Work Text:
Usually Tony doesn’t mind that he’s friends with a bunch of assholes.
He’s quite an asshole himself after all, and besides after Rhodey went to college last summer Tony’s been operating on the assumption that he’d spend his last two years of High School like the pre-Rhodey times: lonely, withdrawn and scorned by the other students. Instead a pathetic attempt at bullying has brought Tony’s existence to star quarterback Steve Roger’s attention and next thing he knows Tony is the guy’s newest pity project.
It’s a thing of Rogers’ and to a lesser degree his friends. They take care of some poor sod for a year, tell the bullies to back off, ensure that he doesn’t get stuffed into a locker, that kind of thing. There’s a message in there somewhere that, knowing Rogers, is probably meant to be something along the lines of ‘bullying not tolerated’ but comes across as more of a ‘don’t touch my stuff’.
Not that Tony’s ever corrected them on this particular matter. Contrary to popular opinion Tony is well-aware of his non-existent standing within the group, thank you very much. They make sure to be seen with the socially incapable science freak to prove just how open-minded and all-inclusive they are. In exchange Tony has a table to sit at during lunch hours and occasionally someone listening to his ramblings and pointless banter.
It’s a pretty well-working concept, winners all around, breaking stereotypes without actually breaking stereotypes and really, isn’t that what High School is all about anyways?
Most days Tony appreciates the quid pro quo relationship he’s got going with them. It’s pretty nice to know exactly where he’s standing with everyone. For example he knows that Rogers honestly doesn’t like him because Tony’s too cynical and un-idealistic but the self-righteous bastard’ll protect him anyways because he promised. And Rogers always keeps his promises, which is as nice as it is annoying. Tony usually tries to avoid interacting too much with him, lest their conversation ends in another screaming match.
Barnes, Rogers’ best friend since before forever was invented, doesn’t care about Tony one way or another. But he won’t say anything against him as long as Rogers wants him there. Which is fine, Tony can work with that. They have awkward small talk involving their insane chemistry teacher every other week and sometimes Barnes laughs when Tony makes yet another experiment explode in everyone’s faces.
Also part of the group is Natasha Romanov, the mandatory cheer leader and queen bee. Except for the part where a single glance from her can make you fear for your life and the rumours about certain students disappearing after they’ve bothered her one too many times. She’s also the least transparent person Tony’s ever known. Manages to put up the most cheerful, brilliant smile one second and the scariest motherfucking scowl the next. And the funny thing is that all of her expressions look completely genuine, making it impossible to tell when she’s faking and when she’s real. Tony secretly suspects that she’s always faking but either way he’s impressed.
Natasha Romanov has never as much as spoken a word of Tony, which might have worried him, if not for the fact that she’s also never spoken a word against him. They just sorta co-exist and if Tony is extra careful that none of his more lewd jokes can in any way be attributed to her nobody has to know.
Next in the overall hierarchy of the group is Clint, who’s Natasha’s boyfriend, bodyguard, apprentice and sidekick all at once. If you buy into the rumour mill, that is. Clint is perhaps the least intimidating one in the group which he makes up for with his quick wit and sharp tongue. Tony has come to an unspoken understanding with the guy, a sort of platonic love-hate relationship that they’ve unwittingly entered. They generally spend their breaks bantering back and forth, sniping and making fun of each other.
It’s good because with Clint Tony actually gets to talk, even if it’s layered in heavy sarcasm and thinly-veiled insults. It’s not so good because Clint doesn’t stop, not ever, and sometimes the words weigh heavier on Tony’s mind than he likes to admit.
Finally there is Thor, the foreign ex-change student who likes to play dumb just to watch people fumble while trying to explain what a tomato is. It’s pretty hilarious and even if it wasn't Thor’s well-built enough that nobody would dare to tell him otherwise. Tony doesn’t have much to do with him, Thor usually joins his lovely Jane - who is either his girlfriend or his promised fair maiden from a far-away kingdom, Tony hasn’t figured that out yet - during lunch. But overall the guy is both, too honest and too obvious to nurture a secret hatred against him, so Tony figures they’re in a pretty good place of occasionally acknowledging the other’s existence with a short nod.
So yes, Tony isn’t exactly close friends with Rogers’ gang but he spends a substantial amount of time with them, which by default makes them his closest friends (with the exception of Rhodey of course, who’s always the exception). He likes to think that he knows them all fairly well at this point and he knows they’re all assholes. Even Rogers. Especially Rogers.
But again, Tony doesn’t usually mind that. It’s probably half the reason he fits into the group in the first place. Because if there’s one thing besides robotics that Tony knows how to do it’s how to insult people. How to insult them so it hurts, really hurts, how to make your words hit every sensitive spot and secret insecurity. And sometimes, sometimes Tony just forgets to hold that back, forgets that he’s not at home where every noise is an attack against him and he’s on the defence before he even realises whom he’s talking to.
It would be hypocritical of him to blame them for doing the exact same thing. Besides it’s not like Tony doesn’t know how to deal with accusations and bitter scorn. If anything, that’s probably the third thing he’s really good at. Practice makes perfect and all that.
But that doesn’t mean that those things don’t affect Tony. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother him when Rogers rolls his eyes during one of Tony’s rants about the incapable physics’ teacher that refuses to accept that the answer in the book is simply wrong. That doesn’t mean Clint’s shrugged “Who cares?” when Tony tells them that the tarantula he’s supposed to raise for a biology project has died doesn’t hurt. That doesn’t mean Barnes’ disbelieving scoff when Tony snaps that he knows what hard work is, thank you very much, doesn’t chafe away at a wound Tony’s become so used to carrying he barely even notices anymore.
Because Tony cares.
He cares and he cares and he can’t stop caring, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’s overreacting, too sensitive, too soft. Tony knows that. He’s always known that. But rationality doesn’t make it easier, doesn’t soothe the stinging pain. Most days Tony can live with that. Most days he covers it with barbs and bad jokes, most days he does it so well that even he himself buys in the act.
Most days.
But there are days where Tony can’t do that. Days where every comment digs itself deeper into his skin, every insult burns, every harsh word makes his eyes sting. Tony hates those days.
He also likes to pretend they don’t exist which explains why it takes him by surprise when the inevitable happens.
The day starts of as any other Thursday does, with a double period French Tony’s taking on his mother’s insistence. Not that he particularly minds the language but it gets him some shit because apparently a mechanic wunderkind isn’t supposed to show interest in anything beyond physical laws and equations. Having Thor’s loud, heart-felt laugh accompanying the usual teasing shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. Today it definitely does.
In third period Mr. Happy forbids Tony from raising another tarantula. Tony doesn’t know what’s worse, having accidentally killed the only pet he’s ever been allowed to have, disappointing his favourite teacher and not getting a chance to fix it or failing the project which he knows his father will find out soon enough. The combination of all those way too intense emotions leaves him feeling off-balance and oddly shaky. It doesn’t help that Clint laughs mockingly when Tony mentions that he’s gonna bury Higgs - because yes, he named his tarantula after the Higgs boson, now back the fuck off - in the manor’s garden.
Tony balls his hands into fists under the table and brutally chokes down a sob angry scream. It doesn’t matter that Clint doesn’t take him seriously. Nobody ever does.
By the time lunch rolls around Tony is already thoroughly done with the day. He’s gotten into another argument with his physics teacher, except this time the man’s voice got angrier and angrier and he was wrong but Tony couldn’t concentrate, kept stumbling over his words and-
“Man, you should’ve seen it!” Clint still hasn’t recovered from that lesson and truthfully neither has Tony, if in a very different way. “I’ve never seen anyone shut up Stark like that, I didn’t even think it was possible!”
And Tony tries, tries hard to awkwardly laugh along with the others, who look amused and entertained and maybe a little exasperated but the echo of his father’s fury, shattering vase, raised voices, is still too loud in his ears and the chuckle he forces out is too high, too breakable.
It gains him the attention of the others, which is the last thing he can deal with right now. Tony can feel it, how thin the railing he’s balancing on has gotten all off sudden, how the ground keeps crumbling beneath his feet and. There’s panic closing off his throat, leaving him fumbling under the expectant eyes on him and Tony’s never felt this put on a spot, can’t remember what he wanted to say, what he’s supposed to do.
Somehow he must have managed to get a couple of words out that get everyone to laugh or roll their eyes at him - which doesn’t hurt, isn’t supposed to hurt - and then Tony’s bowed over his lunch because he can’t look at them right now, doesn’t even want to hear them, just focuses hard on the stew Jarvis has made for him and blinks the stupid moisture in his eyes away.
Apparently though being left alone for any period of time is too much to ask for. And of course Rogers feels obligated to ridicule him because clearly “the cafeteria food isn’t up to your standards, is it.” Which again is nothing Tony hasn’t heard before, hasn’t shrugged off before but.
It’s true enough, in a way. There was this incident when he was eight and had to spend a day in the hospital because apparently there had been peanuts in his soup. It was another unacceptable weakness in his father’s eyes but his mother insisted on having lunch prepared for him ever since. Tony is in no mood to explain, just mumbles something about allergies and keeps his eyes on his spoon.
He doesn’t want to think about his parents right now, about how Howard will react to the stupid F in biology, about his mom’s disappointment. Tony doesn’t want to talk at all, just wants to curl himself up in a quiet corner and calm down.
Across the table Barnes’ snorts. “Typical rich boy problems,” he says, and continues with something else but Tony doesn’t hear it. Can’t hear anything beyond the disgust in those words, the yelled failure from yesterday’s fight with his father, Higgs being dead because he can’t do anything right, always messes up and ruins everything, really, it’s no wonder nobody wants anything to do with him, he doesn’t do anything but take, take, take, doesn’t even know how to take a goddamn joke-
“Tony?”
Tony’s head snaps up at that because Rogers doesn’t call him by his first name, not everand he thinks they’re staring at him again but Tony doesn’t know for certain. Everything is a little blurry, Rogers blue eyes a distorted drop of colour and it takes Tony a long moment to notice that his face is wet and an even longer moment to realise that he’s crying.
Everything is a blur after that. Jumping out of his chair, reaching for his back pack, running out of the cafeteria. Tony barely remembers any of it, and looking back it’s a miracle he doesn’t run into something or someone on the way out. Then he’s stumbling through the hallways, not knowing where he’s going, only that he needs to go away, the farther the better.
In the end, Tony curls himself up in a corner of the empty biology laboratory, near the terrariums filled with chirping insects, mice and lizards. The familiarity of being surrounded by glass and flickering neon lights centres Tony, helps him calm down and ease a pressure he hasn’t been aware he was under. Sadly it also allows him the clarity to process his embarrassing freak-out which almost leads Tony straight into a panic attack because dear god, how’s he ever gonna face any of them ever again?
It decidedly doesn’t help that at exact this moment the door to the lab is thrown open and Tony’s sanctuary is invaded by the very people he wants to face the least.
For a moment they simply stare at each other in silence, Rogers, Barnes, Natasha, Clint and Thor piled up in the narrow door - which frankly looks ridiculous - on one side and Tony, half-hidden behind a lab table, clinging to his back pack like it’s gonna shield him from the inevitable mocking, on the other one.
Just like it’s always been, Tony thinks bitterly and regrets not for the first time that he didn’t jump two classes ahead to join Rhodey when he had the chance.
“Tony,” Rogers’ breathes, an odd note of relief in his voice.
It seems to be enough for his friends to relax, if only a little, which is strange as well.
“Thank fuck,” Clint sighs and sags against the door frame before a pointed glare from Natasha makes him straighten again.
Absently Tony wonders if they’re aware that they’re still blocking the door and what they have in store for him in case they are.
The thought makes him tense up even more.
Rogers is the first one to actually step into the room, a foreign expression on his face that Tony can’t read at all and that sends a spike of real fear down his back.
“Stop!” Tony snaps, or tries to anyways. “Leave me alone!” But instead of demanding the words sounds raw and shaken and far too much like he spent the last ten minutes sobbing his heart out for Tony’s peace of mind.
It causes Rogers to freeze anyways, which is surprisingly gratifying. But he doesn’t leave, doesn’t turn around like Tony half expects him to. Just stands there, one arm stretched into Tony’s direction, brows furrowed and fingers clenching like he wants to hold onto something that isn’t there. Tony still can’t read the expression on his face but it doesn’t look particularly comfortable.
“Stark,” Clint says and Tony does the most moronic thing possible: he flinches.
The heavy silence that follows is definitely not his imagination acting up again.
“Stark.” Clint says eventually, voice gentling. He’s looking strange, all tense and twitchy, which doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like Clint is the one being cornered by five people stronger than him in an abandoned school lab.
“Just leave me alone!” Tony begs, too desperate to be mortified right now. He’s gone from clinging to his back pack to hugging it to his chest, shoulders curled into himself defensively. Tony knows he makes a pathetic picture, knows he should man up and deal with this but he’s tired and he doesn’t want to.
“We’re not gonna leave you when you’re upset!” Rogers has the nerve to sound scandalised at the prospect. “We’re your friends!”
Tony can’t help but snort derisively at the pretentiousness of that statement. “Oh, right,” he says because slipping into a sarcastic drawl is easy as breathing, “Because friends always tear each other down and then refuse to back off, I forgot. Must’ve left my friendship bracelet at home today, thanks for reminding me.”
Rogers visibly winces but Tony refuses to take the words back. He’s tired of this bullshit, tired of pretending. If Rogers wants a public happy ending, fine, Tony doesn’t need the dramatic fall-out anyways, but not. right. now.
“What do you mean with ‘public happy ending’?” asks the guy in question, which is when Tony realises that he must have spoken that last part out loud.
Rogers looks so confused it would be adorable in any other situation and something about that, this complete cluelessness, makes Tony snap. Again. He really needs to get a hold of some of that fabled self-control.
“Oh, will you just fucking drop the act?” Tony blurts out, unable to bite the words back any longer. The funny thing is that he’s not angry, not even really embarrassed anymore. At this point, all Tony feels is numbness and exhaustion. “I get it, alright? You gotta play up the concerned friend angle or whatever but you’ve been here, done your civic duty and nobody’s gonna blame you for not sticking around, so just go, alright?”
Rogers’ face twists with something Tony might have identified as pain under any other circumstances. It’s not a pretty sight but Tony tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care. “Act? Tony, what are you talking about?”
Tony clenches his teeth, an edge of long-buried rage blooming in his chest because he can’t believe they’re actually gonna make him say it out loud. But even that indignation takes too much effort to hold on to.
“You,” Tony gestures at the five of them, “all but rule the goddamn school. Me? I’m just the socially awkward nerd without friends. Come on, there’re movies about this, it’s not hard to figure out!” Tony huffs. “We’re not friends. Heck, you don’t even like me! I’m just the kid you humour because it shows everyone just how great and open-minded you have to be to tolerate someone like me. You put up with me as long as I don’t make too much of a nuisance out of myself. That’s not a friendship, that’s getting a dog you never wanted for Christmas and deciding to grin and bear it until you can get rid off it without anyone noticing!”
Tony should probably be ashamed of the truth that rings in those words but instead they make him sit up taller. He’s thought them for such a long time, it feels like he’s been choking on them and saying them out loud doesn’t make them hurt any less but it’s freeing too.
Though if his face is anything to go by, Rogers doesn’t seem to agree with that assessment. “I-” Rogers pauses, wide-eyed and pale. Then, “Tony.” The way Rogers says Tony’s name is weird though, a pained moan that sounds almost inhuman.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” Natasha’s clear voice interrupts their silent stare-off. Which is a relief, because Rogers isn’t reacting the way he’s supposed to and it’s throwing Tony off. There’s no ‘good to know we’re all on the same page’ smile for one.
Tony turns his head to look at Natasha, only she doesn’t look like the calm and collected cheer captain he’s used to seeing. Her make-up sits perfectly of course but with Natasha everything is about the small things: The way she shakes her head in a tiny movement, causing her ponytail to swing from one side to the other. The way her eyes stay fixed on a single point, Tony’s own, with the kind of focus more appropriate for major heart operations. The way she purses her lips in a visible sign of displeasure.
Tony swallows. Where Natasha is concerned, any visible sign is a bad sign.
“Well, sure,” he answers anyways because Tony is good at ignoring his self-preservation instincts like that. And maybe also because Natasha would have smelt a lie like the freaking undercover agent everyone pretends she isn’t. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
It’s a fact and Tony knows facts well. But the statement ends up sounding like a question instead because there are five people staring at him like he’s lost his mind and Tony doesn’t deal well with this kind of pressure. In case anyone hasn’t noticed.
“Stark,” Natasha says slowly, voice sharp enough to cut glass, and that’s a tone Tony’s well acquainted with, “you’re an idiot.”
Tony blinks. The insult hurts, just a little, the way insults always do, but he’s more surprised than anything else. He’s used to being called a variety of names on a daily basis but admittedly ‘idiot’ isn’t usually among them. If there’s one thing everyone knows it’s that Tony’s genius status is well-earned, seven patents have made sure of it.
Besides Natasha Clint shakes his head in silent agreement. “You seriously think we’d have put up with you for months if we didn’t like you at all? Forget us, you know how Steve is! You really think he’d put up with anyone he doesn’t want around?”
Tony tilts his head sideways. Clint makes an unexpectedly good point but still-
“Wow,” Clint continues with a terrible laugh before Tony has the chance to say something, “I don’t know what I’m more insulted about, that you think we’d string you along like that or that you think this is the only possible reason people could spend time with you.”
Frowning Tony opens his mouth but he doesn’t get the chance to ask because Barnes finally regains his ability to speak from where he’s been gaping by Rogers’ side and proceeds to assure everyone of this with a barrage of the most colourful swearwords Tony has ever heard. He struggles to make out anything between the ‘fucking’s and ‘shit’s and is entirely unprepared for Barnes to suddenly stalk towards him like a man on a mission. Tony barely has the time to think ‘uh oh’ before the buff senior is standing right in front of him and then he’s being roughly pulled onto his feet and-
being pulled into a hug?
If Tony’s brain was a computer - which would be nice because then he wouldn’t have to deal with emotional messes like this at all - this, right now, would be the moment that would cause it to crash. Actually, that’s exactly what it does, or at least how it feels to Tony. Barnes’ arms are pressing him tightly against his chest, his face buried in Tony’s hair. He’s still muttering one thing or another - knowing Barnes probably none of them nice - but Tony can’t concentrate on the words.
He feels odd.
By all accounts the position should be uncomfortable. His face is squashed against the well-worn leather jacket Barnes’ is known to wear and the way Barnes’ is holding him forces Tony to balance on his tiptoes. But Barnes also smells familiar and comforting, and he’s warm and Tony finds himself just sort of sinking into the hug, letting the closeness seep into his body and dispel the tension.
Tony’s eyes burn and the back of his throat itches but no tears come, not even when a hand - too small to belong to Barnes - gently cards through his hair. Instead Tony ends up closing his eyes, exhaustion outweighing any dignity he might have left at this point by far, as he allows himself to just bask in this moment.
It’s why it takes him a while to realise that Barnes isn’t cursing, is whispering “You’re not a fuckin’ nuisance, you’re our goddamn friend and I swear to god if you ever so much as think something bad about yourself in my presence again I’ll punch you in your stupid, pretty face!” into his ear instead. Okay, so he’s cussing but they’re still not the words Tony’s been expecting, alright?
Rogers is standing at Tony’s back, hands hovering nervously and of course he’s lecturing Tony even though he looks incredibly out of his element. Tony doesn’t know why he’s expected anything else. And no, there’s no surge of fondness in that thought, what are you talking about?
Then there’s Natasha gently trailing her fingers down his neck, smile sharper than any blade and a quiet “I let you paint my nails last week, Antonio,” that somehow manages to convey every bit as much emotion as Barnes. Whom Tony should probably call Bucky, considering he’s still hanging in the guy’s arms like a human-shaped sack of potatoes.
Thor’s stepped closer as well, unusually quiet. One of his big hands is on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing carefully and Tony’s forgotten how much he loves being touched like that. Like he matters.
Clint wiggles himself in between Natasha and Rogers like the attention-seeking brat he secretly is to place his chin on Tony’s unoccupied shoulder and obnoxiously blow hot breath against his ear. “Turns out that annoying little shit that’s never learned when to keep his mouth shut I know really grows on you,” Clint proclaims with a shrug.
“And then one day you wake up and realise you really like the guy, only apparently he hasn’t gotten the message yet,” Rogers agrees with a self-deprecating smile.
“We are not stuck with you, Tony,” Thor chimes in, with his most solemn face no less. Natasha’s lightly pulls on Tony’s hair. “You are stuck with us.”
It sounds like a promise. Tony can feel Barnes’ grip tighten around him and decides he doesn’t mind.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, it’s Clint who ends up breaking the moment with a cheerful, “So, since apparently an affectionate ‘idiot’ doesn’t get the message across, how do you feel about pet names?”