drainednerves: Yes, yes...let the sadness flow through you.

poohbear123: Thank you!

Jill Cohen: afouwehwohu BADASSIUM. Yes, Vanko will be making an appearance in this fic, albeit not nearly as much as Stane did. We're just a few more chapters away from him. Thanks so much!

In the grand scheme of things, people like Senator Stern are like a fly buzzing around his ear. Which is to say, very goddamn annoying.

Tony just doesn't get how people don't see the greed shining on their faces—they might as well have big, cartoon dollar signs blinking in their pupils. They know just what to say to get people talking. "Safety." "Danger." "For the good of the American people." All of which Tony can easily translate to, We want the suit. Gimme, gimme, gimme!

Maybe Tony would be able to ignore them better if…

Okay, they do have the power to command him to a hearing whenever they want. And they have done that. Several times.

But anyway, maybe Tony would be able to ignore them better if he didn't have to think about Rhodey every time they opened their drooling mouths.

Tony has been sitting on it for months, and he still thinks it's such a stupid idea, there's no way they can mean it. They have to know that they're pulling stuff out of their asses. The Iron Man technology is dangerous, and the only way to solve that problem is to mass-produce it!

"For the American people," Tony's ass.

The only thing Tony fears is the day that he's told to stand down, that they're no longer going to take the risk of him using the suit for his own bloody desires. But he doesn't think they're going to do that, because that means they don't get more ideas to incorporate into their fantasies. Plus, wouldn't they have pulled the plug a long time ago? Several months is quite a long deliberating period.

They can force him to stop using his suit, but they can't force him to mass-produce them, or give the knowledge of how. Tony knows it, Stern knows it. So Tony is honestly confused as to why they keep calling him to hearings over and over and over when they know nothing will change. The definition of insanity.

At the very least, they haven't actively used Rhodey against him. Not directly, anyway—that last dinner was of Rhodey's own violition. The Senate and Rhodey just so happened to want the exact same thing.

Sometimes Tony feels his fingers twitching to call him, and he hates it. He hates that he's gotten it into his head, even slightly, that it's on him to extend the olive branch.

See, the tragic thing is that Tony really isn't angry that they're seeing things differently. He things Rhodey's argument is entirely illogical, but not offensive—they could have very well just talked things out. He's just pissed that he was the bad guy from the first second. That Rhodey was never going to listen to a word he said—if he made suits for the military, he was a good guy. If he didn't, he was a villain that Rhodey wouldn't deal with anymore. It's like Rhodey's putting more blame on him than the people who are slaughtering entire villages.

Tony sometimes just wants to tell him, and all his buddies, that when he says he'd "sooner die than give them the suit," he's being quite literal.

It would be the first time he lets a soul know about his secret.

It's getting just a little worse, day by day by day. The Arc Reactor, his second heart, has to be replaced and replaced and replaced like old batteries. Around it, the skin of his chest is starting to rot, his veins blackening as though burnt. There are times when he feels beestings out of nowhere. There are times when his chest suddenly bursts, and if he's alone, he lets himself fall to the floor and wait to see if he's going to make it. If he's in public, he has to keep smiling and talking to the person who may be the last he ever sees.

He tests his blood every day to keep track of how fast he's falling apart. Just a little bit, every day. A little bit more. It's not those sudden, painful attacks, either. Tony just feels off in a way that he'd never be able to explain. Tired no matter how much he sleeps. Never really there.

Each and every day he wakes up and tells himself, This is it. Today, you confront it. You tell Pepper. You tell Rhodey. You tell Peter. You find a way of letting the world know. And each and every night, Tony goes to sleep without accomplishing a thing.

He just…He can't.

As much as he wants to, and tells himself to, he can't spit the words out. He hasn't even come to terms with it himself, how is he supposed to let the only people he has left in his life know?

And he knows he's made such a bad decision, but there is no good decision here. Either he tells Peter that he's going to lose another parent and let him be overcome with that knowledge for months and months, or he lets Peter wake up one morning and be told that his father is dead—just like what happened with his mother.

He's done too many wretched things in his life to count, but can't he get a little forgiveness for this?

All he can do is hope that when Peter is older, he'll understand. He can feel betrayed. He should feel betrayed. But maybe, maybe, he'll be able to understand why Tony did it. And if he doesn't: that's okay.

Tony can't control the way Peter feels. He doesn't want his son to hate him for the rest of his life, but he can't demand that he doesn't.

Howard probably didn't want his son to hate him, either. Tough shit.

The only way he can deal with it is this: wringing out every last second where Peter doesn't hate him.

He can't make anything with Pepper, but he can show her more appreciation than he had in all the years she's worked for him. Iron Man will die with him, but while he's still here he's going to keep being the world-saving hero that everyone adores. He can spend as much time with Peter as he possibly can.

It seems like every other day he's flying out to Queens or New Jersey to spend time with Peter. He thinks he's spent more time on his plane than on solid earth now. Sometimes he just decides to go in the middle of the night, and Peter awakens the next morning to find him in the kitchen, waiting for him. His sleeping schedule is demolished, but it already was. So.

Any idea that pops into Tony's head, he grabs: ballgames, movie nights, carnivals, everything. He has to pack the lifetime he's going to miss into these few months he has left. Every time he leaves, he's second-guessing, third-guessing, millionth-guessing himself. Maybe he should stay longer? Maybe they can do one last thing before he goes back home?

Pepper and the Parkers start to worry for him, but silently so: lingering looks, pursed lips. He tells Pepper to cancel his plans for the next three days so he can visit Peter, and he sees the muscle in her neck clench as she wipes everything out. Ben smiles as he opens the apartment door, but before that, he blinks. Probably the worst is when May came to Ben's apartment with a board game Peter requested. She hadn't seen Tony sitting on the couch, and with a single, "Hey, May," the floor was covered in Monopoly money.

The only one who actually says anything is Richard, and though that maybe wouldn't shock Tony a year ago, it does now. He hadn't seen the man ever since Peter went back home to Queens. Peter was the only living link between them, so what reason did they have to meet up anymore? In a way, they were family, but not friends. Especially with the way they left each other at the hospital.

But Tony isn't bitter about Richard's bitterness, because in a way he's grateful for it. He misses the days when people would call him out on his bullshit 24/7.

Any way, he's surprised when Richard calls him to ask about his latest visit. He tells Tony he's worried that between visiting Peter, preparing for the Stark Expo, and being Iron Man, he just doesn't think it's healthy. (He mentions that he is a physical therapist and not a psychologist, but he still thinks it isn't healthy.) Tony tells him he's fine, unsure if he's happy at the hint at forgiveness, or longing for someone to still hold him accountable. He says something that sticks with him:

"Between all that other stuff you have going on…I don't think you even have time to think, do you?"

And he is correct. And that is exactly what Tony wants.

"Really?!"

Peter gapes at the gleaming cards in his hands. Sleek and blue, with Stark Expo emblazoned in silvery letters.

"Really, really. Easy, whoa." Tony has to put a hand on Peter's chest to stop him from victory-dancing them off of the Ferris wheel. The breeze is warm up here, and so nice it would be to take his mask off, but Tony knows that one slip and he's going to get swarmed. They're not even safe up here. "Now, if anyone asks, you tell them that you won a sweepstakes. Otherwise it's going to look weird."

Peter fans all four of them out, and Tony's heart pangs for the days when his hands were too small to do that. "What can I do with them?"

"Behind-the-scenes stuff, front row seats. Also, free snacks."

"There's four. Me, you, Aunt May, and Uncle Ben, right?"

"Well, I don't really need a VIP pass to my own shebang, you know? That one's for Richard."

"Oh. Right."

Tony does not miss that for a second. "What?"

"Nothing," Peter says as he stuffs the cards into his jacket pocket. But then, just a second later, he asks, "So will you be able to come with us?"

"I'm going to try and do something with you guys, but…Well, it's like trying to hide at your own birthday party." Peter nods with a frustrated understanding.

Tony knows how frustrating it is that they can't just do things normally—because it frustrates him, too. Ever since Iron Man debuted, he swears that people are starting to glance at him more, that the squinting eyes he passes by are not just from the light of the sun. He lives in terror of the day that there's a slip, and the masses tear him apart from Peter like a tsunami.

The Ferris wheel descends down, and though Tony's legs beg to sit a little while longer, he gets up and follows Peter down the steps and out the gate. He's stuffed full of popcorn and cotton candy, his legs are sore from walking circles through the whole amusement park, and his arms ache from all the toy games (the ones that he just can't tell Peter are money-grabbing scams). Still he marches on, because never more has "he can rest when he's dead" been truer.

There's a fear now, too, one that's haunting him like a ghost. That tiredness is a sign of him collapsing. That one time he's going to sit down and not be able to stand back up again.

Peter leads the way with such gusto Tony has to call for him not to move too far ahead. He's looking left and right, at more rides and more games and the striped carts selling funnel cakes and hot dogs. Tony hopes he isn't still hungry. He can't stomach to look at food right now.

Then Peter slows down, and waits until Tony can fall in step with him. Or at least, until Tony can walk normally while he tries to keep pace.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks.

"Hey, new rule, alright? No more 'can I ask you something?' Saying that is already asking a question." Peter's gaze drops seriously to the ground. The childish shock of a revelation. Tony ruffles his hair, tells him, "Go on."

"Why are we doing so much stuff?" Peter kicks at a soda cup in his path…then stops, picks it up, and dumps it in a nearby trash can. When he returns, he goes on, "It's really fun, but I thought you were really busy."

"Well, the busier you are, the more fun you have to have to balance it out."

Peter pouts his lips in consideration, and finally nods, Fair enough. They walk a little ways more, and stop at one of those climb-the-ladder games. A very fit young woman is powering her way upside-down through the rungs, and a small crowd is cheering her on, including the vendor. Tony wonders if they, too, get depressed seeing so many people lose these no-win games.

"Can I—" Peter stops. Tries again. "Why haven't I seen Rhodey in a while?"

Tony feigns interest in the climber to buy himself some time. Not that he has any shortage of things to say about Rhodey…but he knows it'd be petty to badmouth him to Peter. Peter isn't going to see any nuances; all he's going to know is Rhodey is being mean to Dad. It'd be quite pathetic if Tony used his seven-year-old son as backup.

"Rhodey and I are having a disagreement right now," he tells him. "About Iron Man."

"Does he not like Iron Man?" Peter exclaims, and though Tony hushes him, he has to stifle a laugh. Peter's voice cracks like he'd just learned Rhodey was a war criminal.

"Not exactly. He does like Iron Man; he wants there to be more Iron Men, which I don't think is a good idea."

"Why?"

The climber makes it to the target at the end, and the crowd erupts into cheer. The vendor looks up to God in gratitude, and hands over the largest stuffed bear Tony has ever seen. The climber, who looks like she eats nails for breakfast, holds it over her head in victory.

"I made the Iron Man suit because I knew what I wanted to do with it," he tells Peter as they walk on. "I wanted to help people and make the world a better place. I'm afraid that not everyone else will do that. It's like how that Jacob kid in your class becomes Class Leader and he starts acting like a jerk to everyone."

Peter nods wide and deep. He understands things best when Tony compares him to his classroom, he's learned. Still, Peter's brow remains in a knot. "What about Rhodey? Doesn't he want to help people?"

"He does. But Rhodey doesn't want the suit for himself, he wants it for all his friends in the military."

"Maybe you can just give one Iron Man to Rhodey."

Tony sucks on his teeth. "I don't think it's that easy-peasy, sport. Something tells me if I did that, he'd just give it to someone else for them to make copies."

"You think he'd do that? Break a promise?"

Tony doesn't know why it upsets him, hearing Peter's voice so appalled. Shouldn't he want Peter to think Rhodey is the bad guy here? Tony isn't going to "hear him out," so he doesn't know why he'd expect Peter to do the same.

But again, a child's view of the world is black and white. Tony should've just kept it a secret.

"Hey, let's just forget about it for now, okay?" He squeezes Peter's hand in his. "I shouldn't have said anything; it's just between us."

Peter accepts this with no nod, no affirmation. He's still upset and confused, because of course he is, Tony's screwed this up, too.

For just one second, he fears with all his body and soul that Peter is remembering Stane. A friend of Dad's. The friend that Dad liked, and trusted, and kept around a lot. The friend of Dad's that turned out to be a monster who wanted to hurt Peter. The friend of Dad's that had been lying the whole time, who never cared about anyone.

Now here's Rhodey, another friend of Dad's who he likes and trusts and keeps around a lot. And now this friend of Dad's is starting to act ways no one thought he ever would. Now this friend of Dad's isn't acting like a friend at all.

Shit. Peter probably thinks he's seeing Rhodey's "true colors," like this is just the first scratch that shows what's underneath.

No, Tony tells himself. Hang on, slow down. You don't know that.

Besides, isn't this different? Even if Rhodey was another monster, the difference is that this time Tony is telling Peter about the bad things he's doing, but with Stane he tried to cover everything up and pretend—

Stop.

Don't you dare compare Rhodey to Stane.

The hand that isn't holding Peter's curls into so tight a fist he thinks his fingernails will carve into his palms. He must be insane, or too bitter to function. Or both.

Comparing Rhodey to Stane…

The hell is wrong with him?

Tony shakes his head, and he shakes Peter's hand, because his whole reality just shook for a moment there. The poisoning must be reaching his brain.

"Hey," he says. "When am I ever going to see that poster project?"

Peter is distracted by the colors and sounds, though, and answers without much attention at all. "Um…It's at home, in the room—in my room."

"Do you have any pictures?"

"Nuh-uh."

"I'm keeping an eye on you." Tony points at his eyeballs, then at Peter. "I think you're keeping secrets."

"Noooo," Peter protests, and laughs.

Tony stays with him, and laughs with him, and helps him into the rides and holds his prizes for him—but he no longer feels like he's there. Just like when he was watching the kites, he's looking towards the future again. He hadn't even thought about Rhodey and Peter keeping contact after he's gone.

It's strange, how he tries to predict his own brain, as if his thoughts are not in his control. He thinks that he'll think that Rhodey will go no-contact after, or that he'll slowly phase away. Peter will just be a walking, talking reminder of the jackass who never did anything for anyone else, right? And he thinks he'll think that if Peter asks Rhodey one day about the distance that grew between them, that Rhodey will be "honest" and say that your father was a bad person, Peter. I was just trying to help people and he wouldn't let me. I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but you should now.

He doesn't, though. Because somehow Tony just knows that wouldn't happen. He doesn't think that Rhodey will ever say something so absurd as, "I was a jerk to your father, Peter, and I never got to tell him I'm sorry." But like Tony, maybe he'll try to keep things as neutral as he can, leaving it up to Peter to make what he will of it. He'll defend himself, of course, but he won't call Tony a "bad person".

There has to be something wrong with his brain. His lobes must be separating from one another. One second he's making Rhodey out to be a monster who's strung him along as his personal weapon producer. The next second, he's literally incapable of thinking of him that way.

Tony won't fix this before he dies, because he doesn't think he can. Not when he doesn't even know what he'd do if he saw Rhodey again—keep this fight going, or ask for a chance to fix it.

Hello, my lovely readers. Apologies that this chapter was not as long as the previous, and that this was not as plot-progressive. The good news, though, is that this fic will (if all goes to plan) be updating around once a week. I want to finally get back to a normal schedule.

The downside is that chapters will be shorter-~3,000 words each. It may be disappointing, but I think ~3,000 words every week is better than waiting three weeks for ~9,000. If that makes sense.

Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, follows, etc. Love you all 3