bright dead things
"when the plane went down in san francisco,
i thought of my friend m. he's obsessed with
plane crashes. he memorizes the wrecked
metal details, the clear cool skies cut by black
scars of smoke. once, while driving, he told
me about all the crashes: the one in blue
kentucky, in yellow iowa. it was almost a year
before i learned his brother was a pilot.
i can't help it, i love the way men love."
- ada limón, "accident report in the tall, tall weeds", from bright dead things
11.
"Rise and shine, buttercup," Bucky says, pushing his feet into Steve's shoulder where the blond is snuggled up in his sleeping bag.
Steve crinkles his nose, only half-awake. He makes out his best friend's face hovering over him, a big smear in the dim morning light. "Did you just call me...buttercup?"
"Yup," Bucky says cheerfully, and twirls a lock of hair around his finger in a poor "valley girl" mockery. "Up 'n at 'em, Stevie."
Steve just groans and rolls over in his sleeping bag. "What time is it?"
"Nine, you lazy cow," Clint calls out. Natasha just rolls her eyes and adds, "Don't worry, Clinton here just woke up." The archer pouts at her with a glare.
"A grand morning to you, Steven!" Thor says with a great cheery smile on his face, and wow, how can this guy be so often broody or happy? Where's the neutral face?
Steve turns, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly, and catches sight of Bruce sitting muddled in his bag. It's an adorable sight - Bruce in general is adorable, really - and his eyes soften.
"Come on, let's go," Bucky says, pulling at Steve. "Breakfast time, then we're heading into town. I talked to Sarah already, and she says it won't be a problem as long as all of us go."
"Town to do what...," Steve says. He squints suspiciously around the room. This situation reminds him of last year, when Clint had gotten the bright idea to go skateboarding in an abandoned water park. Except it's a lot harder to skate down an enclosed slide, it seems, and Clint had ended up with a concussion from slamming his head on the roof of it. Honestly, it's just surprising that they didn't get caught for trespassing.
"Anything," Bucky chirps back, then a slow smirk stretches across his face. "You're thinking about the water park incident from last year, aren't you."
"Can you stop bringing that up already?" Clint moans.
"Not my fault you're a dimwit," Bucky hollers before turning back to Steve and winking exaggeratedly. "Besides, I heard Sharon Carter works the counter at 7-Eleven now."
"I don't - " Steve sputters. "Stop holding that against me, Buck, that's not fair." Two summers ago, Steve had had a crush on an incredibly gorgeous twenty year old named Peggy who interned at the hospital where his mom worked as a nurse. Later that July, he'd met Sharon Carter for the first time, a blonde who was cute in a pigtails, braces, kiddish sort of way. Sharon had ended up planting a sloppy one on him at a mid-July summer celebration, and he had ended up mortified when Peggy introduced Sharon as her niece two weeks later only for the younger girl to announce that he was the "high schooler who was in love with her." Not to mention that Sharon was twelve when Steve was fourteen, which was just kind of weird at that age.
"Aw, look at how red Cap is," Clint says with a grin. Steve just sighs in mock-exasperation at both Clint and the use of the nickname. Two years back, a kid at summer camp named Erskine had started calling him "Captain America" for kicks - probably because Steve had bulked up during the session and took charge at every athletic event - and it had just stuck. It's a silly nickname, and a bit pretentious, but Steve can admit now that it holds some weight. After all, it represents, at least to him, the muscles and toleration/respect he gained when people realized he was no longer the scrawny, asthmatic kid he once was. Not to mention the medical issues he had had due to his underweight and under-oxygenated body, which had disappeared too. It was nothing short of a miracle.
"She liked me, I didn't like her," he says pointedly, swatting Bucky's hand away when his friend tries to sling an arm in mock comfort around his shoulders.
"Alright, Steve-o, whatever you say," Clint sings, but doesn't push it. "She's cuter now anyway, now that she's gotten rid of those pigtails and braces."
Steve just rolls his eyes. He doesn't even want to ask Clint how he knows that. This is going to be a long day.
Before they depart for town, Sarah pulls Steve aside and says quietly, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Ma," Steve says, once they're in her bedroom. A churning has started up in his gut, small but violent. He remembers this, all too well. That can I talk to you, Stevie, I need to tell you something, and sitting him by her side on the bedspread. A three-year-old sickly Steve, nose running from a cold like usual, his mother taking him by the hands, combing through his tufty blond hair. Your papa is...he has something important to do. He isn't coming home. Remember what I told you about God? Well, Papa is with Him now. Helping Him with his duties.
Sarah closes the door with a soft snick and then sits down on the bed, patting the spot beside her on the comforter.
"I wanted to talk to you about Tony," Sarah says, and her blue blue eyes meet her son's.
Steve tenses immediately, something that of course does not go unnoticed to his mother's sharp eye.
"What about him?"
"He's withdrawn," the woman says bluntly. "Very reserved. He acts like Bruce did the first year, actually." Oh, Steve remembers that time well. Bruce was nervous and fidgety, as if he expected someone to jump out and tell him this group of friends was a cruel joke to mock his lonesomeness. But Stark? Stark isn't insecure. Stark is...he's bold, and brash, and just doesn't talk because he thinks he's better than them.
"He doesn't seem to think he belongs here, Steve. What's going on? I want to make sure it's just a nerves thing and that you all are making an effort to include him. You're a good person, love, but everyone can be... well. Unknowingly cruel, sometimes."
"Well, he doesn't belong here," Steve responds, more harshly than intended. He sags back, and Sarah touches his shoulder.
"What's going on, Steve?"
"Ma, remember how I said Stark broke Bucky's metal arm?" Steve says slowly; he waits for his mother to acknowledge this before continuing. "Tony's... Tony is Stark. His name is Tony Stark."
Sarah's eyebrows lower. "Really," she says without inflection. "That's...surprising. He didn't strike me as someone who would do that, but everyone has different sides." She shakes her head. "I'm disappointed to hear that. He seemed very polite but timid."
Steve's face hardens at the thought of his mother liking what she's seen of Tony Stark. "He's not," he says firmly. "He broke Bucky's prosthetic and he's always strutting around like, like he knows everything and is better than everyone."
"Why did he do that in the first place?" Sarah watches her son carefully, pushes a longish blond lock of hair from his forehead with a thumb. "Did he and Bucky get into a fight?"
"Bucky was defending Bruce, because Bruce was getting picked on," Steve says moodily. "Then Stark came in because he's friends with those ass - bullies - and smashed Buck's arm with a textbook. It was horrible, ma."
Sarah frowns, her face clouding over. "Poor boy," she murmurs, pulling Steve into her side. "So Bucky didn't do anything?"
Steve hisses inside his head. Why do you keep pushing? he thinks, mulishly. Bucky's a good person, you know that. He's family, even if he isn't related by blood. But suddenly, a memory pops into his head. Of seeing a video recording (before Ty Stone somehow managed to pay everyone into deleting the evidence) of Bucky yelling at some blonde girl, calling her a slut. Of Stark charging in, shouting, "You don't call her that!"
"No," Steve says quickly, too quickly, and Sarah presses, "What does nothing mean? What did he do?"
"He called...He called one of Stark's, I don't know, hookups, a slut and said something about her, um, being like that," Steve mutters finally. "But that's only because she's always with those bullies that pick on Bruce. Stone called him a, a f-g. And Stark's no better than a bully himself. He broke Bucky's arm, Ma, the one you...the one you worked so hard to get."
Sarah sighs; she is old in the light, and sometimes her son forgets just how much his mother has aged. "I agree, that's much too far. Bucky only did what he thought was right and happened to get angry. What Tony did was needlessly cruel and uncalled for."
Steve nods fervently, but then his mother continues: "However, have you considered you might be being too hard on the boy? He really does remind me of Bruce, that first year."
"Mom, Stark's a bully. Trust me," Steve says, then stands up. The mattress whines at the loss of weight.
Sarah looks at him. Her eyes are the same color as his. "Okay, love," she says. "But try, alright? With Tony. He might end up being a friend. Things are always more complicated than they appear to be."
Steve sighs, moving to the door to join his patiently waiting friends (plus Stark). "Not this time, Ma. But alright."
On the way into town, Tony looks out the window. His face is so close his breath fogs the glass. It's snowing outside, and it's so goddamn foggy too - the kind of day Tony loves best. After the kidnapping, any kind of heat tends to make him uncomfortable. Plus, there's just something so raw and lovely about not being able to see anything, about the sky being clogged up to oblivion like you could just disappear up there for eons and never reach where you thought you might end up. The sky is pure white and blends into the snow cleanly, only a thin strip of haziness hinting at the horizon. Tony wonders if there are trees behind that thick fog, and imagines dark green pines dusted in powder.
Glancing around the car, Tony traces a sad face absentmindedly on the frosted glass. It pouts at him, its eyes wounded splotches and its mouth curved downward severely. Lastly, he adds a circle for a head and then fluffy hair to resemble his own. Me, he thinks, and smiles a little. His face feels stretched, hollow. That's me.
"Okay, we're here," Steve says, pulling the van into a parking lot. Tony peeks out the window; they're in front of a little outdoor mall pavilion. Bruce leans over and tells him quietly, "We come here every break as tradition. We buy snacks for movie night and anything else, just for fun. Sometimes we buy little trinkets for each other too, but normally we all buy gifts beforehand that are more thought out."
Wow, Tony thinks but doesn't say.
As soon as they exit the van, the group - led by Barnes - heads straight for the 7-Eleven, pushing and jostling each other and howling with laughter. The bored-looking girl at the counter perks up when she sees them and chirps, "Hey, Steve! Hey everyone!"
"Hi Sharon," Steve replies, grinning. His smile looks a little tense, strangely enough, but for the most part his face is kind. In fact, he's so disgustingly nice, it's actually ridiculous. Tony frowns.
Thor snags a large foam hammer from a toy basket and spins it around fluidly, pointing it at Barnes. "Stubborn foe!" he thunders. "I shall attempt to best you in combat!"
Tony stares with no little amount of bemusement as Barnes grabs a foam axe and tries to smack Thor in the head with it. The blonde ducks and hits Barnes in the face with his hammer, crowing, "I have won!"
"I let you," Barnes retorts, and Rogers laughs and grabs the axe.
"My turn, because Buck here can't fight at all."
"Who the hell uses an axe to fight anyway??"
While Romanoff, Barton, and Thor team up to fight Barnes, Bruce, and Rogers, Tony slips off into one of the back aisles to have some time to himself. The back is where all the cold products are, so when he turns he comes face-to-face with shelves upon shelves of ice cream, frozen vegetables, and other delicacies. "Hard and delicious!" one box filled with popsicles announces, and Tony snorts. That's got to have been done deliberately.
Rogers rounds the corner and sprints down the aisle, a hair tie in his hand. Barnes follows at breakneck speed, messy hair loose from his ponytail and fluttering all over. Tony steps closer to the freezers uncomfortably, noticing suddenly how Barnes's ass is very, very noticeable in those jeans.
What is wrong with him? he thinks to himself in disgust. Lusting - even if only for a second - after a guy who not only hates his guts, but is dating Rogers. He really is the slut Howard says he is.
"Stark," Romanoff says as she steps up neatly behind him, and Tony almost butts his head into the freezer door in shock.
"Warn a guy, would you?" he snaps to distract himself from his ferociously pounding heart.
She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "We're leaving in two minutes. Follow us, or you'll get lost and when we leave you'll be stuck here." Natasha really is ruthless; Tony would honestly find it outrageously attractive if not for the fact that she can kill him eighteen different ways with a fork.
"No need to worry about me," he says easily, giving her a winning SI-patented grin. "I'll be right behind."
"Uh huh." Natasha gives him a flat once-over. "I recommend buying something sugary. You look like you need the boost."
That night, Tony comes into the kitchen for a late night glass of water only to find Ms. Rogers seated at the rickety circular kitchen table, blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun.
"Tony," she says kindly, from where she sits with a mug of tea and a laptop resting on the surface in front of her. "May I talk to you for a moment?"
Tony pauses from where he's half in, half out of the kitchen. "Of course, ma'am," he says, politeness kicking in. Too many banquets, too many business parties for Stark Industries, too many meetings with important people cooing over his intelligence and riches and "handsome looks" to lose that habit so easily.
The woman tuts. "Sarah," she reminds him.
"Sarah," Tony acquiesces after a brief silence.
"How are you doing?" Sarah says with a soft smile as he pulls out a chair to join her at the table. "Steve told me you didn't have anywhere to go, so you were invited to stay here."
Tony tenses. "I'm sorry for imposing," he says quickly. "I just - I couldn't get a plane in time, Dad doesn't let me use the private jet, and I'll be gone soon, as soon as the blizzards end and I can book a flight."
"I have six teenagers in my house right now, including you," Sarah says with a gentle laugh. "Believe me, you're no bother."
"Um - is that all Rog - Steve - said?" Tony mumbles. Steve's mom must not know, because she's not kicking him out or yelling or anything.
Sarah looks up at him, and it strikes Tony at how blue her eyes are, so like her son's. Except her gaze is soft, not so glacier, and Tony wonders if this is how Steve looks when there's no hatred lurking there - if that's how he looks at his friends. "I know about Bucky's arm," she says, and Tony's heart sinks like a stone. He already knows what's coming - the only thing he's worried about is how he'll hitchhike to the airport with barely any cars coming round because of the snow.
"What you did to Bucky was wrong," Sarah says. "I understand you, in turn, were trying to defend your own friend, but Bucky is very... He's been through a lot in his life, and he and Steve have been best friends from the very beginning. I can't forget that, even if I might want to. The fact also remains that you jumped into a fight between Bucky and a bully. I'm sure you didn't mean to indavertently defend a bully, but from Bucky's perspective, it could seem that way."
Tony looks down at the table, studies its worn but clean surface. Something inside him - great and black and bottomless - yawns open. "I'm sorry. I understand, I - I'll go pack my bag now. It's fine. I don't really..."
Ms. Rogers frowns. "Whatever gave you the idea I'd throw you out?" she says, and Tony hastens to apologize. "No," she says, cutting him off, "don't say sorry. I meant, I would never leave a child out on their own, especially not in this weather." She studies him. "And I don't think you deserve anything close to that sort of punishment anyhow."
"Why not?" Tony says, and now his frustration's boiling over. He's confused, and tired, and he hasn't gotten his glass of water yet, and now Steve's mom is being weird and telling him things he doesn't know how to react to. "I hurt Barnes! I smashed his arm to bits! I'm not - I only built him another one because it's easy and I'm rich and I had the resources, it wasn't even that hard. If you cared about Rogers or Barnes at all, you'd - " He snaps his mouth shut. Sarah is tenser now, besides him, and he almost flinches, waiting for the rage. Nice going, Stark, insult the person who's housing you. The only one who wants to give you a chance, even if you can't figure out why.
"Bucky's new arm is from you?" There's a note of something in Ms. Rogers's voice, soft enough to be pity even though it isn't, that Tony can't decipher.
"I..." Tony realizes his mistake too late. This has always been a problem; he opens his mouth, and things he doesn't mean to say spill out. "I mean, I'm sorry, yes, I knew he wouldn't want to wear anything I made, I'm sorry, I just thought - because Bruce and I talk sometimes, so I thought he could just pretend it was him or a friend from science camp, I don't know. I didn't mean to lie I just I don't know how to apologize with words, I'm really - I work with metal, I invent tech and create robots, I don't - it's just - I don't really - "
Somehow, Sarah understands what he's trying to say even though his words are kind of a jumbled mess. "I won't tell them if you don't want me to," she says softly, "but I know how Steve - they all - can be sometimes. They blame you with good reason, and with very old emotion, but they also refuse to give you a chance. You seem like a good kid, Tony. Bad people don't try to make things right."
Tony fidgets in his chair; eleven pm is too late for this. And this - this reminds him of Jarvis, shit, and he's tired of disappointing people who believe in him. What's worse - always disappointing the ones who give you chances, or never being given a chance? Tony's been on both ends so often that he doesn't know anymore. He knows Sarah's type - she's one of those people who think that anybody can be saved given the right support and opportunities. But Tony is rich, and he has a lot of friends, even if they don't actually like him. He has everything anyone could ever wish for. He has things people would die for. How can you save someone who should already be saved?
Sarah seems to notice his discomfort and says, "Fair warning - if you touch any of them again, I'll wash your mouth out with soap regardless of the fact that you are not my sons. But I doubt I'll have to." Her smile is soft, and lit up by the warm orange lamp at her elbow. "Good night, Tony. I'm glad you're here."
Tony swallows, and looks to the side for a second, where the sink is and the curtains hang, shadowing the moonlight trying to slip through the window. The silence buzzes in his ears, pregnant with things he wants to say and things he wants. "Goodnight," he says finally, and thanks the gods that Ms. Rogers doesn't comment on the embarrassing crack in his voice. She's already turning her attention back to her computer and the papers in her lap, so Tony fills up his glass of water and then exits the softly lit kitchen.