explained he was from a tiny country called Ünderland, apparently formed by a bunch of German settlers who set up shop smack dab between Canada and the US, right on the border of Michigan. And somehow, he was next in line to rule it. But his mother insisted he study abroad in America to “gain some perspective”.

But why he went here of all places was beyond him.

“Man. That sucks,” Is all he can muster. Looking down at his almost empty cup. Sighing as he swallows the last bit down and tosses his cup into a nearby overflowing trash can.

“Yes, but I do not have someone around to tattle to my parents about everything I do now,” Werner says with a grin, and a deep laugh.

“Oh, nice.” Rusty can't help but laugh a little.

He didn't really know the guy all too well at first, and frankly he was a little scared of him. Both from the sheer size and intimidating aura he carried, and from how Pete would complain about him. Until that is, his old lab partner in Professor Impossible’s class went and “accidentally” spilled a whole beaker of peroxide onto him and got himself kicked from the class for as he called it “dillydaddling”. So then he needed a new partner, and Impossible went and stuck him with Werner. Sure, he was pissed at first. But that faded when he learned pretty quickly that Werner was very particular about being careful when it came to lab work.

And that he was nowhere near as huge a dick as Pete said he was. At least, not to Rusty anyway. He was a lot funnier than he let on, and outside of the lab work he had no qualms in goofing around when they could get away with it. Much to Professor Impossible’s immense dismay. And, he learned. Werner had a special affinity for talking shit.

And dear God.

Did Rusty love talking shit.

“I'm just imagining if my dad sent helper here with me, I think I'd lose my shit.” He straightens up from leaning on the wall.

“I think he would have been thrown down the stairs by the football team before that,” Werner jokes. Eliciting a snort from Rusty.

But it seemed before they could continue to shoot the shit, they are interrupted by a tall blonde with curls and more hairspray than Rusty could imagine. Who leans over to Werner with a drunk grin as she grabs onto his arm.

“Aren't you like, that foreign exchange student who came here this year~” She giggles. As Rusty watches Werner’s face go red as he flusters. “You're like, a prince or something right?”

“Ah, I’m a Baron actually-”

“Oh that's so cool~! Me and my girlfriends are totes into royal guys, you should come say hi,”

Before Rusty can really get a word in to try and tell her that her drunken flirting was interrupting their conversation, she's already practicing dragging Werner off into the sea of people. Who looks back at him with a look of half apology and half a plea for help. But Rusty would be powerless anyway, and can only watch as Werner’s massive frame disappears among the crowd.

“Great,” He scoffs, crossing his arms as he is left alone again. And he feels a pang of jealousy in his chest. He was never dragged off by giggling drunk women, or even really looked at by them to begin with. Sure, he had a rich dad. But he wasn't built like Werner was, or have any fancy accent. Hell, he was fairly certain if a woman did find any interest in him she'd probably leer in disgust the moment she got his shirt off and realized.

Suddenly being inside feels suffocating, and the music and constant stink of BO was too much to bear. His eyes dart around for a way outside, and he spots the sliding door to the backyard open. He practically sprints to it, stumbling out as he damn near trips over a pile of discarded beer cans and bottles. Hissing through his teeth as he feels the cold night air on his arms. Breathing in sharply as he rubs them, stepping out onto the stone porch.

But the peace isn't near long enough. As he hears a chorus of laughs from his side. Looking over to see half of the football team and the cheerleaders around and in the pool. One of them had noticed him almost immediately, chugging a beer before honing in.

“Come on and swim, Venture! I wanna see what you got under there!” He barks out, splashing in the pool as he laughs. One of the cheerleaders punches his arm, but is giggling the whole time.

“Oh leave him alone Brad, be nice!”

“Cmon Kimberly, I wanna see if they cut his tits off!” The dickhead, Brad, slurs out. Followed by his other drunk friends laughing and joining in. “Cmon! Show us your tits!”

Rusty looks away, breathing in through his nose. He just had to ignore them, maybe they'll drown with how many of them were obviously stumbling around or shoving each other down under the water. But it was difficult, with how loud they were. Practically barking at him and hollering out drunken nonsense.

“Yo! Tranny! I'm talking to you!” Brad finally yells, stumbling as he tries to climb out of the water. Hands slipping on the wet tiles around the pool. Much to the delight of his drunk friends.

“Brad!” Kimberly gasps, her giggling stopping. “You can't say that!”

And then they started arguing. Which gave Rusty ample time to turn around and start going back inside. Electing now was the time to leave through the front door and walk back to the dorm.

But the moment he steps back through the door something hard slams into him. Beer cups toppling and crushing against his chest. Soaking through his shirt almost immediately. He looks up, eyes wide as he locks gaze with another one of the football players. Who was wearing his jersey backwards (the idiot).

“Oh shit-! I'm sorry I didn't see you-” The guy starts stammering, backing up as his thick hands grasp onto Rusty’s shoulders. Catching him from his inevitable fall onto his ass. “My bad man.”

He's fairly certain he's ready to cry, as he shakes his arms and several cups worth of beer spatter off onto the floor. And he realizes he's completely drenched in it. He looks back up again, and realizes he recognizes the guy.

Well, sort of. He only really knew him as the guy who gave him weed in return for doing some of his homework for him. Which was practically something he could do in his sleep with how easy it was. But apparently impossible for this guy. But the jock's weed supply was hardly enough for him to be any less pissed about the fact he was drenched with beer.

“Yeah, whatever.” He grumbles, utterly defeated as he steps to the side to try and pass him. But he catches him by the shoulder pulling him back.

“Hold on TS, let me get you a new shirt, cmon.” The guy insists.

“Scott, I'm just leaving it's fine-” He tries to protest, until Scott reaches into his pocket and flashes up a ziplock baggy of weed.

“New shirt and a little sesh first, yeah?” Scott grins. Hand still on Rusty’s shoulder. And slowly, Rusty sighs.

He was pretty stressed out. And it was hard to say no to free weed. So he surrenders, nodding.

And then he’s led upstairs, until they reach a bedroom with a flashy nameplate that reads “Scott” on it. While the dude is practically grinning ear to ear. Opening it and gently nudging Rusty in. And once the door is closed, the music is muffled pretty well.

“Didn’t know you lived here,” Rusty mutters, as he watches Scott start digging through his closet.

“Oh yeah, me and a bunch of the guys on the team do. Only a coupla blocks away from the school so, it work's pretty good.” He answers.

Rusty looks around a moment, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands there awkwardly. As Scott pulls out a bong from under a pile of laundry. Grinning as he turns around with it.

“That's not a shirt,” Rusty blurts, but smiles a little too.

“Oh yeah, I'd have to dig through and see if I still got any of my little brother's stuff around still. I don't think any of my shirts would fit ya,” Scott grins. As he pours water from a water bottle into the bong. Pulling the weed baggie back out from his pocket. And sitting down on the bed. Patting for Rusty to join him.

Hesitantly, Rusty sits down too. Watching as Scott quickly gets it ready, packing a few nuggets in and lighting it up. Taking a deep inhale before passing it over to Rusty. Grinning sheepishly.

“It’s good shit,” He coughs slightly. “Promise,”

“Good,” Rusty says, before leaning in and taking a deep inhale. The bubbling loud as he suddenly pulls back, coughing as the burn settles deep in his chest. Damn near dropping it, but Scott quickly takes it and takes a hit before setting it down.

Rusty coughs again, hand on his chest as he leans forward. Groaning as his head already starts to swim.

“You alright?” Scott asks. And Rusty waves a hand at him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Damn.” He sputters as he catches his breath. “Damn.”

It was much stronger than the stuff Scott usually sold him.

“Haha.. Sorry, shoulda warned you.” Scott leans down and lifts the bong back up, holding it up to Rusty again.

Stupidly, he takes it again. Holding it tighter as he inhales. Much less this time. Coughing as he hands it back.

“Yup. Okay.. That's good, I'm good.” He sputters. Regretting it quickly as the full effect from the first hit decides to creep up. And he damn near flops back in the bed, catching himself with his arms. Scott laughs as he puts the bong up on the desk, before grabbing a beer can and chugging it down.

Rusty watches with lazy eyes as he digs out a shirt from the closet that was visibly smaller than anything a jock would fit. Turning back and tossing it onto the bed. He expects him to turn away so he can change, but Scott doesn't. As he saunters over and stands up in front of him. Grinning.

“You're pretty cute, yaknow TS?”

What.

“Huh?” Rusty looks up at him. Eyes wide. Was he just so high he was hearing things? Because there was no way he heard that correctly.

“You're cute,” Scott repeats, as he leans down. Hands on either side of Rusty. Rusty leans back, assaulted by the smell of beer on his breath. Sputtering as his face goes red.

“I uh. Think you might've had too much to drink man,” He starts, trying to wiggle away and get up. But he feel's hands grab his wrists, Scott pushing him against the bed between his body. Rusty reels, and it feels like his heart jumped to his throat.

“You're so small ‘n shit, it's cute,”

“And you're wasted, this isn't funny anymore,” Rusty sputters. Wriggling as he tries to pull free. Scott lets go of his wrists, and Rusty starts to pull himself up. But he feels Scott’s hands travel elsewhere, grasping his wet shirt and yanking. The buttons snap, and Rusty’s ears start ringing. He yells, but he's fairly certain the music is too loud for anyone to hear him.

“Stoppit, stop freakin out,” Scott slurs. And Rusty kicks at him to no avail, as he feels his hand grasp onto his chest. He yelps, nailing a kick into Scott’s balls. Scott reels back, hissing through his teeth. “Fuck! Youfuckingbitch!”

Rusty starts to hurry to sit up, but he feels a hard slap across his cheek. Head jerking to the side as he feels the sting.

“Fuck!” Scott yells, “I gave you weed, what the fuck is your deal?!”

Rusty feels his hands grab around his arms, shoving him back down. Sheer panic washes over his body now, heart racing as he stammers for a reply.

Then. BOOM!

The door slams open, and Scott is yanked up by the jersey in a massive hand. And before Rusty has time to process what is happening he hears the sound of a fist slam into Scott’s face. Throwing him to the floor with a loud cry.

“FUCKFUCKGOD MY NOSE-!” Scott yells. Hands grasping his face as blood leaks between his fingers. “You broke my NOSE!”

Rusty pulls his ruined shirt together, looking up to see fucking Werner standing there, fists still balled as he looms over Scott. Who was starting to cry on the ground.

“Werner-?” Rusty starts. But stops when he feels Werners jacket hit him in the chest. And he quickly throws it over his shoulders, scampering to his feet.

“We should leave now.” Werner says, and dear God he couldn't agree more.

Rusty pulls the jacket tight over his chest, as he quickly follows Werner down the stairs. Looking back only briefly to see Scott wobble to his feet, slamming the door shut.

“...An’ Mike totally saw her talking to the guys in the pool and ran out practically- Oh my God TS?!” Pete’s voice cuts into Rusty’s ears as he hurried toward the door. And he freezes. And Werner freezes. “Are you okay pally what happened?”

“We are leaving.” Werner cuts, grasping Rusty’s shoulder just a bit too tight.

Pete must have noticed the panic on his face, or the sheer rage on Werner’s. Because he nods, walking over.

“Okay,” Pete says. As they shove through the crowd and outside. “What the hell happened?”

Rusty pulls the jacket tighter around himself, wheezing as he tries to answer. But all that leaves is a shaky sob.

“I-I don’t… Want to talk about it,” He manages, as they walk out of the yard and onto the sidewalk. And Werner holds him tightly to his side.

“I do not either.” The larger grunts.

Pete simply sighs, and leans against Rusty too as they walk.

Chapter Text

His ears are ringing, and there's an agonizing pain in his leg. 

 That's all Rusty can gauge for a brief moment. As he sluggishly pulls himself up on his elbows. Groaning as the splitting in his head throbs as he moves. And his vision is pure white for a moment, as his eyes flutter back open. He tries to sit up further, when the burning in his leg shoots through his entire body. 

 “Agh! Fuck!” He cries, voice stuttering and breaking as he blinks the stars from his eyes. And his gaze falls to his leg. Which was, most upsettingly, impaled on a jagged metal spike. Even without his glasses, he could see that. He hisses through his teeth, running his hand through his bluntly cut red hair, pushing it off of his forehead. And his fingers smear through blood until catching on a gash near his temple. 

 “God- fuck!” He throws his hands back down onto the stone ground, feeling desperately against it until he lightly feels his fingers graze against his glasses. Which he rapidly puts on, groaning as he finds them to be cracked badly on one side. But at the very least, he had some respite from the blur around him. He looks again to his leg, which thankfully was the only thing impaled on the spike trap he narrowly avoided falling onto. 

And he curses his father for putting him in this situation. For putting him in any of these situations. As he pulls of his jacket, biting down on it as he yanks his leg free. 

–

Rusty had somehow, survived until his 16th birthday. Though a massive disaster that had ended up being. 

 The party, if he could even call it that, was clearly more suited to further fueling his fathers ego. Surrounded by modelesque women in tiny bikinis and what he was very certain were prostitutes. While he stood awkwardly by the pool, thin and spindly with acne on his face. Pulling down the wet t-shirt he wore over the bikini he argued against wearing tooth and nail. 

 His father only agreed on the shirt when Rusty began crying that he was worried the top would fall off in the pool. But not without a lecture from his father over how “Girls your age wear these kinds of things all the time, you're becoming a woman now Rusty! Don't be ashamed of your budding figure!”

 But of course, Rusty was. It all felt wrong. As he gazed momentarily between the women his father was flirting with, and the men at the party. He certainly didn’t look like the women there, with tits spilling from their tops and bottoms hardly enough to contain their asses. And he looked nothing like the men there, with tall frames and broad shoulders. 

 He crosses his arms over his chest awkwardly, as he becomes suddenly very self aware of how the wet tshirt clung to his skin. And how it had gone translucent. And with a groan of resignation, he sheepishly pulls it off to try and wring out some of the water back into the pool. Hunching down as best he could, as if it would hide how exposed he felt. 

 “I want to go back inside,” He finally says, as Helper beeps enthusiastically and begins wheeling over with a towel. 

 “Oh come on lass, you’ll miss all the fun!” Colonel Gentleman piped up from behind him. Startling him. “Your pops just about to make the toast to you,” 

 “Fine, but then I’m going inside,” Rusty huffs. Wringing at the shirt harder until his knuckles turned white (or at the very least, whiter than his normal alabaster skin). 

 “And now, the woman of the hour! Rusty Venture!” Jonas’s voice cuts through the air like he's on a loudspeaker, and Rusty looks up to see his father, raising a champagne glass with that infuriating smile. As the other guest's eyes fall onto him. His cheeks run red, as he nervously straightens his posture, dropping the shirt in the process. 

 But it seemed, before his father could continue his speech, disaster struck. 

 He couldn't react when he noticed The Action Man with the shrink ray, much less when he felt his bikini top yanked from off his shoulders. 

 Rusty only heard a fraction of the collective gasp of the party goers, before being pushed roughly down into the pool. With no time to catch his breath before he submerges, water fills his nose, and chlorine burns his eyes. And the sounds of muffled laughter is clear even underwater. 

 He’s crying before he even feels himself pulled out from the pool. Coughing and sputtering as the water burns the inside of his throat and nostrils. And it takes a good minute before his eyes stop stinging enough to see, as Jonas tries to gently lay the towel over him. Instead, he snatches it, shakily standing as he lets out a sob. 

 All eyes were on him, as a silence fell over the party. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and tension so high you could cut it with a knife. 

 “Rusty-” Jonas tries to speak, reaching to help Rusty stand. But instead, Rusty swats them away. Trembling as he tries to hold back his tears. 

 “Just leave me alone!” He hisses, and pulls the towel tight around his body as he runs back inside. Slamming the door behind him as he makes his way back to his room. Praying he wasn't followed, as he drops to the floor. He finally lets himself cry without hesitation, body wracking over as he sobs. 

 Utter humiliation, utter and complete humiliation. 

 He could only imagine what they were saying now. Were they all laughing about him? Laughing at his body, how thin it was? How wrong it was? 

 He drags the towel against his skin until it felt raw, damn near tearing off the bathing suit before throwing it across the room. Yanking out a drawer from his dresser as he drags on something dry. His pajama pants, and the loosest shirt he could find. Before falling to his knees again, and crying all over again. 

 It was supposed to be his birthday. It was his fucking birthday. 

 He wasn't sure how long it was until he heard a quiet knock at his door, rubbing his eyes and sniffling as his fathers voice came through the hardwood. 

 “Talia-! Rusty? Can I come in?” His tone is gentler than usual, though clearly frustrated. As even the great Jonas Venture couldn't mask that. 

 “No.” Rusty sniffs, hiccuping as he crawls onto his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest. 

 He hears Jonas sigh, and a slight thunk against the door. 

 “Pumpkin please I-...” Jonas pauses a moment, before speaking again. “Everyone left, it’s just me okay?” 

 Rusty looks up at the door, wiping his eyes. Though the blotches on his face remain. 

“Okay…” He concedes, and the door creaks open as Jonas ducks through. Holding a small plate of cake in his other hand. And seemingly nervously, he sits next to Rusty. Placing the cake on one of the panels. 

 The mattress sinks, and Rusty feels himself tilt towards his father. Though he doesn't right himself when Jonas puts an arm around him. 

 He doesn't find comfort in it, he tries. He swears that he tries. 

 “I… I’m sorry they ruined your party like that,” Jonas seems to be trying too, to comfort him. But it's an impossible task, as a deep coldness fills the room. 

 Even in his fathers arms, Rusty couldn't feel any further from him. 

 “Th-they humiliated me, in front of everyone!” He feels the tears in his eyes again, and he curls tighter into himself. Wincing away from his fathers touch. “Everyone saw it! The shrinking gun! Everything!” 

 “We… I. I can fix it, Rusty.” Jonas tries. He truly seems to, at least. 

 But he always gets it wrong. 

 It must have been in their nature. 

 “Whatever…” Rusty sniffles. “I just want to go to bed now,” 

 Jonas sighs as he stands up, looking down at Rusty with an expression he can't quite read. 

 “Alright Pumpkin…” He begins to leave, but before he goes through the door. He turns back to Rusty. “How about tomorrow, we do one last adventure? Just you, me, and helper?” 

 “Okay…” Rusty says. Though not because he particularly wants to. It was simply impossible to say no. 

Chapter Text

 Jonas Venture was dead. Rusty had a hard time grasping that, as he stared out the car window. At first, when his (now ex) roommate told him that when he'd finally gotten out of the hospital, he thought he was simply lying. Maybe the big bastard was fucking with him. 

 Of course, when his father failed to show up to see him he hardly questioned it. The bastard was up on his space station, showing off his movies and all that tech. Surely, it wasn't any other reason. 

 Surely. 

 But when he’d gotten back to his room, and the phone rang. His stomach sank. He already knew before he answered, as Karen’s shaky voice came through the phone. He could tell she had been crying, before she even got past her greeting. 

 “Oh Tal- Thaddeus. Oh god, your dad… he’s…” 

 “I know…” Was all he could say, before she even finished. And he sighed. “I know Karen, someone… already told me.” 

 “I’m so sorry, honey… Halfway through your degree too I-” She went silent, and he could tell she turned away from the phone to cry. “A-and Helper, he's such a mess right now. And you just got out of the hospital, everything is so terrible-” 

 Rusty rubs the bridge of his nose, as he finds it hard to stay standing. He felt… numb. 

 “I-I know I… I can come back home, I..” 

 “Oh baby. No! No… Y-you can't, you have to finish school. I can… I can hold things down here, okay?” Karen sniffles. “I still have his blueprints and we have people I can… I can figure this out for you,” 

 “I… Thank you…” Rusty sits. “I… I’m sorry I gotta go, I gotta… I have class,” 

 “Of course… of course baby, goodbye.” 

–

 Everything else felt like such a slog, as he slumps back in his seat. Staring blankly at the whiteboard as the professor continued on about the stock market. 

 He never even wanted to take a business class, but his father insisted. It was laughable now, that he was still attending the classes his father insisted on. What was the point now? The bastard was dead anyways, it's not like he could lecture him anymore. 

 He continued to simply sit there, hardly even paying attention. He just felt.. empty. 

 It wasn't that he felt particularly sad about it all. He certainly wouldn't miss the constant calls about if he’d changed his mind about his identity. Or the adventures he would be forced on. Or the times he’d been kidnapped over and over, waiting weeks sometimes before his dad would seem to remember to show up and save him. 

 Yet something still gnawed at him. A guilt, maybe? A guilt over how indifferent he felt?

 Weeks had passed, and his grades began to slip steeply. His professors tried to be understanding, they really did. But some grew frustrated, having him stay behind once everyone left. 

 Especially it seemed, his business professor. 

 “Mr Venture? Before you leave-” 

 Rusty stopped, swallowing dryly as his eyes darted between the door and his teacher. As the other students all filed out, until it was just them. And he nervously watches as he sits back down at his desk. 

 “Uhm… Yeah?” He says, meekly. Already sensing the lecture coming. He corrects himself. “Er, Mr Simmons.” 

 “Look I..” Mr Simmons starts, before clearing his throat, and pulling a chair to the side of his desk. “Here, sit a moment.” 

 Rusty obliges, sitting tensely in the seat, and he says nothing. Preparing himself for the all too common bitch fest he was used to. 

 “I know… That you’re going through a lot right now. With the assault, and the hospital and… Well, your father.” 

 “I’m sorry, I know I keep turning in everything late and.. and I know… I-I.. Mr Simmons I really-” He feels ready to explode in his seat, staring down at his hands in his lap. Which tremble as he folds them together tightly. 

 “Hey.. Hey,” Mr Simmons speaks in an unsettlingly gentle tone, as his large hand places over Rusty’s. Thumb rubbing a slow circle against his knuckles. “Just calm down, okay? Here, just call me Phil right now, pretend I’m not a professor.” 

Rusty looks up, eyes wide a moment as he stares at Phil’s mustached face, which held a very… calm gaze back at him. 

  “A-alright uhm… Phil.” He finds himself relaxing a bit, the tension in his shoulders dropping. 

 “I know it's a lot right now, but there's no shame in taking a break, okay? I don't want to see you fail..” Phil leans in closer, until they're at eye level. “You're gonna get through this, alright?” 

 Rusty isn't sure why his cheeks fall red, or why he hasn't pulled his hands away yet. And his gaze diverts once again. 

 “I… Thank you..” He sniffles, as he tries to blink away tears. “For not being mad at me,” 

 Phil seems to falter a second, hesitantly pulling his hand away. Which seems to be enough, for the tears to fall from Rusty’s eyes. 

 “Oh… Come here,” Phil speaks softly, his voice deep yet somehow… so comforting. As he stands, and kneels down to bring Rusty into a hug. 

 Typically, he would have flinched away or tensed up at most kinds of physical contact, especially now. Yet… Rusty lets himself be held this time. Letting himself lean in. And for once in a long time, he feels… safe. 

 He feels comfort, as strong arms wrap around him. And he closes his eyes, as he leans against his shoulder. Embracing the warmth around him. And he weeps softly, though he isn't sure if it was sadness or joy, perhaps it was a mix of both. 

 “If you need anything, just come to me, okay?” Phil hums, as he rubs a soothing circle into Rusty’s back. “I’ll be here,” 

 “...Thank you…” Rusty hiccups. 

Chapter Text

 “Pop! Hank hid my Giant Boy Detective books again!” Is the first thing he hears when he steps out of the X-1. Groaning as he watches Dean scamper his way into the landing bay. With of course, Hank trailing right behind him. Already denying the accusations. 

 “Why did I even bother with the hassle of getting pregnant if this was what I was going to be dealing with for the rest of my life…” He grumbles under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. As Brock steps out behind him, dropping his duffle bag to the ground loud enough to make Rusty wince a moment. 

 “Boys, your father has just had a long week. And he had a MASSIVE headache, please,” He sighs, as the boys finally make their way to him. Still arguing about god knows what. 

 “Dean’s totally lying! I didn't touch his stupid books, he probably just lost them when he went to read them on the toilet!” Hank argues, which prompts another far too shrill whine from Dean. Much to Rusty(and his headache)’s dismay. 

 “I’m not lying, you're the liar Hank!” 

 Rusty opens his mouth to say something, but is quickly interrupted by Brock’s booming voice, who seemed to also be annoyed by the instant bickering. 

 “Boys! Can we get settled in before we argue about books?” Brock grunts, as he swings the storage panel open with a loud screech. And instantly, the two bickering teens go quiet. 

 “Sorry Brock…” They speak in tandem, before sadly slinking back into the house. And Rusty lets out a sigh of relief, at the temporary silence. 

 “Thank you Brock, I think my head would have exploded if I had to hear them arguing after the bullshit we got back from.” Rusty turns to Brock, watching as the brick wall of a man heaved the heavy crate from the storage. 

 “Yeaaahh… Those conferences are always a headache. Especially the banquet this year…” Brock chuckles a moment, at the memory. 

  “God, what a nightmare. You’d think they'd stop inviting Professor Newtonion after last year when he threw up during his speech, but noooo,” Rusty groans, as he remembers the events. But he laughs, too. 

 “Right, and then he lunged at Dr Ferramohn because she corrected him during the conference,” Brock laughs, as he sets the crate down. Closing the latch behind him as the stairs to the X-1 slide back into place. 

 “I’m just glad she isn't arching me after that. It was like a bar fight in there once he got her hair.” Rusty snorts, “I’m just glad I’m not the one paying for those broken tables.” 

 “Yeah, you’d have to turn off the power again to afford it,” Brock adds. As the two make their way back inside the compound, until they reach the living room where the boys had congregated. 

 And thank the metaphorical gods above, they had seemingly forgotten all about their argument now. With Dean flipping through channels on TV while Hank seemed to be doing… An impression of what he thought doing Yoga looked like? Rusty couldn't actually quite tell what the shaky, clumsy tangle of limbs that was his Son was doing on the floor. While also simultaneously on one foot, ready to fall at any moment. 

 “Oh hey Pop! Did you bring us anything cool?” Hank asked, as he somehow untangled himself from… whatever that was. Catching the attention of Dean who looked away from his bored TV stare. 

“Oh! Yeah, did ya? I heard they had that giant museum there too with the dinosaur fossils, could we go there soon?” 

 Aaaand there it was again. That headache. 

 “Errrr, boys we were really bus-” Rusty started, but it seemed Brock interrupted to save the day. 

 Like he always did, that magnificent man. 

 “Yeah, we managed to snag these for ya,” Brock handed the boys some small trinkets.. which… Rusty definitely remembered being on the tables before the fight had begun at the Conference's after Party. 

 Brock seemed to notice how Rusty reacted, and merely winked as the boys excitedly bounded away with their useless tiny machines and glass figurines. 

 “Ooooh… You're smart,” He snorts quietly, until they hear the bedroom door close just a BIT too loud upstairs. But frankly, he couldn't be assed to care this time. Because Brock’s genius swiping gave them about 30 minutes of peace. 

Thank. God. 

 “Hey, nobody noticed. Plus, didn't pay shit to keep them quiet for a bit.” Brock hums, before seemingly glancing toward the bathroom. More than a few times. Very obviously hinting at well… Rusty knew. 

 “Okay fine.. Saves water anyway..” Rusty sighs, letting Brock lead him. “It's not going too far this time though…” 

 “...Fine..”