When Rhodey entered the tiny matchbox size dorm room, that he shared with his best friend Tony, the young man nearly screamed at the sight in front of them. His knees buckled and he was torn between the overwhelmingly need to collapse into a heap on the floor or run to the boy’s side or maybe claw his own eyes out. Acidic vomit splashed in the back of his mouth and he choked to swallow it back, rather than throw up all over the dorm room floor.
The kid looked like the walking dead or a ghost or some sort of skeleton. The 15 year old, who very much was still a child, was curled up in the fetal position on his twin sized bed. His naked body sat like broken tree branches on top of the rumpled black comforter. His long, dark brown hair was greasy and sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His eyes were wide open and they looked haunted. Large black and blue bruises sat deep in his eye sockets and there was a large cut on the pale skin of his left temple. It dripped dark red blood onto his chapped lips and upon closer look there were already large cuts on his lips from where Tony must have bitten down far too hard. Rhodey refused to think off why the boy had gnawed at his own lip. He feared it was more than a tool to make himself less anxious and more a tool to keep himself docile and quiet when others were hurting him.
When Rhodey sat down on the bed Tony violently flinched back, biting down hard on his lip. Rhodey wondered if it was to not cry out in fear or worse, in pain.
The taste of vomit was back and this time it did escape past his lips and onto the crappy fake hardwood floor when his eyes focused on Tony’s backside. The skin of the teenager’s ass and upper thighs looked like a crime scene. Crimson trails of bloody and sticky white semen mixed together like some sort of fucked up abstract painting.
Tony was crying now. And not small cries, but rather huge sobs wracking his entire small body. The boy’s hand darted out and for a second Rhodey thought it was to push him off the bed. But rather, the small hand connected with Rhodey’s own and held on for dear life. It was like the boy was giving permission for his best friend to touch him and within a second he was rubbing comforting circles into Tony’s skin.
It was difficult to maneuver at first, but he helped the small teenager get under the rumpled black comforter. Tony let out a small hum between the sobs when he was no longer fully on display and he shifted slightly from the fetal position. Rhodey knew it was a small comfort, but knowing that Tony was more comfortable in even a small way made his heart swell in his chest.
He wishes he hadn’t been working the late night shift at the campus bookstore when Tony had gone to that stupid frat party. He wishes he had been there or convinced Tony to stay home or locked the precious boy up in their dorm room or done anything to stop this before it happened. But he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of others. However, it doesn’t make him feel any less accountable for the small teenager still crying, staining his blankets with his own blood and another man's cum.
He loves Tony more than as a best friend. He loves the kid like a little brother. He would kill for the tiny teenager next to him. He would do anything to make it better. He needs to make it better for the boy.
But the thing is, what can make it better after your innocence and sanity is stolen from you by one evil, cynical, unforgivable act. Can things ever truly be better for the boy who is wearing blood and semen like battle paint? Can things truly be better once you feel so broken?
Next to him, Tony finally seems to be completely out of tears. He sniffles every few seconds, but no teardrops plop onto the comforter or become tangled in the boy’s long eyelashes and drip down his porcelain skin.
“I-I-I don’t wa-wa-wan’t to ta-ta-lk about i-i-it.” His voice is soft and sweet and the small teenager shifts himself to half be laying on Rhodey’s lap. His eyes are closed tightly, as if he is scared to open them and acknowledge reality.
Rhodey ran the pad of his thumb over Tony’s cheek, collecting half dried tears and a little bit of blood. When the skin is clear he continues to rub soothing patterns, warming the skin with his own body heat.
The boy clears his throat and this time his voice is much more clear than before. He doesn't stutter over his words and they are said with a clear determination. “They always said the monsters hide under the bed, but this one was on top of it.”
“Oh Tony,” It is now Rhodey’s turn to cry as he delicately pushes Tony off his lap and lays down behind the small boy, cuddling him close and holding on tight. “It’s going to be ok kid, we’re going to figure it out together. I promise it’ll be ok Tones”
He wants to curse the world for being so cruel. He wants to get drunk or smash something or murder the asshole who did this to his best friend. He wants to scream until his throat is raw and bloody or punch shit until his knuckles are bruised or his fingers break.
“He to-took ev-ev-erything from me.” Tony is back to stuttering and the sound of both of their crying turns into a melancholy symphony of sound. “I-I-I tho-thought he ju-ju-st wanted to make out, but then it was all too much and I-I-I sa-sa-said st-st-stop but he ke-ke-kept going. Dad is go-going to hate me now. I was bad, bad, bad. Da-ad will ha-hate me. I can't-t-t-t deal with da-da-ad hating me honey bear. I need him to-to-to love me”
Rhodey now wants to get a gun and murder this motherfucker or set his dorm room on fire or do anything to make this better. He wants to do all the same to Howard, but he simply continues listening to the boy speaking.
“I-I-I just want to be-be a-a-a no-normal co-college student and pro-o-ove dad wr-wrong and n-n-not some dumb little kid who gets ra-ra-ra-ra-raped at parties. He-He is going to-to-to hate me” When Tony says the word ‘raped’ he sounds so broken and helpless. His body shakes like an earthquake and his crying sounds like a rainstorm. He tries to speak more, but no words will come out and it seems to make him more frustrated. It is clear the boy wants nothing more than to express his thoughts to his best friend, but he is too shaken up to speak. He mumbles and cries and cries and cries as Rhodey rubs soothing circles into his hand and ruffles his greasy hair soothingly- pushing it back from his forehead and leaving a tentative kiss on his forehead.
Rhodey does not push him to speak more and rather lets the boy cry himself to sleep, before getting up and finding a package of wipes from his side of the room. In most situations he would laugh at having wipes, Tones always called him a dad for being so prepared, but laughter is unwelcome in this moment. He will not break the silence of their tiny dorm room, thick with sadness and fear, with something as trivial as a laugh.
Rhodey wiped the blood and cum off of Tony’s skin with careful tenderness. He is terrified of waking the boy in a panic, but can not stand to let this perfect boy wake up naked and covered in his rapists semen. There are some horrors no one should have to live through and waking up the day after you were assaulted to sticky trails of someone else’s seed on your body is one of those things. Not to mention that the sight of semen and blood on Tones, makes Rhodey want to vomit all over the hardwood floor once again.
He has never felt so helpless than in this moment. So utterly and completely worthless and unable to function. But he needs to function for Tony’s sake. He needs to be the adult that takes care of this little boy when it feels like the world is so dark that there is a complete apocalypse of all light. He needs to stay strong and support his best friend who was just the victim of such a horrendous crime that he cannot fathom people in this world being so cruel as to commit them. Everyday he further loses faith in humanity. In people’s ability to be good, righteous and loving people.
When he’s done washing the boy, Rhodey managed to cover the boy’s bottom half in a pair of his own dark blue MIT sweatpants. They are far too long on the boy and for a second Rhodey is struck with how small Tony truly is. In sleep he looks even more small than he does while awake Bruises blossom like violets on his small naked torso, and he can count every rib in his chest (he is always trying to push Tones to eat more, because the boy looks like a walking skeleton he is so skinny). His face still carries a small amount of baby fat around his cheeks and his usually fluffy hair always looks like baby curls.
Rhodey loves affectionately referring to Tones as an overgrown toddler that accidentally wandered onto a college campus. Tony Stark is mischief personified and his behavior often screams bratty 2 and a half year old staying up too late and terrorizing his parents, rather than genius 15 year old who graduated high school before most people started it. Tony often joked that his parents hated him because he was a little too hyperactive and acted like a mischievous 3 year old. Rhodey always chuckled softly at the comments in order to make the boy more comfortable. But one night when Tones was really drunk and confided in him that his father hit him often growing up, he started calling Tony out when he made self deprecating comments about his parents hating him.
When Tony had mentioned Howard Stark in their brief conversation, he had wanted to vomit once again. There was something profoundly messed up about one of Tony’s first thoughts after being raped being about what his father thought of him. However it was clear that Howard had beat his views on weakness into Tony’s skin from a young age. Rhodey had heard horror stories from the poor boy about his father beating him with a belt for crying, or throwing empty liquor bottles at his head for showing weakness. According to Howard Stark, ‘Stark men were not weak and Stark men did not cry’.
The boy on the bed did not look like a man, he looked like a child. A child who should be allowed to cry over a bad grade or losing a card game, nonetheless about being sexual assuated at a party or for that matter over being abused by his father.
Looking at the small boy curled under the covers, the 3 years between them has never seemed as prominent as it does in this moment. Tony looks like what he is, a child. His frame is tiny, he is 5’5” pre late teenage growth spurt, his limbs are tangled on the bed. One arm is bent and his middle two fingers are firmly in his mouth. He is sucking on them and it makes Rhodey’s heart ache. The boy is young enough and innocent enough to still suck on his fingers when he slept, and yet he was so clearly violated earlier that night in a way no child should ever be violated.
After cleaning up the rancid smelling pool of vomit, he changed his own clothing before getting back into Tony’s bed. He did not want to wake up in clothing that may be smeared with Tony’s blood or a villain semen or his own tears and vomit.
When he woke up he wanted both him and Tones to be clean. He wanted the boy to not be automatically launched into the previous night. He wanted to let the kid to process on his own time. Ignore it for the time being and focus on anything but his sore ass or the cuts and bruises all over his body or the fear of what his father would think or the memories already trying to creep back into his thoughts.
He would help Tony in whatever way he needed and that started with stopping the panic before it started. The young man knew that meant that his own internal clock would make sure to wake him up hours before Tony awoke. He would go to that cute 24 hour diner down the street and get a cheeseburger and fries and a strawberry milkshake, just like his best friend liked for Saturday morning ‘breakfast’. He would pick up pamphlets from the on campus counseling center and one of those little teddy bears Tones was always eyeing at the campus bookstore, but never indulged himself by buying (according to Howard, toys and stuffed animals were for babies).
And if Tony so desired, he would be there for him if he went to campus security and reported the assault. And in court if the criminal justice system finally stepped up and believed a survivor. And when he had to confront his abusive father who treated Tones like shit. He would be there every step of the way because he loved Tony like a brother and would do anything in the entire world to protect him.
That night Rhodey fell asleep counting every time Tony’s heart beat, because every time was a tiny miracle. It was a blessing this beautiful, amazing, broken boy had survived this long. And it was a promise that things slowly, but surely would get better.