Thanks to my beta, irite, for indulging my melodrama.
Warnings: drug and alcohol use by a minor, angst.
In theory, Tony believed that drunk driving was bad.
It was, after all, illegal. And for obvious reasons. Someone—and usually not the stupid drunk behind the wheel—could get hurt. Or killed. Hurting and killing people was bad.
The problem was, he wasn't sure how else he was supposed to get from point A to point B.
The obvious solution, of course, and the one that his mind managed to entirely avoid, was to avoid drinking when he knew he was going to be driving. Alternatively, he could have just cancelled his night's plans when it became apparent that he'd crossed the line from 'sober' into the land of 'not sober.'
But really, where was the fun in that?
So Tony, even though he'd broken into his latest acquisition from his dad's liquor stash shortly after getting off the phone with Rhodey hours ago, figured he'd just drive carefully when he went to pick Rhodey up. Sure, he was drunk, but it wasn't the first time he'd decided to drive drunk and he hadn't killed himself or anyone else yet.
He slipped out of his house a bit after 10:00 PM, not even bothering to try to be quiet. His parents were home, at least, one of their cars had appeared in the circular driveway in the last twelve hours, but they hadn't said anything to him all night. And they didn't appear as he was leaving to demand an explanation about where he was going or why he smelled just a little bit like a liquor store, so Tony figured he was in the clear.
Like he ever wasn't.
He dropped his keys as he was trying to unlock his car door and swore under his breath before crouching down to feel around for them. Doing so threw off his balance, and Tony promptly tipped over onto his hands and knees.
He giggled.
Then stopped abruptly.
It occurred to him that this wasn't funny. That it was, in fact, pathetic. He was pathetic. And he really had no business getting behind the wheel of a car, not tonight, not with how much he'd already had to drink. No matter what his selfish asshole stream of consciousness was telling him.
Hammer and his stupid fucking party could wait.
Slowly, Tony stood, using the door handle on the car to pull himself up. Then, carefully, slowly, he scanned the ground, looking for his keys. When he found them, he leaned over and picked them up, managing to not fall over this time.
He made his way back into the house.
He planned to call Rhodey, to tell him that their plans were off, but he was intercepted at the bottom of the stairs by his father before he could retreat back to his room.
Tony placed the odds of such an encounter occurring someone around one in sixty-four thousand.
"Tony," Howard said, sounding annoyed, not bothering with a greeting even though this was the first time they'd spoken in days. "Did you use that new epoxy I was designing in my lab?"
It took Tony a minute to come up with what he was talking about. Then it came to him. He had, in fact, snagged a tube of epoxy from his dad's workbench a few days ago. "Uh. Yeah. I guess, I didn't realize it was special—"
Howard sighed, obviously put out. "Look, you can't just go in there and take whatever you want—" he cut himself off, then asked, "Have you been drinking?"
Tony placed the odds of Howard noticing that somewhere around one in one hundred and twenty eight thousand. The odds were on his side, but apparently fate was out to get him. Unless maybe he smelled a little more like a liquor store than he'd thought?
Tony shook his head and muttered, "Um. No."
"Don't lie to me, Tony. I'm not an idiot. You can't just—"
"Maybe," Tony interrupted, suddenly angry, "If you spent less time lecturing me about what I can't do and spent some time actually enforcing a goddamn rule, we wouldn't be having this problem!"
He wasn't sure where the anger had come from—probably from the fact his brain was swimming in booze—but now that he was angry, he was angry.
Howard didn't really appreciate what Tony was saying, though. "Don't you talk to me like that."
"Oh, sorry," Tony shot back, slurring the 's' and wavering in place. "Let's just go back to not talking at all, 'kay?"
And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed back the way he'd come, back outside, back towards his car.
Because why the fuck not, right?
Howard didn't even try to stop him.
And that hardened Tony's resolve into something hard and cold in his gut.
This time, Tony managed to get the door unlocked without any trouble, and he heaved himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door, jamming the key into the ignition. He threw the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing.
As he drove, he kept one eye on the road while he dug around in the glovebox. He was swerving erratically, but he didn't really notice, too intent on his search. After a moment, he found what he was looking for—a small orange bottle. He'd lifted it from his mom's medicine cabinet, and she probably hadn't noticed that her Xanax had gone missing. And if she had, she hadn't called him on it, so Tony figured he was in the clear. As always. He only took this shit when he needed to mellow out, and right now, he was pretty far from mellow. One-handed, he popped the top off the bottle and shook a couple of pills into his hand.
He swallowed them dry.
Immediately, he felt better. Calmer.
By the time he got to Rhodey's place fifteen minutes later, he felt even more calm.
In fact, he felt so calm that he parked his car on Rhodey's neighbor's lawn.
A minute later, the passenger's side door of the car opened and then Rhodey was in the car and he was yelling.
It was loud and confusing.
"What the hell, Tony! You know I have to be subtle when I'm sneaking out. Not everyone has the absentee parents of the year, some of us have to put in an effort—are you drunk?"
Slowly, Tony found his mouth and remembered how to make words. "I...that's a possibility."
He let his head loll to one side so he was looking at Rhodey instead of vaguely in front of himself, just in time to see Rhodey look down.
To where the bottle of pills was still sitting on the console. Wordlessly, Rhodey picked up the bottle and read it. Then he set it down, clenching his hands together.
"Tony. Tell me you didn't take those with alcohol."
Well, Tony was kind of a shit liar, truth be told, even at the top of his game. Which he wasn't. "That's a possibility, too."
Now that he was thinking about it, it occurred to Tony that mixing a tranquilizer with alcohol was probably a bad idea.
He was distracted from that train of thought by Rhodey's enormous sigh. Tony thought about bracing himself for the lecture that was sure to come, but he couldn't really do much more than let his head loll the other way.
Surprisingly, no lecture came. Rhodey just said, "Get out of the damn driver's seat."
Thankful that he was being spared, at least for the moment, Tony obediently opened his door and unbuckled his seatbelt. He attempted to get out of the car and promptly fell over.
Rhodey, who'd vacated the passenger's seat, just sighed again. "Stay there."
A minute later, he grabbed Tony under his arms and heaved him up and, rather roughly, dragged him around to the passenger's side and dropped him in. Then he got into the driver's side, looking like he'd love nothing more to slam his door if the car wasn't, you know, parked on his neighbor's front lawn.
"Close your door," Rhodey instructed, as Tony had not yet made a move to do so.
Tony lifted one extremely heavy arm to comply. When he'd managed to get it more or less shut (closer to less, honestly, but it was hard and he was tired), he turned to Rhodey. "I'm tired."
"Yeah, I bet," Rhodey muttered. He started the car, backing carefully off his neighbor's lawn. Then he turned the car so that it was, if Tony's calculations were correct (and at the moment, they might not be) not facing the way to Justin Hammer's house.
"Rhodeyyyyy," Tony whined. "Partyyyy."
"Not happening," he replied. "I'm taking you home."
Fuck.
There were exactly three seconds where Rhodey drove in silence before he burst out, "What the hell are you thinking!"
At the moment, not much, but that probably wasn't the answer Rhodey was looking for. So Tony tried, "Sorry." He wasn't sure for what—for the entirety of his existence, maybe—but it seemed like the right thing to say.
"No, you're not," Rhodey said, eyes on the road as he carefully navigated an intersection Tony had swerved through not ten minutes before. "If you were, you'd stop doing this shit." He sighed. "You're damn lucky I'm here to clean up your messes."
"I didn't ask you to!" Tony attempted to spit out. It came out more mumbled than angry, though, and Rhodey just shook his head.
"Yeah, but I can't just let you wrap your car around a tree or something, dumbass."
At that, Tony laughed. He couldn't help it, it was funny.
"What?" Rhodey asked, annoyed. "What's so funny?"
"Certain other people," Tony said, speaking more to the roof of the car than to Rhodey, "Had no problem with me wrapping my car around a tree. In fact, they might prefer it since I wouldn't be able to steal their..." What had been Howard's issue again? Oh yeah. "Their precious epoxy."
"You talked to your dad before you left?" Rhodey asked sharply, glancing over to his right before turning back to the road.
Tony shrugged. "Yeah. Stupid asshole."
"And he just...let you go."
"Yup."
"Like this."
"More'r'less."
Rhodey sighed, but didn't speak again, and without the distraction it took Tony approximately 34 seconds to fall asleep.
He was awakened by Rhodey shaking his shoulder roughly. "Hey. We're here, come on."
Tony opened his eyes, expecting to see the circular driveway in front of his own house. Instead, he saw that he was back on Rhodey's street, parked in front of Rhodey's house.
"Come on," Rhodey said, getting out of the car. Which he had parked rather more neatly than Tony had managed to. "Or do you need a hand?"
"Think I'm okay," Tony mumbled, too out of it to really care much that he was in the wrong place. He opened his door and managed to get out of the car and stand. He stumbled when he took a step, though, and so Rhodey came around to help him, irritatedly flinging one of Tony's arms over his shoulders.
"We gotta be quiet," Rhodey said, leading Tony towards the garage. "My parents are asleep, and if you wake them up falling down a flight of stairs or something, they're gonna be pissed."
He muttered something about 'and they might drag your idiot self to a hospital' but Tony largely ignored that.
Tony mumbled something that was meant to be an agreement, and the two of them somehow made it up to Rhodey's room without disaster. Once up there, Rhodey dumped Tony rather ingloriously onto a chair. "You can sleep there. Or on the floor. I'm not getting you an air mattress or something, you don't deserve that tonight."
"What about the guest room?" Tony attempted to say. God, he was tired. He made a mental note to avoid ingesting that particular combination of chemicals in the future.
"With the shit you took, I'm gonna have to keep an eye on your dumb ass and make sure you don't die or something. So you're staying here." He grabbed a pillow and blanket off his bed and heaved them at Tony. "Now go to sleep."
After a moment's consideration, Tony took the pillow and blanket and sprawled out on the floor. It was several steps removed from his king-sized bed, but strangely, he didn't mind.
"Thanks," he muttered, pressing his face into the pillow.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Rhodey snorted. "Oh, and by the way, if you think you're sleeping 'til noon tomorrow, that's not gonna fly. I need to go to the library. You're coming with me. And if you don't complain too much, I'll even feed you breakfast."
Tony groaned.
After his...strange breakfast with Clint and Natasha on Saturday, Bruce spent the rest of the day meandering around town. His dad didn't work weekends, so he made it his goal to stay out of the house as much as possible, and he was quite adept at it after years of practice.
He'd been thinking of working on his A Farewell to Arms paper, but now that he had a...study date...he wasn't sure if he really wanted to. Besides, the idea of going back to the library had felt weird.
So he'd spent an hour at the park, enjoying the fall day. That had been interrupted when a group of kids from one of the lower grades had come through. Rather than deal with them, Bruce had opted for a tactical retreat, though not before they'd had the opportunity to yell a few choice phrases about his mental state. Still, Bruce had escaped largely unscathed, and after that he'd wandered around downtown, window shopping. He got bored soon, though, and he was making his way back to the library after all when he'd jammed his hands in his pocket and found...a $10 bill.
Bruce knew Natasha had to have slipped it to him—his payment for tutoring Clint—but he hadn't noticed her doing so, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and shook his head.
That girl.
Still, even if she was...peculiar, Bruce couldn't deny that she was friendly. And very good at acting like the fact Bruce was a well-documented psycho didn't bother her in the slightest. Clint was the same, really, though his vibe was definitely more easygoing than Natasha's.
Frankly, it had been so long since one, let alone two, of his classmates had treated him like he was human that Bruce found it both frightening and exhilarating, and he was looking forward to Sunday's study date with equal parts trepidation and excitement.
Bruce shoved the $10 back into his pocket and resumed his trek to the library. They closed at 6:00 on Saturdays, and with a bit of luck, his dad would be out of the house by then since he usually went out on the weekends.
His afternoon was fairly productive, and he managed to do some homework that wasn't related to A Farewell to Arms, but at 6:00 exactly the librarian shooed him out and Bruce headed home.
He was lucky. His dad wasn't home when he got there, and so Bruce got to have an almost-normal night. His mom made him dinner, and he watched TV with her, carefully avoiding talking about anything significant, until almost 10:00 before he decided he was cutting it awfully close and headed up to bed.
No point in risking ruining what had been the best day he'd had in years, after all.
Besides, if he showed up with another bruise, he'd probably never escape Natasha.
The next morning, Bruce got up early and grabbed his backpack before heading out the door. He didn't really have any plans, but he didn't want to be around when his dad woke up and was, as was usual on Sundays, hung over. So he slipped outside and started heading vaguely towards the cafe he'd been to the previous morning. With the $10 from yesterday, he thought he could get a small breakfast, and the cafe had wifi, so he could probably entertain himself until the library opened.
Except when he got to the cafe, Clint and Natasha were already there, and they were talking to someone else.
Steve, actually. Rogers, if Bruce was remembering right. This year, the only class they had together was world history, but they'd had a few other ones together in the past. Interestingly, Steve had, for several years, had the distinction of being the second shortest boy in their class until junior year when he'd suddenly sprung up almost a foot in height.
Something Bruce didn't find especially fair, as all he'd managed in the four years since middle school was four lousy inches.
Anyway, when Clint looked up to see who had come into the restaurant, instead of pretending like he didn't see Bruce (like any sane person would have) he just waved and called out, "Hey, Banner, over here!"
Bruce approached the three of them, nodding politely. The whole social interaction thing wasn't his strong suit, and Steve was an unknown entity at the moment. Sure, he'd never bullied Bruce before, but it was never too late to start.
"Sorry, guys," Steve was saying as Bruce approached. "I really need to get to work." He returned Bruce's cautious nod, though, and when he left, Natasha gestured at the seat he'd vacated.
"Sit," she said. Commanded, really.
Bruce did.
"Natasha," Clint said conspiratorially, leaning across the table, "Thought we should get up early and work on college things." He made a disgusted face.
"Clint needs to write his essays," Natasha informed Bruce, giving Clint a cool look. "He'll stop talking and start writing if he knows what's good for him."
Bruce really wondered about the dynamic between these two. They were so easy around each other, like they'd known each other for years and years.
He wasn't brave enough to ask, though, so he just nodded. Then, because he was feeling a little more brave than usual, he asked Clint, "Do you, um, want some help?"
"Fucking right I do," Clint responded enthusiastically.
"Clint," Natasha warned.
"What? Nat, he offered." Clint looked at Bruce. "Right? You offered?"
"Yeah," Bruce affirmed, casting Natasha a wary look.
But she shrugged, then smiled. "Fine. As long as I don't have to do it."
"You're mean," Clint muttered before shoving the list of essay questions over to Bruce. "So, I was thinking this one..."
They worked amicably for over an hour, Clint and Natasha sipping on endless coffee refills, whereas Bruce managed to eat his breakfast in between making suggestions.
When 11:00 rolled around, they all paid their bills (Bruce was thrilled to be able to pay for his own) and made their way to the library.
They'd just gotten settled down in the same sunny nook from the day before when Bruce heard an attempt at a whispered conversation behind him.
"Look, I just need to ask him a question—"
"Tony, leave him alone. Do not mess with him."
"We're in chemistry together. I didn't bother writing down the homework assignment. That's all,Rhodey, geez."
Natasha, who was sitting next to Bruce, cast an irritated look over her shoulder and then whispered to Bruce. "It's Stark. Want me to get rid of him?"
Bruce appreciated the offer. Especially after the last few interactions he'd had with that idiot—part of him still wanted to pummel Tony into the ground. But it sounded like he just wanted the homework assignment from Friday, and that was innocuous enough. "No, it's okay."
Besides, he was pretty damn surprised that Tony Stark was in the public library on a Sunday. If nothing else, he had to see it with his own eyes.
A second later, Tony's voice said, "Morning kids. Hey, Banner, did you get the chemistry assignment on Friday?"
Bruce glanced over his shoulder, briefly taking in Stark's appearance—he was wearing sunglasses inside, which seemed unnecessary—before he said, "Yeah, just a sec." He dug through his bag until he found his notebook. "It's questions 1-10 on page 65 and 11, 13, 15, 17, and 19 on 66."
"Thanks," Tony said, turning and walking away.
And that was it.
At least until Clint, sitting on the other side of the table, muttered, "Damn, he looks like hell this morning. Those sunglasses scream 'hangover.'"
"Yeah?" Natasha asked, glancing behind her. She'd ignored Tony with impressive poise. "Not surprising."
Clint rolled his eyes. "What d'you mean, 'not surprising?'"
"One of the kids from Green Meadows Academy was having a party last night. Stark probably went, since he went to that school for a few weeks."
Apparently, Natasha had read everyone's files while she'd been working in the office last year, Bruce noted. Well, that was good. Made it feel a little less creepy that she'd read his.
"Yeah?" Clint asked. "And how d'you know that? About the party, I mean."
Natasha shrugged. "It was all over Facebook. I thought about going but—"
"But you weren't invited," Clint finished.
"No," Natasha corrected him. "I was busy."
"You got invited to a rich kid's party?" Clint asked, incredulous. "By who? And what were you so busy doing?"
Natasha shrugged. "Don't we have homework to be doing?" Ignoring Clint's sputtering, Natasha said to Bruce, "What's your paper about?"
"Um, major themes in the novel."
Natasha nodded. "Did you cover loyalty and abandonment yet?"
As a matter of fact, no. Because he hadn't gotten much further than 'war.' "I...no."
"Let's start there, then," Natasha said, pulling out her copy of the book. Clint, with a groan, followed suit, and Bruce dug his out as well.
It looked like he might be getting his English grade up after all.
Thanks for reading!
Not sure when the next chapter's gonna be ready, since I am literally writing this for self-indulgent fun.
Review if you'd like. I'd be happy if you did, but I'm not pushy.