#poor rhodey

In his defense, it was late. Past 2:00 am, if the clock in his car was to be believed, and it sure as hell felt like it was past 2:00 am. He hadn’t been able to get away from his meetings in D.C. until the sun had long set, and the drive from there to the cabin was over four hours. By the time the familiar mailbox finally lit up underneath his headlights, he could feel the road fatigue sitting uncomfortably on his eyelids.

It’d be worth it, though, in the morning. Morgan’s face when she saw that he’d come to visit always was.

Still, he didn’t know when the last time he’d gotten a full six hours of sleep had been. Last week, maybe? Or was it the week before that?

Jesus, maybe Pepper was right, and he really did need to take a break. They just weren’t as young as they used to be.

He’d expected all of the lights in the house to be out when he pulled into the driveway, but there was a dull glow coming from the garage, and he sighed.

He switched off the engine, grabbed his duffel, and used his key to slip inside. F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted him in a hushed tone, and he just waved in response, knowing that her cameras would pick it up.

He gestured at the door that led to the garage. “I’m gonna go force him into bed,” he said, voice low.

“That would be appreciated,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded, just a touch amused. “He will not listen to me.”

“Barely listens to anyone,” he grumbled, grabbing the door handle and pushing his way inside.

Like he’d said: sometimes, he forgets. It was a surprisingly easy thing to do when the remembrance hurt, and it got even easier when you were pushing through exhaustion and denial and over thirty years of muscle memory.

The outline bent over the far worktable was an intensely familiar one: muscled shoulders, mess of curly, untamed hair, and he didn’t even bother drinking in the rest of the details. The memory that he unconsciously superimposed over the reality was so ingrained, so lifelike, that he didn’t feel like he needed to.

“Tones,” he called, the nickname soft and fond on his tongue, “it’s 2:00 am. Go to sleep.”

The outline froze. Then, a tiny voice floated back to him.

“Sorry, uh,” Peter swung around, running a stressed hand through his hair, “I’m... I’m not him.”

The realization of the lapse, of the magnitude of the lapse, smacked into him all at once.

“Shit. Shit, Peter.” He clenched his fist, shame and grief rising up in his throat. “I’m... Jesus, I’m so sorry. I was just...” 

He shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to justify forgetting that his best friend, a man who was practically this kid’s father, had been dead for over four years? How the hell was he supposed to apologize for that?

“It’s okay,” Peter said, offering him a shy, pained smile. He could tell that the kid was struggling to keep his voice light, forgiving, because the words just barely trembled in the air. “It’s... You’re not the only person who’s done that, ‘s all.”

There was a thick lump in his throat, and he swallowed it back. “I’m... not surprised. You... You look like him.”

Peter’s smile morphed into something more genuine. Still sad, but less sharply so. “Yeah. I, uh, I know. Pepper tells me that a lot. So does Happy, actually. It’s a thing, I guess.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and he certainly didn’t want to think about the implications of it. Peter had spent most of his life following in Tony’s footsteps, to the point where everyone who had known Tony, really known Tony, could see the similarities as bright as day. And it wasn’t that Rhodey thought Tony was a bad role model, (in fact, he thought the opposite), but he knew where those footsteps ended.

In Rhodey’s mind, Peter was one of the last true remnants of Tony left on Earth. He didn’t know if he could bear to watch one of those remnants die.

“Well, I’m gonna head up,” he said, because he didn’t know if he could spend another second in a dead man’s workshop, trying to pull the pang of nostalgia out of the child he’d left behind.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter nodded, half turning back to his project. “It’s late.”

“Sure is,” he said, turning away. Then he paused, hand gripping the doorframe. He’d never been particularly spiritual, and he knew that Tony sure as hell hadn’t been, but there was something making him stall, a warmth and affection that he wasn’t completely sure was entirely his own.

He loved Peter, sure, but... but this felt different.

(It felt exactly like Tony, but he didn’t think that he was ready to analyze that just yet.)

“Pete,” he called back, and he saw the kid jolt in surprise at the nickname. “I meant what I said. Go to sleep.”

“I’m almost done, though.”

“Now, Parker. Whatever it is you’re working on can wait.” He let out a slow, measured breath, voice softening with it. “You know what Tony’d say if he knew you were down here this late.”

That seemed to work. The kid’s posture slouched with defeat, and he followed Rhodey back into the cabin and up the stairs without another complaint, a half-repaired set of webshooters forgotten on the table.

When they got to the kid’s bedroom, the one that Pepper had given him after the funeral, Peter stopped, hand poised on the handle and face pinched up in contemplation. “Hey, Rhodey?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do you... Do you think he misses me?” Peter’s voice hitched a little on the question, but he kept going as if it hadn’t. “Just... wherever he is. Do you... Do you think he wishes he was here?”

“I think,” he started, crawling his way through the words, hoping to hell he didn’t screw this up, “that if he’s able to do just about anything, he’s... he’s gonna be missing you, yeah.”

“And it’s,” Peter swallowed, “it’s good that I remind people of him, right? He’d... He’d like that, right?”

“Of course he would.”

“Okay. Yeah.” The kid met his eyes, and they both pretended that Rhodey didn’t notice the wetness on his cheeks. “Uh, goodnight.”

“Night, Peter.”

Once Rhodey was in bed himself, he asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. if Peter had actually gone to sleep. She said that he had.

“He’s not all like you then, huh?” He whispered to the ceiling, smirking through the tightness in his chest. “You’d’ve already scurried back down there, and lied to my face in the morning.”

Tony: what child? Where child?

*Peter is literally hanging out on the ceiling with his book*

Rhodey: what's your name?

Peter: *whispering* dangeeeeer

Ahhhh my dear friend, this is for youuuuuu

Prompt 77 - I think I’m in trouble 

Peter didn’t look up as Tony entered the room. His attention was only captured when the man lifted the edge of his bedcovers and scrambled under, yanking them up over his head as much as he could with Peter sitting on them. Peter turned to look at him then, curiously eyeing the tuft of brown hair that was still sticking out of the top.

With a sigh, Peter set his book down and shuffled back on the bed, digging his toes under the covers so he could lift them up. He moved down and turned on his side, bringing himself face to face with Tony. He lowered the blanket, leaving only a small gap that let the tiniest sneak of light through, just enough for him to see Tony’s eyes which stared intensely back at him.

‘’Why are you under here?’’ Peter asked in a normal voice.

‘’Shh!’’

Peter rolled his eyes and lowered his tone. ‘’Why are you under here?’’

‘’I think I’m in trouble.’’

It was odd hearing Tony whisper. In fact, Peter couldn’t recall a time that he’d ever heard the man talk so quietly. For some reason, he found the thought hilarious and felt a laugh bubble up inside his chest. The effort of holding it in made his shoulders twitch.

Tony narrowed his eyes. ‘’Don’t even think about it, kid.’’

‘’Sorry!’’ Peter gasped, mashing his lips together and taking a shaky breath in through his nose. ‘’What did you do?’’ he muttered on the exhale.

‘’Why do you suspect that I’m immediately at fault here?’’

Peter rolled his eyes. ‘’You hid in the vents with Clint when you accidentally ate the last of Nat’s watermelon last week.’’

‘’That was a tactical move,’’ Tony hissed, eyebrows disappearing out of the light. ‘’I don’t deserve to be murdered for the accidental consumption of leftover fruit.’’

‘’Didn’t stop you from throwing Clint at her when she found you though.’’

‘’He had it coming,’’ Tony groused, jabbing Peter in the side. ‘’Besides, she’s less likely to kill him than she is me.’’

Peter shrugged agreeably. He opened his mouth to ask again, only to let out a muffled squawk of surprise as Tony suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth just as the bedroom door opened.

‘’Pete?’’ Rhodey whispered. ‘’You awake?’’

Tony’s glare was fierce, foreboding and completely not frightening in the slightest. He looked slightly insane, face half draped in lamplight and eyes ridiculously wide.

Peter couldn’t help it then. The giggle burst out of him like a firework, loud and bright. Tony’s hand fell back from his mouth with a groan of betrayal and Peter laughed harder, buzzing with an odd kind of joy that he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain if he tried.

The covers suddenly flew backwards. Tony turned with them, hands coming up defensively as Rhodey loomed over him with a triumphant smirk.

‘’Now, honeybear, let’s not do something we’ll regret.’’

‘’I regret the day I met you, so I think we’re past that, don’t you?’’

‘’What – what – ‘’ Peter wheezed, clutching desperately at Tony’s shirt as he gasped for air. ‘’What – ‘’

‘’Oh, you didn’t tell your mini-me what you did?’’

‘’I’m feeling attacked right now, platypus. Attacked in my own home – ‘’

‘’Good. Now you know how I feel.’’

‘’I hardly think you could call it an attack – ‘’

‘’I had a meeting today with the president.’’ Rhodey spoke over him, looking at Peter. ‘’Not just a meeting, in fact. I was providing escort.’’

‘’And a fine job you did too, I’m sure,’’ Tony commented. 

‘’Shut up.’’ Rhodey barked, stepping forward to lean closer, casting a shadow over Tony. ‘’You wanna tell Peter what happened when I came in to land? In front of an entire congregation of very important government officials?’’

Tony pressed back into the mattress, shuffling sideways towards Peter, fumbling for one of his arms. Once he made contact, Tony yanked the kid across so he was sprawled on Tony’s chest. Peter, still laughing, could only flail pathetically in protest.

‘’Don’t hurt the kid, Rhodes,’’ Tony said, wrapping his arms around Peter. ‘’He’s an innocent.’’

‘’You’re the one who – ‘’ Rhodey straightened up and took a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. ‘’In front of the goddamn President, Tony!’’

‘’Mister Stark,’’ Peter butted his head into Tony’s neck, too exhausted from laughing to attempt to move, ‘’what did you do?’’

Tony stared casually at the ceiling. ‘’I may have…reprogrammed the War Machine suit a little.’’

‘’A little? A little?! You programmed Fat Bottomed Girls to play whenever I land, you deranged asshole!’’

There was a split second of silence, a tense stretch of air in which Peter stared at Tony, Tony stared at the ceiling and Rhodey continued to glare, and then Peter was howling. High pitched squeals of delight that made Tony grin instantly, something which he tried to hide in Peter’s curls as Rhodey’s scowl intensified.

‘’See? Pete appreciates my kind of genius,’’ Tony told Rhodey with a pout. ‘’You just don’t know how to recognise greatness when you see it, sourpatch.’’

Tony started to chuckle then, the rich sound blending in with Peter’s youthful laughs that had long since turned his face bright red. Rhodey watched them for a moment, lips twitching at the corner, before he turned and stormed off, muttering curses and threats as he went.

‘’I can’t believe you did that,’’ Peter cried, wiping the cuff of his sleeve under his wet eyes. ‘’Why did you do that?’’

tony: it was great, we went to a restaurant

rhodey: what did you eat?

tony: *slowly looks at stephen*

tony: well-

rhodey, already leaving the room: you know what, it’s okay, i don’t need to know anyway! why did i fucking ask!?

Tony stop pls