Near the Holy Ranks of Friends and Kindred Dear
Peter measured much of his life in befores and afters . Before the plane crash, after the plane crash. Before Ben, after Ben. Before the spider, after the spider. On and on and on. And if someone held a gun to his head (which has actually happened at least 53 times, not counting the three he’d rather not talk about with anyone ever, thank you very much), he wouldn’t be able to say definitively which After was the worst. After the Return (from Thanos, from the dusty, orange Loneliness, from being forcibly torn apart and put back together) was bad. After Europe was hell. After the Spell™, however, everything from Before, just became one, big ball of torment. Peter himself wasn’t able to tease out the difference between nightmares and memories—they all bled together now. After the Spell, he couldn’t even comfort himself with the promise of death (at least until he had figured out the JACCASS) because apparently, his best friend had out-wizard’d the wizard.
(That was another thing too. Peter’s feelings towards Ned were so jumbled. God, the last thing he ever wanted to do was burden his friends and family with that kind of loyalty and responsibility—especially to himself. He was a loser of the highest order, and for all intents and purposes, not even living in the same neighborhood as the kid Ned befriended back in third grade. Peter had been harsh and rude and difficult since the Return and, yet, Ned didn’t cut his losses and leave. He fucking stayed. And it made Peter so, so angry. So angry. So pissed off that Ned did something as idiotic as tie his life force to Peter’s in order to keep him around. Because even if he didn’t want to think about it, back in that dream-lab with his other selves, that’s essentially what they were saying. And what was he supposed to tell him now? “Hey dude, thank you for spending eleven months getting sicker and sicker while I tried to find ways to kill myself. Good thing I didn’t, amirite? Let’s go grab a pizza. Hope you feel better soon!” And Peter would sooner go toe to toe with another lion than say *any* of this out loud, but if Ned or Tony or Stephen died because he couldn’t even take himself out of the equation correctly? It would be untenable.)
The walk back to the car was excruciating. (There wasn’t a better word for being practically carried by a man whose last “real” memory of you is throwing up on his shoes a week before making his best friend go into hiding all because you were a pathetic excuse for a hero and couldn’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy.)
‘Oh! HEY COLONEL. What’s up, man? Did you come to join the fun too? Look, MJ, Mr. Colonel Rhodes came to our party!’
‘...this is not our party, Peter.’
‘Dude, it’s soooooo good to see you, you know! So, so good. Have you tried this stuff before? You should try it! It’ll make you so happy. Hey, Ned! Look! It’s Colonel Rhodes. Like Colonel Sanders. What’s your secret recipe, Colonel? We won’t tell.’
‘God, how much did he have?’
‘Why are you talking to them, Mr. Colonel Sir? Talk to meeeee.’
‘I don’t know. We just found him about 20 minutes ago.’
‘Let’s go Peter.’
‘“L e t s g o P e t e r.” Whoa. You sound so mad. That's such a serious voice. Sir, yes, sir.’
‘Sigh. How did you even get in there, Pete?’
‘Fake ID!’
‘Dude…’
‘Ned’s just jealous, Old Rhode-donald. Light of Mr. Stark’s life. Rhodey-Bear. The Rhodester.’
‘I wish I could erase everything that has happened in these past few minutes from my brain.’
‘Big mood.’
‘Stay there. Let me get this. Tony, we have him. We’re bringing him home. Yes, he’s…fine. Yes, Tones, I’ll make sure. Ok. Thanks. Bye .’
‘Was that Toooooooony? Ooh, tell Mr. Stark I’m drunk! Tell him I’m sorry that I gave his glasses away to his fake twin and that it’s going to be ok because I have a plan. Plan. Plannnn. Oh that sounds weird. I…I…oh my God, I’m so sorry Mr. Sir.’
‘Did he just throw up on you?’
‘Hello to you too, Hogan. Help me get him in the car.’
‘Ok, guys, go around that way. Pete, hold on. I’ve got a towel.’
‘Hey almost step-uncle! You know, I’m glad you’re marrying May even though you’re not Ben. She shouldn’t be alone.’
‘Peter!’
‘Looks like he's down for the count. Let’s get him in and go before the paparazzi figure it out. Tony’s about to have a cow.’
Peter remembered Rhodey’s face that night, and it was kind of uncanny to see it mimicked almost a whole year later. One of the only good things about the spell was that it allowed him to take comfort in the fact no one remembered all those awful things he said to them in the weeks before Liberty Island. Of course, from the way Rhodey’s jaw was moving, it looked like this was no longer the case.
The sun filtered through the trees ahead of them. Rhodey set a slow pace—Peter’s side ached and even though he tried to conceal his winces, his walking partner was keyed into each and every odd movement and noise that came from him. He kept giving him sidelong glances—these open and searching looks that made Peter’s skin crawl with anxiety.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Tony got us banned from IHOP? All IHOPs everywhere for the rest of time. The CEO even wrote him a letter. I think our picture is still up in the one in Cambridge.”
“I…what?”
They stopped as Peter’s side flared again. Rhodey’s hands were gentle on his back.
“I still miss their all-you-can-eat pancakes. One year, Pepper got so mad at Tones that she spent every morning taking her meetings at IHOP so he couldn’t follow her. He bought enough shares in the company that he was as good as the owner but the managers threatened to walk out of all 1800 locations if he reversed our ban. So not many people know this, but Tony now owns an international pancake chain that he’s not allowed to step foot in.”
Despite himself, Peter snorted. Rhodey gave him an indulgent look as he helped him forward.
“Point is, there is a lot of shit Tony and I have gotten into due to our poor choices. Blueberry syrup aside, we’ve messed up more times than we can count. Pete, it doesn’t matter what you do or did or will do in the future—there is nothing—nothing—that will keep us from helping you. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
They stepped out from the opening of the trail and Peter saw Happy and Clint standing by one of Tony’s larger cars.
“Oi!” Rhodey waved them over, while gesturing at Peter’s injuries, “We need some help here.”
Clint had pulled out a first aid kit larger than the one Rhodey originally brought with him and the three men made short work of rewrapping his bandages and applying antibiotic cream. Clint and Rhodey were exchanging stories of vicious bites they acquired over the years, but both Peter and Happy were quiet. Finally, they finished.
No one spoke for a few minutes. Eventually, Clint gave Rhodey a playful shove.
“Hey Colonel, Coop mentioned to me wanting to join the Army once he graduated and I want to pick your brain. Have a sec?”
It was clear what they were doing, but as Rhodey began walking away with Clint, detailing all the ways the Air Force was superior to any other branch, Peter still felt abandoned and adrift as he was left standing next to a stoic and visibly uncomfortable Happy.
“I’m not saying sorry.” “I don’t expect a sorry.”
They both spoke at the same time—Peter’s voice was defensive and shaky, Happy’s resigned.
Happy sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair. There was a bench by the opening of the trail, and Happy gestured for them to sit on it. It was the last thing Peter wanted to do—the last conversation in a slew of last conversations he wanted to have—but his side ached and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, it felt good to lean on Happy’s arm as they walked over.
Happy cleared his throat as Peter flicked some pebbles that were on the bench onto the ground.
“You know I’ve never been good at this kind of thing, kid.” He cleared his throat again. If Peter didn’t know Happy better, he would've said he was fighting against tears. Obviously that wasn’t the case, but it was strange to hear all the same.
“I loved May so much,” Happy began, and with that confession, Peter felt invisible walls close in around him. Happy, maybe noticing the way Peter’s shoulders hunched or the small shaking of his hands, went on quickly.
“I loved her so much, but I…” he stumbled, quiet and hoarse, “loved you first.” Peter started, and watched as Happy stared ahead without making eye contact. “I never told you that before, Pete. But when you were gone, and I didn’t know what I was missing, I knew I was grieving something a lot more than May.” He cleared his throat and looked into Peter’s eyes. Peter looked down quickly. “I’m so…” he choked out, “sorry.”
And Peter knew that apology wasn’t just for forgetting him this past year or the way he treated him when he thought he was Fitz, but for their last few interactions before May died and maybe, even a few years before that. One of the things Peter had always appreciated about Happy was the uncomplicated way he wore his heart on his sleeve. (Once you got to know him, that was.) And after Homecoming, after Tony took responsibility and they got closer, he never really doubted Happy’s loyalty to him—especially when it was clear he was going to marry his aunt—but he never thought of that loyalty as love.
It was kind of throwing him off.
The confession sat heavily in the air as they heard Rhodey and Clint talking. Morgan’s voice filtered through the trees and Peter watched as Tony had Morgan on his back while she was talking a mile-a-minute to him and Natahsa.
Peter watched them walk over to the car as Tony deposited Morgan into Rhodey’s arms. They stayed huddled in conversation. Happy shifted next to Peter, drawing his attention back.
“Pete, I don’t expect you to forgi—”
“No!” Peter rushed to interrupt. Happy looked at him—half hopeful, half questioning. “Don’t—don’t apologize. Please. I’m sorry. I am.” (And in that sorry was also a lot of things, not just for how he talked to him as Fitz or the last few interactions before May died but maybe, also, for the last few years.)
He was searching for something else to say when Tony’s shadow stopped in front of them.
“How are you kids doing? Work it out? Good? Good.” Tony offered his hand to help Peter up. He steered him to the car as Happy followed, guiding him to the passenger’s seat. Morgan was sitting in the very back row with Nat and Clint, and he could hear her arguing with the latter about whether or not Merida would be as good at archery in real life.
Tony sat directly behind Peter and Rhodey climbed in next to him. Happy patted Peter’s knee once before pulling out of the parking lot. He didn’t say anything, but Peter felt the truce and acceptance in it all the same.
“Dad! I’m hungry!”
“Okay, Madame President. What do you want to eat?”
The car exploded with suggestions from all parties, as Peter leaned his head on the window and closed his eyes, letting the conversation wash over him as the sun warmed his face.
“...so what do you say, Pete?”
Tony’s hands were steady on his shoulders, as he leaned forward to ask his opinion on breakfast. Briefly locking eyes with Rhodey, Peter’s lips quirked slightly.
“Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve had IHOP.”