Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The moment Tony walked into the lab, his heart dropped to the floor. He quickened his step, tripping over fallen tubes and electrical equipment, and he very narrowly missed stepping into an electric puddle.

Peter was stretched out on a cold metal table, his arms strapped to his sides and a breathing mask pressing into the skin on his cheeks. Tony gripped the edge of the table with one hand, using his other to run his fingers through Peter’s greasy hair. He’s been here for a while.

“Pete,” Tony said, “get up, kid.” A small sigh fell from Peter’s mouth as he struggled to open his eyes, disoriented. Tony’s heart tightened. “Hey.” He let his fingers lightly nudge Peter’s cheek, trying to urge a little more consciousness into the boy’s drugged brain. Somehow, it worked.

“Mr. Stark?”Peter’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused. He looked as if he hadn’t seen where he is before, and his brown gaze shifted across the room in a quick panic. Tony grabbed his arm lightly to ground him.

“Kid. Hey, look at me.” Peter did. “We’re going to get you out of here.” Tony was working against the clock – there was a limited amount of time before the scientists came to check on their ‘patient.’ Tony cringed inwardly at the words. “Can you stand?”

Peter tugged against the straps pressing his arms down. “I-I can’t, Mr. Stark.” Again, panic began to filter into the boy’s features, despite the drug weighing him down. His eyes pressed closed again before popping back open. He was fighting the sleep threatening to pull him down. Tony had to get the mask off.

“Alright, alright. Let me get the mask off, okay?” Peter nodded. Tony reached forward and pulled the mask from Peter’s face, sighing gratefully as it came off with ease. Peter’s eyes closed again and took longer to open. They must’ve just put more sleep gas into his lungs as Tony showed up, though he hoped it was just a coincidence.

Luckily, it was. Tony was able to carry the boy from the building (he had a knife on him always), tucking him under his chin like a protective father. He ignored the pride swelling in his chest at the boy’s ability to withstand all that chaos. He wasn’t a father, and despite his hope to be, he probably would never be one.

They got to Stark Tower as quickly as possible, Peter mumbling incoherent things the entire way home. Home. The word sounded so foreign in Tony’s head, but as he watched the boy struggle to keep himself sitting straight as the car turned left and right, laughter bubbled in his throat. He’d been keeping Peter at his place after Aunt May’s sudden passing last year. He never thought he’d begin to consider Peter his son.

“Pete,” Tony whispered, trying not to startle his kid. “You okay?” Peter nodded jerkily, the medicine slowly ebbing in his veins despite his quick healing. Tony simply hefted him up in response and carried him inside.

Laying Peter on the couch, Tony put on a movie and curled up beside the kid, tucking socked feet under himself. Peter was stretched out lazily, like a cat. His head frequently turned this way and that, as if he was still dazed from the medicine in his system – he probably was.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice suddenly came into focus halfway through Blade, and Tony looked down at his kid.

“What’s up?”

“How long was I out?”

“About thirteen hours,” Tony replied, glancing at the amount of popcorn bowls littered beside him. “Took a long time to get out of your system, bud.”

“Sorry for the trouble,” Peter mumbled back, head falling lazily to the side again as he drifted back to sleep.

“Never any trouble, buddy.”

Chapter Text

Peter’s sick. He usually gets sick during the school year, but for some reason he caught a summer cold. Mr. Stark (or Tony, or sometimes Dad) has confined him to his room, claiming he can’t spread the germs around. Peter knows it’s just an act to help him get better and rest. The thought makes him feel warm.

Today, though, has been the worst of his cold. He’s shivering, and the fever just won’t go down, despite all of the remedies Tony keeps making him try. Sweat sticks to his skin as he rolls over in his bed, clinging to the cotton blanket despite the heat. He’s already taken a cold bath, but it barely left a mark on the fever looming over him.

It’s about noon when Tony wanders into his room, hands in his joggers. Behind him, Pepper carries a tray laden with soup and crackers. She’s smiling softly at Peter as she fixes his sheets and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, even with the sweat. She rests a cool hand on his cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Her tone is soft, and Peter feels like his mother is in the room. He can almost smell her perfume.

“I’ll be fine soon,” he says, cursing the shivers forcing his teeth to chatter. Pepper runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pressing another warm kiss to his head, before standing from the side of his bed.

“Rest. Be sure to take your medicine.” It’s only now that Peter realizes she has on her office clothes, and a small frown carves into her lips. “I’ll be home as quickly as I can. Tony,” Pepper turns to her boyfriend, a lecture building, “take care of him. No tinkering while he’s sick. Make sure he eats and drinks lots of water. And give the poor kid another cool rag.” Tony flashes her a sheepish smile.

“Honey, he’ll be fine. He’s a strong kid.”

“He better be fine.” Pepper gives him a swift kiss on the cheek before walking out of Peter’s room. Her perfume lingers in the air, like a soft blanket. He instantly feels comforted by the smell. A mother’s scent.

Tony awkwardly steps into the room, scanning the walls to search for a distraction. He’s not big on comfort, but Peter knows he’s worried. Otherwise, he’d be out testing the new suit he built yesterday. It’s built for water. Really cool, honestly.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. You can go work.” Peter’s teeth are still chattering, so he closes his mouth quickly. Tony looks over at him, taking one hand from his pocket to rub his forehead.

“No. Are you alright? Take your medicine and all that jazz?” Peter only nods, watching his adoptive-parent struggle to conjure up words.

Eventually, Tony just walks over to Peter’s bed and tells him to shove over. He does, and Tony makes a show of climbing in beside him, no doubt trying to ignore his wounded ego. Once he’s settled, he uses one hand to brush the hair away from the sweat on Peter’s forehead.

“Have you slept much at all?” Peter shakes his head, not feeling up to talking anymore. The aches are back, making their way down his body. He feels bruised all over. “Alright, come here.” Peter tucks into Tony’s arm, very, very confused.

“I’ll tell you about how I made the first suit, as long as you don’t spill the beans.” A hand is running through Peter’s sweat-curled hair, as if knots have tangled in it. They probably have.

It’s with the sound of Tony’s deep voice rasping about the inner workings of his suit and a hand steadily combing through the knots in Peter’s hair that he drifts off into a deep slumber, the shivering finally coming to a cease.

Pepper comes home to find them hours later, both asleep in Peter’s bed. She settles a blanket on them, pressing a soft kiss to each, and steps out of the room, her perfume leaving its mark in the air.

Chapter Text

You know, it’s not like Tony likes searching for Spider-Kid (he doesn’t deserve the title ‘Man’ at the moment) all the time.

Every time he puts a new tracker in Peter’s suit, the kid pulls it out to go on another dangerous mission that Tony specifically told him not to go on. He’s about ready to slam into the brick wall and give Peter a stern lecture about responsibility, maybe threaten to take the suit again, but as Tony drops onto the roof of the desolate, deteriorating building, something curls in his stomach.

Something’s wrong.

It’s been over seven hours since Peter’s activated the suit, but according to F.R.I.D.A.Y., it hasn’t been shut off. The suits been on sleep mode for a long while, and typically that means Peter’s been snatched - again.

Tony walked forward slowly, taking in the offensive sight of the building. Honestly, it’s quite painful to look at. The old, shabby thing practically screamed AIDS and asbestos. Luckily, the suit filtered the air he breathed, or he wasn’t sure what he’d be breathing in. Probably a lot of dead stuff.

It was bare, without any signs, and looked like it’d been foreclosed years ago. Grass slithered up the side of the walls with reckless abandon. Chips of the brick have crumbled to make a pretty spectacular pile near the roof door. The pile seemed to be recently moved, he noted, from the scratch marks and the disturbing black imprint on the gray cement.

The door itself looked rusted, and it took a bit of the suit’s thrust to push it open (less like push, more like aggressively shoving against a wall). It popped open with a loud shriek as the metal scraped across the pavement, and he mentally cursed Peter for his imminent death (not really, he’d never hurt the kid, but Aunt May could sure lecture him). At least his shoes were silent on the stairs as he trekked down.

After meeting the boy in Rose Hill a few years ago, Tony added a stealth mode to his suits (he called it ‘Silent Man.’ yeah, he already knows it’s lame). His feet were silent against almost any surface (he hadn’t quite figured out water yet), and he’d attached reflective panels to make him more or less invisible.

Honestly, it was funny to scare the shit out of Pepper with it, so that was his primary inspiration. The usefulness of the additions was second.

It took what seemed like one hundred stairs to reach the floor he assumed Peter would be on. If, y’know, you take into account the high-tech equipment littering the floor and walls. Pretty cool tech sitting in a dingy old building? It’s basically a Bat-Signal that screamed ‘I’m the villain! I’m in here!’

Tony pressed close to the dirty wall. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., let’s see what they’re talking about, yeah?” He fell silent as he listened to the shitty villains give their shitty spiel. It’s cliche, honestly. They could at least be a little more creative.

“-after your encounters with Tony Stark, of course,” said a woman’s voice. “We wouldn’t want you to contact him, now would we?” Tony swallowed a laugh at the cartoon-style tone of her voice.

“Mr. Stark isn’t here. And I don’t see what that has to do with taking me.” Peter. At least he’s alive.

“Well, he made your suit didn’t he? Made you, practically.”

“No, I mean, yes, but he didn’t make me. A spider bit me? It’s dead now, because I killed it - it’s a spider of course I killed it - but it gave me whatever spider-things going on with me. Does that make any sense? Anyway, Mr. Stark didn’t give me anything but the suit. I-I make everything else. The webs? I made those. I should stop talking now.” Peter was rambling. He sounded nervous, and it made Tony wonder if they had some sort of weapon pressed against his skull. The thought made Tony’s skin prickle anxiously.

“A spider.” The woman sounded incredulous. “I really doubt a spider could make you superhuman, spider-boy.”

“It’s hard to believe, but it’s true! I shouldn’t have killed it.” Peter sounded guilty. “It was only a little spider, but the bite really hurt.”

Tony stood up from his crouch, swinging his shoulder to prepare for battle. He’d heard enough. The villains only wanted his tech, and was using Peter to get to it. Really, they’re idiots.

He flicked off stealth mode and raised his arm at the wall, blasting through it. Time for a little dramatics.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter didn’t seem to be happy Tony was here. Rather, his voice sounded worried. “Mr. Stark, you can’t use your blaster things! There’s gas!”

Tony paused. Perhaps they weren’t entirely dumb, but he didn’t need his guns to beat up a couple of fake scientists. He grabbed the closest one and knocked him out, and continued to do so to the other people scattering about. Obviously, they hadn’t expected retaliation.

It only took a few moments before Tony had them down (not dead of course) and drug them into a safe room. Keeping his mask on to stop the gas from getting into his system, he untied Peter and lifted him up, using his suit to fly out. It was a good way to get rid of all the suspicious technology filling the rooms. He’d listen to Pepper lecture him about the damage later. Consider it one of those exploding superhero exits.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter started once they’d gotten back to the headquarters and were resting, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they grabbed me until after I woke up.”

“You know, this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d kept your tracker in your suit. What if something had happened to you? It’s going to be a while before all of that gas you breathed in is out of your system, bud.” Tony sipped his scotch, leaning his head back against the couch.

Peter was stretched out beside him, legs in Tony’s lap. He was nursing a bad headache from the exposure, and was pretty disoriented for a while.

“I’ll keep the tracker in my suit, okay? Sorry I ruined your Thanksgiving, Mr. Stark.” Peter sighed loudly. You could feel the guilt rolling off him in waves.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You were snatched while patrolling, right? How is that your fault? Besides, it’s not like I was doing anything tonight anyway. Pepper’s stuck at the office all day. Something about a new multi-billion dollar new deal. Clean energy, and the like.”

“Oh. Aunt May had to work too. But this is okay, right? Me being here and all.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I can’t eat a whole feast myself.” Tony glanced over at Peter, watching as the kid’s eyes widened. It made him feel warm.

“You bought a feast? When? Where?” He bounced up, taking long strides to peek into the kitchen. Food littered the counters.

“I asked Mia to cook something. With pay, of course,” he added after a moment. “She didn’t have anywhere to go this season, with her son deployed and all, so I asked her to come over. Technically, she begged to cook. I just added some pay.” Mia was Tony’s house-cook for the Avengers, typically, but it’d just been him recently. The others had scattered about.

Peter was awestruck. He didn’t reply, but hurried over to Mia to ask to lend a hand. Despite the kid’s headache, he seemed to be pretty alright from the gas.

An hour later, the table was set with a turkey (’and a ham, Mr. Stark! look!’) and several (way too many) sides. Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, mac and cheese - they had it all. Tony took a seat next to Peter, dropping a wrinkled napkin into his lap. His kid looked over at him, eyes bright.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Stark.”

“You too, kid.”

Chapter Text

Every Tuesday and Friday, Peter comes to Tony’s workshop to work on his new Spider-Man suit and eat dinner. He’ll go to school, get picked up by Happy, and move to the lab to greet Tony. 

Today is not one of those days. 

While on patrol last night, Peter was too tired to swing back home and ended up at Tony’s house. He was exhausted and sore and he was pretty sure he tied up at least ten bad guys last night. That being said, he was so tired that he ended up in Tony’s lab (by instinct) and just… made himself a nest. In the corner. 

Basically, he enclosed himself in a giant ball of webbing with only a tiny opening to get in and out of. And to breathe. Of course. That’s definitely why he remembered to put the hole. Not because he had to pee or anything. Yeah. Anyway. 

He slept in there all night. 

..

When Tony sluggishly drags himself down to the workshop at a bright and early eight o’ clock in the morning, he stops in his tracks as he sees the giant ball of webbing in the corner. He sets his coffee (in an Iron Man mug, of course) carefully on the nearest surface and backs out of the room.

“Pepper!”

“What?” Her voice comes from the bedroom, and Tony can hear the click of her heels on the floor as she makes her way out to see why he called. “What?” 

“Where’s the bug spray?”

“What?” Pepper repeats a third time, too bewildered to make sense of the situation. 

“The bug spray. For like, giant bugs. Not ants or anything. Wasps. Spiders.”

“In the cabinet, I think? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Listen,” Tony says, moving towards her with his hands up in a defensive position. “Don’t blame me–”

“Nothing good comes out of those words.”

“–but I think there’s a giant spider in my workshop and I need to get it out.” 

“A spider in your lab? Why not get a tissue or something?”

“No, listen.” Tony lifts his head out of the cabinet to look at her, eyes wild. “There’s a giant spider in there. Like, our size. Big.” 

“And you know this because you saw the spider?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“I saw its web! That’s a damn good reason to get some bug spray. Where is it?”

“I said it’s down there.” Tony turns to shift through the cabinet.

“Are you sure?” He pulls out a fresh can of bug spray and hoots triumphantly. “Never mind. See you in a bit.” 

He takes the stairs to his workshop two at a time as he shakes the bug spray, creeping into the lab with his Iron Man slippers shuffling against the floor. Approaching the web, he shoots a warning spray at it.

“Get out!”

Peter wakes with a start as something wet hits his foot, immediately staining his Spider-Man suit. Another spray hits him in the leg.

“Out you damned spider!” Tony sprays the bug spray with more passion. “Get out, oh my god this is so gross. How the hell do you even make a web like that–”

“Mr. Stark! Stop spraying me!” Peter’s voice is muffled by the thick webbing.

A pause. “It fucking talks too?” Tony sprays another longer shot from the can. “Oh god, it fucking talks. It talks. A spider talks.” A nearby wrench hits the webbing. “Get out of my lab, get out of my lab, get out of my lab– I’m Iron Man for fuck’s sake– oh god– get out–”

Peter moves to crawl out of the nest, holding his hands up in surrender. “Mr. Stark! It’s just me! I was tired last night and–”

“Peter? What the fu–” He pauses and clears his throat. “–freak? Why the hell are you in my lab? Is it Tuesday?”

“No. It’s, uh, Wednesday, and I was patrolling last night and–”

“Why is there a nest in my lab?”

“I’m getting to that. So, I was patrolling last night, right, and–”

“Why is there a spider nest in my lab?”

“I… made it?” Peter shoots a web at the nest to demonstrate. “I was tired–”

“You made a fu– freaking nest in my lab to sleep?” Tony stares at Peter, literally The Most Exasperated.

“…yeah?”

“I have bedrooms. Many, many bedrooms. Like, over five of them.”

“Well it was late and–”

“Many bedrooms. So many you can’t comprehend how many there are.”

“I know–”

“I could house an entire orphanage. The government won’t let me do that, but I could.”

“I know–”

“I house superheroes in another building. I have many, many bedrooms, Peter.”

“Mr. Stark would you let me explain?” Tony finally shuts up. “Sorry. Anyway, I was tired and it was late and I didn’t want to wake you so I made a nest. That’s… that’s literally it.” 

Tony continues staring. “You’re cleaning it up. That’s so gross.” Peter just nods and moves to scoop the sticky webbing into his arms.

Tony shoots another shot of bug spray at his back for good measure.

Chapter Text

Peter’s death was shit.

Tony knows it was shit because Peter isn’t here. He’s not on Earth beside Tony and bugging him about adding even more things to his new suit. It was shit because Tony’s sitting on Earth, wrapped in a blanket, as Pepper pushes warm cups of chamomile tea with honey into his cold hands even though all he wants is whiskey. Straight from the bottle.

Something to dull the guilt.

Tony lied to him. The day before he decided to go fight Thanos, he told Peter everything was going to be fine. That he’d have enough time to finish his science project due three weeks ago.

Shifting a bit to sink further into the couch, his mind continues to stew. His brain is a large pot of Self-Loathing, and with it he’s chopped up some Guilt, minced some Lying, and sprinkled just a pinch of Deceit into the pot. Stirring it took so much time to do, and his arms were growing heavy with the effort. Every now and then Pepper will make him stop and drink another mug of chamomile tea (which tastes like shit, by the way. He’d rather have the chlorophyll he had to chug years ago.). It soothes his arms for just a bit, so he takes a break. Then, night arrives and he starts stirring again. Occasionally he adds another ingredient. The stew still isn’t ready.

Incompetent.

If someone told Anthony Edward “Tony” Stark that one day he’d fight the biggest villain of all in space and lose a son-like figure, he would’ve laughed in their face and slipped them a twenty. Can’t go wrong to help the poor, especially when they’re insane, right?

Now he wishes he could’ve been warned.

Peter’s death was so full of shit.

..

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go, sir. Please.” Tony tries to keep the kid standing, but his legs are fading away.

“Please, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go.” The kid’s legs are gone, he’s dropped onto the sandy earth. Tony tries to make him comfortable. His fingers clutch at Peter’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

..

Two months ago, Tony landed back on Earth with Nebula, a wobbly spaceship, and a large heap of dehydration and malnourishment. Pepper threw her arms around his neck. Steve gave him a tense nod. Bags under the Captain’s eyes showed just how much he’d worried -- prayed Tony, Pete, and the rest would be okay. When Tony shook his head once, the man’s wide shoulders had slumped and hands came up to hide his face.

Tony slipped an arm around Pepper’s back and clung to her. He was home, but not entirely. Part of him died on Titan. Thanos had taken something so dear to him. Ripped Peter from his bleeding fingers. He had a science project due on Wednesday.

Why doesn’t anything go his way?

He shouldn’t have given him the damn suit back.

..

It’s a random Thursday in November when Tony tells her.

“I don’t want a kid anymore, Pep.” Heels stop clicking on the floor as the mail is stacked on a nearby table. He doesn’t look up at her. Doesn’t want to. To see that betrayal in her eyes, after they’ve tried so hard, would kill him.

“Why?” Then, “is this because of Peter?”

“I can’t lose another one.” When she goes to put her hand on his shoulder, probably to talk him out of the way he’s thinking, he stands up and escapes to the lab.

..

They were going to name her Morgan.

..

On Friday, Tony takes a sledgehammer into the nursery they built almost a year ago. He smashes the crib, the toys, the boxes of supplies. He swings the hammer into the wall Peter painted.

..

He goes for a drive -- towards Queens. When he pulls up to her house, nothing he says would be good enough. The ignition starts and the car peels out of the driveway. Curtains close.

..

One by one, the invitations to the wedding drop into the shredder. His cheek stings from her hand.

..

Diamonds glitter at Tony from her pillow. The ring is dropped into his underwear drawer.

..

May stomps into his room one day and slams a photo album into his chest. All he does is stare at the color of her hair. She plants a sad kiss on his cheek. The photos are all of Peter.

..

The beach is cold as the suits blow up like fireworks. Tony cracks open another beer.

..

He forgets to pay Happy.

..

Bundles of clothes are missing from the other side of the closet. She left a sweater. It’s laying on her side of the bed. Sometimes it smells like her.

..

Steve tries to get him out of the house one day. Tony points a gun at his chest.

..

Bruce visits, under the pretense of friends. The notebook in his briefcase is full of notes. He can’t find any other way. Tony shouts at him to leave. When Bruce hesitates, he calls him a monster. The doctor rips the door off its hinges on his way out.

..

Natasha gets a door slammed in her face.

..

Wanda tries to give him happier images. They’re all of Peter. He almost breaks her hand trying to shove her away from him. She rips away from him when he tries to apologize and leaves.

..

Vision has to take a bottle of scotch out Tony’s hands in February.

..

Clint keeps an arrow with a camera installed in Tony’s room to make sure he’s still alive.

..

Thor isn’t on Earth, but it doesn’t really make a difference anyway.

..

Pepper comes in and tries to get him to sign papers so she has full control of the company. He does. She gives him a cup of chamomile tea and honey on her way out. He dumps it down the sink.

..

“That’s on me. ”

Chapter Text

“Who even fails calculus at MIT?” Rhodey snatches the test from Tony’s hand and scans the front page. “A 24 on a fucking beginner’s calculus exam ?”

“In my defense, I never go to class.”

“You’re supposedly the ‘genius’ of this generation and you can’t even pass basic calculus.”

“I am the genius of this generation, mind you, it’s just that I don’t think I need to take these dumb classes when I could actually build something instead.” Rhodey turns to fix Tony with an exasperated stare.

“You’re basically saying you’re just too lazy to do the work.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Tony sits his feet up on the desk, the dorm-issued chair wobbling under the assault. “Why should I do the work if I’m already a fucking genius?”

“I literally can’t believe you right now. Are you serious, Tony?”

“What?”

“You have to do the work to get a degree so you can actually pursue anything in mechanics, you know that right? Don’t you want to build stuff?”

“I have the money to get it.”

“Not legally .”

“Oh. Won’t you be able to pull a few strings, future military guy?”

“Hell no.” Rhodey balls up the failed test, knowing Tony won’t care anyway. “Take your damn tests seriously, Tony. And get your feet off my desk. This is my dorm room, you know.”

“ Our dorm room.”

“Maybe, but that’s still my desk.”

“Is it? Can’t really tell with all this junk on it.” Tony stretches to grab an open bag of chips (Tony’s) and an open can of Coca-Cola (Tony’s) while trying not to let his legs slip off the desk.

“That’s your stuff, not mine,” Rhodey says, knocking Tony’s feet off his magazines. “You’re going to crinkle them.”

“They’re just magazines.”

“I’m about to chuck your chips out the window if you don’t shut up.”

“You made me endure a lecture about my test grades, mom . I think I can mess with you.”

“Your test grades,” Rhodey repeats, turning to start another lecture, “are terrible. How did you even get into MIT?”

“Money, sex, and the infamous name Stark.” Tony pops a chip in his mouth. “Daddy’s got a lot of pull.”

“Never call yourself that again.”

“God, you’re such a mom. Can’t you let me have a little fun?” Rhodey rips the bag of chips out of Tony’s hand and dumps them in the trash. “Hey!”

“Those are like four days old and were open the entire time.”

“I appreciate a good mold aftertaste.”

“You’re disgusting. Why did I room with you? Don’t you have enough money to buy your own dormitory ?” Tony just pushes further back on the chair, his feet now properly on the floor. The coke shifts dangerously close to the edge of the desk. “You better not tip that over.”

“Sometimes,” Tony says, standing up and stretching his back lazily, “you’re so annoying.” The coke, luckily, doesn’t slip off the desk. Rhodey moves to push it away from the edge.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the annoying one here. Can you please take that disgusting laundry downstairs to be washed?” The hamper in the corner of the room is overflowing with underwear and reeking t-shirts, and Rhodey’s pretty sure it’s been there since the beginning of the semester. Has it even been moved?

“Those clothes are perfectly fine, thank you very much. I could wear them again if I wanted to.”

“You sure about that? I’m pretty sure there’s a dead something in there, and I’m actually scared to find out.” Tony walks over to push the overflowing clothes down further into the basket, grimacing at the smell wafting from it as he moves the clothes around. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“So you lecture about grades and laundry now?”

“I do when it has to do with your future, Tony!” Rhodey drops heavily into the desk chair (his, mind you) and rubs his forehead tiredly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Failing classes! Letting girls into the room at all hours of the night and skipping lectures in the morning! You’re going to be kicked out, Tony!”

“I pay a large amount in donations every year, I really doubt they want to lose that connection.”

“I literally hate you right now.”

“You really don’t.” Tony throws on a faded MIT hoodie and adjusts the crumpled hood. “If you did, you wouldn’t come with me to buy an oversized, greasy pizza and a six-pack of coke.”

“I can still hate you even if you feed me, Tones.”

“A crisp Ulysses says otherwise,” Tony says, flashing Rhodey a fifty-dollar bill. “Come on, I’m starved.”

Rhodey sighs, sticks his arms in his leather jacket, and pops the collar. “Fine. But you’re buying me a cookie.”

Tony digs his bag of chips out the trash and opens them, ignoring Rhodey’s disgusted sound behind him. “Tony, really, don’t. Please don’t. Do not eat those. I swear if you do--”

He gets a shit-eating grin as Tony pops a chip in his mouth. “For the road.”

“I hate you.”