Work Text:
He hates the weekly calls with his parents. Despises them. When his mother answers, he can at least manage to lie and pretend that he is a model student, spending all of his time studying in his dorm and attending classes religiously. It’s nice to hear his mom’s voice anyhow, sending warmth through him that he rarely experiences otherwise.
It’s the weeks that his father answers the phone that Tony feels as if he would rather be buried alive than endure one more conversation with the man. Howard Stark has never been a father that is affectionate or concerned with his only child’s wellbeing, evidenced by the numerous boarding schools Tony had attended and the way his dad jumped at the chance of shipping him off to MIT when he should really only be a freshman in high school. Sure, he’s smart, a genius even, but he’s also only fifteen years old. None of this stops Howard Stark from raising his expectations ever higher and being perpetually disappointed when Tony fails to meet them.
His father answered today’s phone call. Tony didn’t even get to say hello to his old man before the scientist was laying into him about pictures the paparazzi had taken of Tony leaving a frat party the previous weekend, leaning heavily against Rhodey as his friend dragged him from the house. It was a nice party. Tony had been able to drink enough to forget he was Anthony Stark and not just a college student named Tony for a while. Until Rhodey tracked him down and hauled him back to their dorm to sober up. Still, it was nice while it lasted, which was right up until he made his weekly call home today while Rhodey was in class.
Howard had ranted and raved over the phone for close to an hour, barely letting Tony get a word in. It had ended with the man saying some rather unkind words about his son before slamming the phone on the hook with an audible ‘bang.’ Tony had stood in the hallway where the communal phone was located for precisely four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, phone still in hand and staring blankly at the wall, before another student knocked him out of his racing thoughts by requesting to use the phone. He hadn’t said a word to the older boy, dropping the phone and letting it dangle from the cord before rushing back to his dorm room.
And now he’s here, back pressed to the corner of his room, hiding under his lofted bed with his knees pulled to his chest and eyes unseeing. His chest burns. He’s not sure when the last time he took a breath was. He’s not sure if he can even breathe anymore. His vision is blurring with tears and he’s vaguely aware of a wet sensation on his face. He’s trembling from head to toe but that’s not something he can currently worry about when the arms around his bent legs are the only thing holding him together. He's almost sure that he would shatter into a million pieces if he let’s go.
Is this what the rest of his life will be like? Criticized by family and strangers alike? Never having any sort of privacy? Being the son of a man that must wish that Tony was never born at all? You would think that after fifteen years of being a Stark he would be used to such things, but today seems different. His father was the most hateful he’s ever been during the phone call. Telling Tony he’s a failure, a stain on the Stark name, a little boy playing at being a man. Tony may not have ever been sure that his dad loved him, but he never truly thought that the man may hate him until today. All over some stupid pictures in a magazine.
He’s not sure how much time has passed when he begins to hear something other than the blood rushing past his ears and his heart pounding in his chest.
“Tony? Tony, man, I need you to come back to me. Focus, kid.”
That voice. He knows that voice. He trusts that voice.
“Come on, Tones. Deep breaths. In…Out. Again.”
Tony gasps in a breath, becoming aware once again of the burning in his chest. His lungs expand rapidly as he sucks in as much air as possible to make up for lost time. He chokes. He’s suffocating.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Try again. In…Out…In…Out…” He tries his best to follow the instructions, blinking through the tears that are still pouring down his face. He manages to make out a familiar figure crouched in front of him.
“Rho-” He cuts himself off in a sob, breath catching as he tries to take the deep breaths his friend is attempting to guide him in.
“That’s right. It’s me, Tones. Just focus on me,” Rhodey nods slowly, keeping eye contact with him. After a moment, Tony nods back. “Okay. Can you tell me five things you can see?”
Tony flicks his eyes around, and has trouble focusing on anything other than Rhodey. He settles his gaze back on his best friend and examines him instead.
“Y-Your backpack.” His eyes trail over the navy straps still resting on the boy’s shoulders. “Jacket.” It’s a red hoodie, Rhodey’s favorite one. “Pe-Pens.” There’s three ink pens sticking out of Rhodey’s hoodie pocket. “Sneakers.” They’re the ones he wears the most. The left one has a hole forming in the toe of the shoe. He looks a little higher than the shoes and he thinks his vision might be playing tricks on him. Those…Those are not Rhodey’s socks. “Socks?”
The question in his tone causes Rhodey to look down and spot what he’s staring at. Distantly, Tony hears himself snort in amusement at the mismatched socks on Rhodey’s feet. One is hot pink with little black kittens on it. The other is rainbow striped. “Uh, yeah. Somehow they got in my laundry.”
The absurdity of his best friend wearing some random girl’s socks seems to be exactly what Tony needed to kick his brain into gear. He starts laughing and finds he can’t stop, chest burning again from lack of air but this time due to laughter instead of tears.
“And-And you decided to wear them?!” Tony barely gets the words out, shoulders shaking.
Rodey shrugs sheepishly, “All of mine are dirty.”
This sends Tony into another laughing fit, Rhodey cracking a smile at the sight. They both sit on the floor of their dorm laughing together over colorful socks for several moments. Finally, Tony manages to catch his breath. He lets his arm fall from around his knees, shoulders slumping as exhaustion hits him. The seemingly endless tears had taken a lot out of him.
“You okay?” Rhodey asks, reaching out to place a hand on Tony’s. Tony flinches back involuntarily.
“Please don’t touch me.” Not when he’s still feeling as if his entire being is fractured and may fall apart. Not when his failure may be contagious.
Rhodey watches him with an indecipherable look on his face, chewing his lip. Tony shifts nervously and it takes everything in him not to avert his gaze. “Okay,” His friend stands and Tony’s heart drops at the thought of him leaving him here all alone. Rhodey steps over to his side of the room, dropping his bookbag on his bed before turning back around. “Want to go get cheeseburgers?”
Tony stares blankly for a few seconds, brain trying to catch up with what all has happened in the last couple of hours. He nods without even registering the action, crawling out from under his bed. He doesn’t speak until he’s stood in front of Rhodey. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “burgers sound great.”
The burgers are amazing. Tony and Rhodey sit in a booth at a diner across town with burgers, fries, and milkshakes. Tony doesn’t think a double bacon cheeseburger has ever tasted so good.
“Thank you.”
Rhodey looks up at him but Tony stares resolutely at his meal. “For the burger?”
“No,” Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. Rhodey knows exactly what he meant. “For being here.”
Neither of them say anything for a moment, eating in silence. Then, “You deserve to have someone on your side, Tony. Thank you for letting it be me.”
He looks up at Rhodey in surprise but his friend merely continues eating as if he hadn’t just shattered Tony’s world view. How could he ever deserve James Rhodes?
“You wanna break into the robotics lab tonight?” The words come out in a rush but he just knows that he needs to do something for Rhodey, to find a way to prove that maybe he one day will deserve him as a friend.
Rhodey looks up then, blinking at him blankly. A smile slowly forms on his face, devious. “What’re we building?”
Tony feels his own smile creeping across his face. Warmth fills him. A warmth that’s somehow almost better than the phone calls with his mom. Maybe he hasn’t failed at everything.