Work Text:
The sound of his screwdriver scraping against the metal trinket in his hand echoed around him in his painfully empty lab. His hands were shaking (why were they shaking?) but he persisted on, jaw clenched as he slowly but surely assembled the little gadget. Buzzing thoughts were unceremoniously shoved into a drawer at the back of his head, itching to burst out like a swarm but held back by his focus on the tiny thing that was grasped gently between his fingers.
The silence was unbearable.
He’d tried to act as if nothing had changed. As if all he had to do was crank up his speakers, power up his workshop and haul his armour onto his workbench, and then everything would go back to normal. A sixteen year old with too-bright-eyes and too-dark-eye-bags would come bounding in, smile wide as he slung his backpack somewhere on the floor where he’d inevitably trip over it later on.
But god, he couldn’t bring himself to look at his suit.
Tony swore as the head of the screw he was screwing in snapped in his grasp, leaning back and lightly throwing the gadget back onto his desk. (he was tired. so, so tired.)
“Boss, your presence has been requested in the Eastern Meeting Room.”
That voice was yet another ache amongst the pile. He hadn’t known why, but it was as if FRIDAY had been purged from all of his systems, all her programming and sub-procedures deactivated and deadlocked closed. It was out of familiarity (or perhaps desperation) that he found himself loading up AI 14b.
(“Her name’s Karen,” he had insisted. “You know, like…”
There was a thick silence in the air as the end of the sentence hung between the two.
“Alright, kid.” Tony had replied after a moment, slinging an arm around him. “Karen it is.”)
For some reason, Karen’s voice was much more subdued than how he’d remembered programming her to be. It was more professional, as if imitating FRIDAY’s speech patterns that were amongst the only files left behind; It was as if she was filling in FRIDAY’s shoes (shoes much too big for her.) It seemed like the way Karen was coping with their shared loss. The loss of FRIDAY, and of-
The drawer at the back of his head crept open but he promptly slammed it shut. It always seemed to do that whenever Karen’s voice resounded around his lab. A small part of him wanted to load up a different AI just so he didn’t have to deal with those thoughts every day, but that felt wrong. He’d realised his mistake when he’d first found out about FRIDAY’s strange disappearance.
He’d made them too human. FRIDAY had been taken, too.
“…Tony.” A hand was placed softly on his shoulder. (too soft. soft enough to fade away)
Tony glanced up to find Rhodey at his side, a concerned look on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. He sighed, leaning forward to rub at his face. “Rogers send you?”
Rhodey put the mug on the desk in front of him. “We’re moving out to Wakanda in three days, Tony,” he deflected. “This team talk is important, and you need to be there.”
After a moment, Tony lifted his face from his hands and begrudgingly took a swig of the drink before him. Swinging round, his eyes flicked down to Rhodey’s leg suspensions. “I made those far too quiet. Nearly scared the hell outta me.” His tone leant towards amused, but Rhodey wasn’t buying it for a second. His gaze fell to the gadget Tony had been fiddling with earlier and he frowned, picking it up to inspect it.
“They’re his first ones.” Tony choked out, grimacing into his coffee. “Well I mean, not the original ones cause I wouldn’t mess with those without asking him first but I had Karen do a scan and replicate it in the lab cause I wanted to work out how he’d made them and maybe get ideas for his new ones and-“
He cut himself off abruptly, slamming his mouth shut. He was rambling. He’d never really done that before, but it seemed to fill the mind-numbing silence. (is that why peter had done it all the time? a coping mechanism for all his loss in his short life?)
Quietly, Rhodey handed the web-shooter back to him, pressing Tony’s head into his side in a half-hug and rubbing circles into his shoulder with his thumb. For a moment, Tony let the drawer in his head creak open with a harsh intake of breath, Rhodey’s touch grounding him as he screwed his eyes shut.
“You know, if you modified the cylindrical shape of the inner spinneret nozzle, you could increase pressure and generate a longer web-shooting distance and larger web impact.” Rhodey murmured. Tony snorted into Rhodey’s stomach, tilting his head upwards to look him in the eyes and smile. (he hasn’t smiled in a long time.)
“There’s that multi-million dollar smile.”
Swatting at him, Tony chuckled, heaving himself out of his chair before staring down at the web-shooters in his palms. The playful atmosphere dispersed as he fixated on them, frozen smile fading into a hard-pressed grimace. Silently, he slipped it on around his wrist before snagging a pair of sunglasses that were on his desk.
“Alright, Rhodey. Game face.”
For a second, he hesitated, glancing down at the metal pole that was leaning against his desk. Just before he turned his heel and left it in its place, Rhodey picked it up and thrusted it into his hands. “Stop putting on a brave face, Tones.” he said putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed time to heal. Even if your walking stick makes you look like an old man.”
(“next time i see you doing that i’m gonna have a heart attack.” tony said, lightly shoving him.
“well i can’t let that happen to my old man, can i?” he grinned.)
Scowling, Tony took the walking stick and mimed hitting Rhodey with it only for his best friend to cackle and dodge it with ease. When he’d turned, a jacket was held out for him, DUM-E’s one arm outstretched. Tony bit back another smile, taking it gratefully before Rhodey led them towards the elevator.
(towards steve)
The meeting room was silent when they walked in. Steve, leader-like as ever, was stood at the head of the table, a tablet in his hands and surrounded by some files with the word ‘classified’ stamped ugly all over them. Natasha was beside him, lips pursed and scanning through another file, with the others obviously uncomfortable as they waited for Tony’s presence.
(this had been his family at one point. now, they might as well be strangers)
“Rogers.” Tony greeted, desperately attempting to shroud his panic with indifference.
“Tony.” Steve replied, nodding to him and eyes flicking down to his walking stick and back again. The cuts and bruises over his face were mostly healed, save for a large patch of sickly yellow reaching from his forehead to his right lower cheek. He stood with his perfect posture, and carefully calculating expression - the picture of the righteous leader Tony could never be.
(the leader that peter would have wanted)
Frowning, he made his way to the nearest chair, adamant to hide his limp. Not long after, Steve started to address the group but soon his words slurred into an unintelligible murmur in Tony’s ears, his eyes trained on the table as hands wrung together anxiously. Despite zoning out, he didn’t fail to notice the gaze of a certain archer, boring holes into the side of his head. (stop looking stop looking stop looking)
He didn’t quite recall Clint’s face when he’d stumbled out of Quill’s ship with Nebula. He wondered where he’d been. He wondered who he’d lost. (his children, oh god his children.)
A part of Tony screamed at him from the back of his head. He’s your friend! He’s family! Go talk to him! But then he thinks back to the feeling of arrows in his chestplate, to the glare from behind the Raft’s military-grade prison cell, and to the regret-less, biting comment hissed at him about Rhodey’s paralysis.
Those same, merciless eyes were staring daggers at him now, jaw clenched as Steve rambled some stirring speech about rising up against adversity. At some point, the topic at hand became about living accommodation, to which Tony decided to finally tune in.
“They’re clearing rooms for us in the main headquarters of the Black Panther,” Steve cast his eyes down at the mention of the former king. “They’re also asking if any other rooms are needed, for family or close friends.”
Clint broke his glare on Tony to open his mouth before Steve waved him down. “Arrangements have already been made for your family, Clint.”
“I need an extra room.” Tony spoke up suddenly. May Parker had come running to him as soon as he had landed in New York, tears streaming and throat hoarse from screaming before she’d collapsed onto him, the shared loss of their son pumping through both of their veins (he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone). She didn’t have anyone left in Queens, he’d be damned before he left her alone to grieve.
At the sudden break of Tony’s silence, Steve raised his eyebrows before tapping away at his tablet. “Could I ask who the room is for? We may require background checks for security reasons.”
'Security reasons' was far too vague for Tony’s liking. At this point, Tony wouldn’t be surprised if Steve was willing to break down Peter’s apartment in Queens to interrogate her. Even telling him her first name would be risky.
“The queen should be calling me later about lab requirements anyway,” he said instead. “I’ll talk to her about it then.”
Steve simply nodded, but Clint looked like he was fuming.
“No, I think I’d like to know the surprise guest that will be joining us.”
“Clint-“ Steve warned.
“I’m curious! It’s one more person to add to the rota of lucky people the great Tony Stark didn’t lose,” he hissed. “Don’t the rest of you think it’s a bit unfair? That Tony Stark, all high and mighty, the same man that locked us all up and caused half the problems we had to fight, didn’t lose a single person?”
“Shut your mouth, Clint.” Rhodey snapped, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony didn’t react, eyes still downcast, but Rhodey didn’t miss the way his hands started shaking, concealed beneath the table.
“You have Pepper!” Clint carried on. “You have Rhodey! You have Happy! Yet you spend all day in your lab, moping around and acting like you’re depressed when you have no reason to be! You’re just hiding - hiding from all of us because you couldn’t face the fact that you let us all down.”
At that, Tony stood up sharply, and for the first time since he’d crash landed on a spaceship with that strange blue alien, it felt like he was Tony Stark again. His posture was perfect, his face was as coolly indifferent as ever, but his eyes were like fire, burning right through Clint’s soul. Rage practically radiated off of him, engulfing them all. Then in one, devastatingly wrecked voice, one filled with regret and anger and guilt and indignation, he whispered something so quietly that the others had to lean in to hear.
“You don’t know shit, Barton.”
He was shaking, shaking so bad and tears were dangerously close to spilling. Before he could make even more of a scene, he turned on his heel and slammed the door of the meeting room shut, disappearing down the hall with the thud thud thud of his cane.
Silence.
“…Does anyone else have living arrangements they need to take care of?” Steve said awkwardly. At everyone’s shaking heads, he dismissed them, stopping Rhodey before he could leave to chase after Tony.
“Rhodes,” He said quietly. “I’ll talk to him.”
Rhodes looked him up and down, visibly swallowing before nodding silently, gesturing for Steve to leave first. It took him some time, but he eventually tracked down Tony on the roof of the complex, striding up the stairs three steps at a time.
When he opened the door to the roof, his heart nearly gave out. Tony was sat right on the edge of the roof, legs dangling against the glass and shoulders slumped. He must have heard the door open but didn’t turn around, instead choosing to watch the sun start its descent over the horizon. A lone bottle of whiskey was placed beside him, glass casting reflections onto the concrete ground. It looked kind of peaceful, if Tony hadn’t been one push away from hurtling towards the streets of New York.
“His name was Peter,” Tony said suddenly, still refusing to turn around. Steve took this as his cue to join him, legs swinging over until he too was flirting with death. “He was supposed to turn 17 next month.”
The words hung between them delicately, a lone, frail spider’s web holding them together with the gentle whisper of Tony’s voice.
“What was he like?” Steve ventured softly, studying the way Tony’s face seemed to crumple. (there was no more mask to hide the tears, now)
“God, he was kind. He helped everyone he could and would talk your ear off as he did it. He always says his favourite movie is Empire Strikes Back but he secretly adores Mamma Mia and sings along whenever we watch it.”
Steve noticed the gradual change from past tense to present, deciding not to mention it as he listened.
“He sings way too loud in the shower and insists he hates the music I blast in my workshop but I always catch him bopping his head and miming a guitar during the solos. He’s claustrophobic and doesn’t like water. He's head over heels for one of my head interns and refuses to acknowledge it.”
Tony’s voice was starting to go thick now and he paused, swallowing, before he continued.
“He always saw the good in everyone. He saw the good in me, which is pretty impressive in my cursed opinion. At one point, he was the reason I kept walking, the reason I kept hacking away at those damn accords when you and your loons were parading round Ireland. He was the one that convinced me to stop drinking. I…I can’t even unscrew a bottle now. It feels like I’m betraying him.”
The whiskey echoed loudly between the two men.
“He…” A sob tore through his throat and he swallowed another one down, chest heaving.
“He was my kid.”