actuality
"i realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness."
― jack kerouac, on the road
13.
Thor Odinson really does not hate Tony Stark as much as it may seem.
Back then - before Loki started hating him - he might have turned easily against Stark, and his arrogance would have automatically made him feel superior. (In those days, he thinks his arrogance might have led him to believe he were better than everyone, honestly.)
But now, looking at this boy whose hands flutter nervously in his lap at the breakfast table, and watches Sarah with uncertain eyes, and seems almost afraid of all of them, Thor just can't seem to muster up enough hatred. He knows all too well what has happened with Barnes's arm, and this pains him - he knows the arm carries a lot of significance for his good friend. But today, when he looks at Stark during breakfast - a silent figure hunched over his plate - Thor just sees another version of Loki, slight and dark and overwhelmingly alone.
On the outside, Thor is a bundle of loudness and cheer, but on the inside, he thinks of his brother. He remembers being twelve and a ten-year-old Loki confessing to his first ever crush - who just so happened to be one of Thor's best friends - Fandral. "Are you mad, Thor? That I like your friend? And should I tell Father?" Loki whispers in his memories. "Would he encourage me? I want to tell Mother, too, but I don't know...I feel like Father should know first. He's always telling us we should come to him first for everything."
"Of course not. Fandral can act a bit untamed, at times, but I can see why you like him," Thor had whispered back. "And definitely tell Father. Remember when I liked Sif before we became friends?" Loki nodded. "That's why Sif's father was knighted. Father said he was a great man anyway."
Loki's eyes had gone round with surprise and awe. "Father did that? Just so you could...become friends with her?"
"Yes." Young Thor had nodded ecstatically. "Father says he will always help me with what makes me happy."
The very next day, an eager Loki had gone up to their father, professing that he liked Fandral a lot and wanted to know what to do in order to become closer to the older boy. Thor remembers coming to Loki's room later that day, all smiles and laughter, asking even before he'd fully opened the door: "So, what did Father say? Maybe he will have a banquet, and invite Fandral's family, and have Fandral sit next to you - "
The door swung open to reveal a red-eyed, red-nosed Loki sitting cross-legged on his bed, a book at his side and a dark bruise blossoming on one cheek. "Loki!" Thor cried. "What happened?"
Thor doesn't think he will ever forget the look Loki gave him that day, the haunted eyes full of betrayal and pain. "You told me it was okay," Loki said to him, lifting his head and pale fingers clenched hard around the spine of his book. "You didn't tell me that that made me - that I'm a - a monster. You didn't tell me that I'm a f-f-ggot."
"Thor," Steve says kindly from beside him, and Thor jolts back to reality to realize that not only has Steve noticed him staring blankly at his plate, but Stark is watching him as well. Steve touches his shoulder gently. "Are you alright?"
"Verily," Thor responds, giving his inquiring friend a warm smile. "I must have drifted into a daydream for a moment." (Here's another thing about Thor: he knows he doesn't talk like the others. Part of it is his upbringing and how he was taught English, but the other part is that Loki always giggled whenever Thor tried to dramatize the English language, claiming that it sounded too silly and too overdone. It's become a bit of a habit, now; now it is simply how Thor talks.)
Steve quirks a smile at him, the concern having completely vanished from his features, before turning back to the conversation at hand. It appears to be between all the teenagers at the table excluding Stark and Thor, and seems to be regarding...the best way to catch a rabbit. Hm.
Thor glances to the side, and notices Stark is still watching him, something troubled and old in his expression. "Do I have something on my face, Stark?" he teases, smiling slightly, but a painful image of Loki flashes to mind again when Stark only shudders back a little.
"Sorry," Stark mutters. "No. Sorry."
Clint, from where he's seated across from Stark at the table, looks their way. "Is he bothering you, Thor?" he says with a grimace. "It's fine, man. Just ignore him."
Thor opens his mouth to say no - to say no, it was a mere jest on my part - but Clint's already turned back to the conversation about catching rabbits by then. He notices Stark hunching even lower over his plate now, and the memory of a little boy with a bruise knots in his gut. You are a coward, Thor, his mind whispers, and he hears the painful, true conclusion in the sound of his brother's bitter voice.
"Clean up, clean up, I don't have to do my share!" Barton sings as he gets up from the table. "Clean up, clean up, Nat and Bucky, everywhere!"
"Clint," Natasha warns, making him shut up immediately.
"Aw, alright, spoilsport," Barton pouts once he's a safe enough distance away. "Have fun cleaning, though. I had to do that with Steve yesterday."
Natasha rolls her eyes. "Barton, I have so much dirt on you. I could easily make you take my spot washing dishes if I really felt the need."
"Blackmail!" Clint says, eyes wide. He points at the redhead. "Did you hear that, everyone? Blackmail!"
"Those dishes aren't going to wash themselves," Sarah says as she places her empty coffee mug in the sink. "Just a reminder."
"Sorry, Ms. Rogers," Clint says cheerfully, before leaving the kitchen and bounding up the stairs.
"Okay," Barnes says once it's just him, Romanoff, and Tony in the kitchen. Tony notices how Barnes doesn't even look at him once, and he can see the way the tension in Barnes's neck stands out. "I guess...you two figure out the washing, and I'll do the drying. Because of the arm."
Tony opens his mouth, and he almost informs Barnes that the arm is not only completely waterproof - maybe Barnes probably hasn't tested that part, even though he knows he left a list of cans and cannots in the box - but that it is definitely tactile enough to wash dishes. Then, suddenly, he remembers that he isn't supposed to have made it. Bruce's "random friend" has, technically, made it. You're so stupid, Tony. You already slipped once, with Rogers's mom.
They settle into a routine, after that; Tony washes, Natasha rinses, Bucky takes the dripping chinaware from them and places it in the rack after he's scrubbed it all with a thin, raggedy towel. It's kind of nice, really, and almost therapeutic - the robotic motions, the shh, shh of the sink. However, when they're about halfway through with the stack of plates, Tony notices Natasha watching him shrewdly out of the corner of her eye, almost like she's trying to peer into his soul.
"Uh," he says coherently before he can fully think through what he's about to say. "Is there something I'm doing wrong?"
Natasha cocks her head with that same assessing gaze before nodding to his hands. "What happened, Stark?"
Tony realizes with a sick sort of feeling in his gut that the scratches he'd clawed into his knuckles the night before are reddened and clearly visible under the hot running water. It looks like he'd punched something, hard, a couple of times using his fists. "Fistfight," he lies smoothly. "The day before break started. You should see the other guy's face though." He smirks at Barnes, who's stopped drying to stare at Tony, and feels a surge of relief when Barnes's face immediately settles into judgement again.
"Those look fresh," Natasha says. Her eyes betray nothing; Tony wishes she weren't so damn poker-faced all the time. This would be a lot easier if he could figure out what the hell her angle is. What is she trying to prove?
"Was picking at the scabs last night," Tony says casually. He hands off another plate to Barnes, who takes it after a moment. "That's probably why."
Natasha hums in response. "So, how come you're staying here? No vacation plans? Mansion getting remodeled?"
Tony stiffens and trains his eyes onto the motions of his hands running the soap-soaked sponge over the cup in his hand. Little bits of pulp - the remains of Thor's orange juice, probably - drip from the edge of the cup and into the drain. "I just didn't want to go home, that's all." He thinks he understands Natasha's angle now. She's trying to make him uncomfortable, as punishment for hurting one of her best friends. Okay, he can handle that. He deserves that.
"How come?" Natasha says calmly.
"Like I've said before," Tony says tightly, over the thick pounding of his heart. "My family - all of us - we think Christmas is a waste of time. I'd rather stay at SHIELD, and work on projects. I don't have a lab at home. My parents support my hobbies so they don't mind."
"Isn't it lonely though? Staying in a dorm all by yourself?" Natasha hands a stack of three off to Bucky.
"I - I, uh." There's only one mug left in the sink. He takes it by the handle and begins to clean it; once they're done, he can leave. He can leave. "It's not like...this is the first time I'm not coming home. I didn't go to boarding school before." He doesn't mention that previous Christmases were probably just as lonely as staying on campus would have been: silent, big, empty.
Surprisingly, it's Barnes who cuts Natasha off before she can inquire about anything else. "Okay, we're done here. Nat...stop. Please. It's kinda tirin'. And we're done with the dishes. No more of this forced conversation."
Natasha's eyes soften, and she says something in Russian that Barnes accepts with a nod. Barnes spares Tony a brief glance before hanging the towel from the rack and slipping the last cup into a cupboard. "Stark. Every year we do this little tradition thing that starts on Thursdays - today - and continues on till Christmas Eve. Thursdays and Sundays are movie marathon days, and then we make s'mores at night. So 'f you wanna join, we're startin' now."
"It's...kind of you guys' thing, right?" Tony says hesitantly. "I don't have to join, if you don't want me there."
Barnes grunts, already turning away with Natasha - placid, watchful Natasha - at his side. "We really don't care. Join us, or don't join us. Do what you want, Stark."
Tony comes. Everyone's in the living room, snuggled up in blankets and pillows already on the rug floor in front of the couches. He makes the safest decision and settles down next to Bruce, who seems to distrust and/or dislike him the least. Bruce gives him a tentative smile when Tony sits down next to him and hands him a pillow and a blanket. "Here," Bruce whispers. "We typically try to cover eight movies in a day. Honestly, it gets boring after a while, and we all get distracted, but it's still fun. It's nice, to be together, you know?"
I wish I knew. "Yeah," Tony replies quietly instead. He shoves up against the far end of the couch and places the pillow between his legs before wrapping the blanket around him.
"It's my pick for today!" Clint crows gleefully, waving a disc around. "Harry Potter!"
"Which one?" Steve says from his place across the room. He's cuddling into Bucky, and, wow - their relationship is so sickeningly cute and it's so obvious that they're in love that Tony isn't sure whether to puke or envy them.
"The first one, obviously," Clint says. "We're marathoning the entire series."
"I've already seen them all twice," Natasha says, unimpressed. "You always make me watch them, and then you fall asleep halfway through."
"Which is why we're seeing them again today!" Clint grins, flourishing the disc. "So I can beat my record of halfway and try to get to the fifth. And besides, you think most of us have seen all of them yet? Bucky never watches movies, and Steve's into old black and white flicks. Also, Thor is, like, from some small country next to Norway. Does Harry Potter even exist there?"
Thor frowns. "Yes, of course, Clinton," he booms. "But not by the same name, no, and we acquire the movies by something called 'piracy.'"
"Wow. Okay, yeah, you gotta see it on the big screen, legally, " Clint says, tapping the side of his head knowingly. "Trust me, man." The archer inserts the disc and then flops down onto the pile of his blankets he's already got cushioning Natasha, with a space next to her for himself. "Alright, Steve-o, press play. I've only got four hours to introduce you to the wonders of Harry Potter before you all get bored and drift off on me."
Tony eventually falls asleep during the third movie - Prisoner of Azkaban - and is only startled awake several minutes later when he hears Clint scream, "YES! YES! GET HIM, HERMIONE!"
Under the sound of Clint's hollering, he feels brave enough to tap Bruce on the shoulder and whisper, "What's going on?"
"Clint hates Draco Malfoy," Bruce whispers back, motioning to the tv screen. "And Hermione just slugged him in the face, I think."
Tony glances over to see Draco stumbling back, moaning and gripping his nose. He's surprised to feel a wave of pity for a moment, even though Draco honestly needs to learn some fighting skills or at least a lesson in how to not act like you're dying when that is in fact not the case. Maybe it's because Tony himself has watched all eight Harry Potter movies and therefore is familiar with Draco's parents and the apparent chilliness with which Lucius regards his son, but he will admit that Draco is one of his favorite characters. Perhaps the Slytherin is not the strongest, or bravest, and he's definitely not the kindest, but no one ever made it a rule that you had to like someone for their good qualities anyway.
"Why do you hate Malfoy so much?" Bruce asks, interested.
"Um, because he's a total douche, duh," Clint says. "Yeah, okay, so he has some issues with his crazy evil-ass family or whatever, but that doesn't excuse him from not acting like a normal fucking human being and turning to Voldemort's side and trying to kill great important essential people. Wait, spoilers."
The thing is, what Clint's saying makes sense. Draco's upbringing, while giving him a reason to act the way he is - basically a bully and a dick - in no way excuses him. And Tony can see why Clint hates the character, really. But Draco is also very human, and reminds Tony in a way of how humans make mistakes and become terrible and it's hard to redeem yourself once you've passed a certain point of return. Kind of like Snape, actually. Pepper and Rhodey both hate Snape and claim that just because Severus was revealed to be a person with decent morals at the end doesn't make him a better person for having bullied Harry throughout his entire education at Hogwarts. And, okay, Tony can see that too. But there's just something about seeing the darkest parts of yourself coming onscreen, and realizing those painful parts are just as much a part of your humanity.
"What do you think, Tony?" Bruce asks him, eyes hesitant but warm and curious all the same.
"I like Draco," Tony mumbles to his lap, only he responds just as there's a lull in Clint's rant, and only then does he realize Barton has stopped completely and is saying incredulously, "What?"
"Sorry," Tony blurts automatically, avoiding everyone's gazes.
"No, say it again. What did you say," Barton says, staring at him.
"I just - uh - I mean, I get what you're saying. It's just - um, I think even though Draco's a really flawed character, he's...I like him. Not necessarily for who he is, but his realness."
"I think we should get back to the movie," Steve begins, but Clint just waves a hand to shush him.
"No, no, I want to hear what Stark has to say." Clint looks at Tony, a challenge sparking in his eyes.
Tony swallows. "No, I'm not trying to...it's just that...Draco is a very flawed character, we all know that, right? But that's why I like him - for his flaws. I mean, I like Harry and Ron and Hermione too, but all his life Draco has struggled with what seems to be a cold childhood. And his parents love him in their own ways, and are protective of him in their own ways, but he's grown up with these certain ideals. Kind of like a child growing up with homophobic parents. Some of that's gotta rub off, right? And even if he wants to change the course of his life, later on, he's already established his place in Slytherin and he's got a reputation and now it's all too late. He feels like he doesn't have any control over his life - like in that scene with Dumbledore in the last movie. He feels like he has to be a bad person, because there's no other direction he could possibly take. And in some ways it's insecurity and self-hatred that drives him to hate Harry, too, because Harry embodies everything he's not, and he's constantly comparing his self-worth to Harry and wondering why he's not good enough, and trying to prove himself through all the wrong ways. It doesn't excuse him for his shitty behavior, obviously, and he really was never redeemed - that's real life, I guess. Not all villains are one hundred percent horrible and not all villains will be redeemable. But I like Draco because I think you can like characters for their humanity and not exactly for who they are as people."
There's utter and complete silence. Everyone's staring at him, and only now does Tony realize he's out of breath. He grips the blanket in his lap to calm his nerves, dreading what's going to come next.
"He was a coward," Barton says decisively. "I don't like cowards."
"Actually…," Barnes begins after a long, long pause, hesitantly, and Tony's head snaps to look at him. "I can kinda see what Stark means. About Draco. Even if the guy needs to grow a backbone."
Barton turns to Barnes, groaning. "Seriously?" he says, loudly. "You're siding with Stark?"
"I'm not sidin' with him," Barnes says, patiently. "It's just, I could see myself liking Draco eventually too. Feel like Potter's gotta get taken down a few notches."
"You did not just say - " Barton's face is almost white with horror and despair.
"Hell, I was joking." Barnes snorts. "Harry's just fine, even though I kinda spaced out during the second movie. But yeah, I guess I could see myself at least understandin' Draco."
Clint humphs, but waves a hand at Steve to unpause the movie. "Fine, fine," he says flippantly, tucking back in next to Natasha and settling into the blankets again. "We'll see how you feel about him in a few movies though, man. You haven't seen much of Malfoy yet."