loose moments of happiness
“if a man cannot understand the beauty of life, it is probably because life never understood the beauty in him.”
― criss jami, killosophy
17.
On Saturday morning, Bucky watches as Stark pads into the kitchen, eyes flitting around as he tentatively takes a seat in the empty chair across from Bucky. "Good morning," Thor says from beside the other teen kindly, and Bruce smiles softly in greeting.
"Uh - good morning." The reply, when it comes, is nervous and stilted.
Bucky continues to watch as Stark tugs his sleeves down further over his knuckles, which seems to be a nervous habit of his. It's almost like he's shrinking into that red sweatshirt, wanting it to cover as much of him as possible. From somewhere inside him, another Bucky rises to the surface. This Bucky is sadder, softer, more understanding, although Bucky himself can't imagine why this not-unusual image of Stark is pulling such sudden emotion from him where before, there was none. This Bucky leans forward and offers a piece of toast to Stark before asking, "Sleep well?"
Stark jerks a little in his seat, evidently surprised to have been addressed - and by Bucky, no less. "Yeah," he says, quietly. "The - the heating's nice. Thank you." He takes the toast hesitantly, and his fingers accidentally brush against Bucky's for a fraction of an instant, a flash of warmth against the skin of the other boy's knuckles.
"What kinda toast person are you?" Bucky slides a square of butter across the table, then two jars of both strawberry and raspberry, respectively. "We don't have grape, but only a heathen hates strawberry."
"Aw, shut up," Steve says from across the table with a casual roll of the eyes, even though Bucky can only tell from years of being the blonde's best friend that he's a little surprised at how friendly the conversation's going.
"He doesn't like strawberry," Bucky stage-whispers. "Even hates the fruit."
An uncertain smile sidles its way onto Tony's face, but it looks like the guy isn't sure whether he'll be punished for finding the joke funny. Thor, however, chuckles, the low rumble of his amusement erasing some of the hesitance in Stark's expression.
"So, what'll it be," Bucky says, choosing to ignore Steve's questioning gaze for now. "Butter or jam?"
At this, Stark's mouth quirks up, almost in a gesture of sheepishness. "I like both, actually."
"What?"
"I - um - " All of Stark's budding confidence seems to vanish. "I put the butter on first. Then the jelly on top."
"Is this tasty?" Thor inquires. "I have never done such a thing as this!"
Bucky watches, almost in amazement, as Stark glances over at Thor and visibly softens; apparently Thor's exuberance really can loosen up anyone. "Yeah, it's, uh, it's pretty good."
"I shall try this immediately," Thor announces, and grabs for the knife and condiments, spreading the jelly and butter thick over each of his five slices eagerly. "You have fascinating breakfast habits, Stark."
Stark smiles bemusedly. "Thank you, I think?"
"...should go see the local Christmas parade today," Clint's voice filters through Bucky's thoughts all of a sudden, volume rising alongside his eagerness. "Guys. Guys. We should go see it. We didn't go last year, remember?" Clint's glancing over at them, not even bothering to acknowledge how they're all huddled near Stark (and Bucky's weirdly but overtly grateful for that, for whatever the reason - it's probably because he's never liked drama).
"Yeah," Steve says, nodding slowly. "I can get my ma to take us. It's only two miles away, and it's pretty colorful and fun." This last statement is aimed towards Stark, who's frowning slightly.
"That's a good idea," Bucky adds, grinning at Steve. "It's been, what, four years since she's gone too? And we'll promise to behave nicely so she won't have to watch our asses the whole time."
"Well, the parade itself starts at five pm and goes on till nighttime, so we've got some time," Steve murmurs. His blue eyes flit up to check the clock above the sill. "I vote we stay in till then, though. I'm saving my cold endurance for later."
"Why don't we tell Stark a little bit about the parade?" Natasha interrupts, her green eyes as unreadable as usual. She tips her head toward the boy in question. "He doesn't know what he's getting into."
Bucky huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes at her. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."
"Okay," Bruce says, his voice as quiet as it always is but still managing to effectively take control of the room. "It's not - the parade probably isn't what you're used to...it's not - funded by a big organization, or anything - but it's really colorful and it's...happy, you know?"
Stark's mouth quirks. "Okay, happy. I can work with that."
"It's kind of like a Rose Parade, but Christmas-based," the other boy continues, pushing his sliding glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I think you guys have that in California? Anyway, it's mostly just a bunch of neighborhood people getting together and putting on a sort of parade slash show. We went two years ago and it was pretty nice. They have a festival that goes on simultaneously and people sell food and hot chocolate and little homemade crafts."
"I mean, if it's too quaint for you, you don't have to go," Clint chimes in, only to get elbowed by Natasha and leveled by a Steve Stare - or, as Bucky likes to call it, the infamous Militaristic/Patriotic Captain America stare. Clint throws his hands up. "Alright, okay, no comments, I know. But I'm just saying. Stark probably isn't - you're probably not used to this sort of thing, are you?"
Stark seems to be shrinking, although that might be a weird side-effect of Bucky's painkillers/how that red sweatshirt is just a little bit oversized. "Um - not - I don't really go to many parades," the teen says finally, voice low. "In general. It's just not - I guess I went to one once with Rhodey, but that was a long time ago. I - my dad is kind of strict about holiday things."
Rhodey? Bucky's mind questions, and he files the name away for later. He's pretty sure he knows the popular crowd at SHIELD High, and this "Rhodey" is not among them.
"Oh, yeah," Clint says, but his tone is more carelessly amused than abrasive. "You Starks have got a weird thing about Christmas."
Suddenly, the door tinkles open and dislodges with a scrape, and there stands Sarah Rogers in the doorway, Bucky's adoptive ma. Her blonde hair is frosted with snow and her blue eyes are twinkling as she takes them all in around the table, plates of half-eaten toast and the leftover spaghetti from last night set out in front of them.
"Still eating?" Sarah smiles as she hangs her coat up on a peg next to the door. "It's 10:30."
"Ma," Steve groans. "That's early."
Sarah steps over to the table and snags a piece of buttered toast from Steve's plate, winking at Bucky as she does so. "Thanks, honey."
Steve rolls his eyes.
"We're thinking of going to the Christmas parade tonight," Bucky says, before Sarah can think to leave them alone. "We were wondering if you'd like to come."
"Oh," Sarah says in response, and laughs. "You mean, you were wondering if I would take you."
"Well, that too," Bucky says sheepishly.
"Sure, of course," Sarah tells them as she finishes the last of her slice and licks the crumbs from a thumb. "I think we all need something to kickstart the Christmas weekend anyway, right?"
"Perfect." Steve beams. "Thanks, Ma!"
"Only if you fix the car, that is." Sarah squints a little. "I may have done something to the engine, but I'm not really sure what."
"The car doesn't work?" Steve's face is almost comical. "Ma, the mechanic's shop is closed this weekend!"
"It still works," Sarah says, and sighs, running a hand through her hair. "But it keeps sputtering - do any of you know anything about cars, by chance?"
Bucky's about to speak up, say no, none of us do, because it's true - neither he, nor Steve, nor Natasha nor Bruce nor Clint nor Thor know anything about vehicles - much less the mechanics of one. He can barely even distinguish a Honda from a Ferrari, for God's sake. He can barely drive a stick shift without panicking, and he still gets flashbacks if he sits in the front seat.
"I - I can fix it." The voice is so soft that for a second, Bucky doesn't even hear it. But Sarah's picking her head up and looking straight at Stark, one of the most inviting smiles he's ever seen spreading across her face.
"Are you a car person, Tony?"
Stark shrugs after a moment. "It's not that I - I mean, I guess. I like mechanics. Engineering. That sort of thing."
Bruce looks up. "Tony's the smartest person I know. He can fix anything."
"Really," Sarah says, blue eyes sparkling. "My, Tony, you didn't mention that." For a second, however, her eyes flash to Bucky, and a hint of something sad creeps into her gaze. But that makes no sense, why she'd be looking at him. It must be Bucky's imagination.
"I dabble," Stark mumbles, but his mouth is wavering like he's trying to fight off a smile.
It's kind of weird, really, Bucky realizes as he takes in the shorter teen sitting across from him. Stark is a genius - but somehow, he's never really thought about it. Sure, he's seen the news - when Bucky was a toddler, Stark was already making his first circuit board or something like that. But for all of Stark's intellectual prowess, people rarely talk about it. At SHIELD High, it's always about Stark's skill in bed, or his quick tongue, or his brash attitude and wealth. With an IQ that goddamn high, Stark should be an object of discussion solely for his brains, and yet even Bucky needs to be reminded of how smart the SI heir is.
Huh.
"I hate to ask it of you, but do you think you could take a look at it right now?" Sarah frowns apologetically. "If we're going to the parade, I've got to drop by the market and pick up some more groceries for tomorrow."
"Sure," Stark says into the silence. He's already scooting back from the table. "I just need - you have tools, right?"
"Tools? Why would you need tools?" Sarah says, sounding awfully confused, and even Bucky doesn't miss the wince that crosses Stark's face before the woman is laughing. "Kidding. I'm old but not that old. I've got a box of things stored in the garage that you can use."
"Need any other help, Sarah?" Clint says. "Can't do cars, but if you've got something else…"
"You all can go help Tony," Sarah says decisively, fluttering her hands to get them to start moving. She's already peeling the other glove off her hand and has swept a pile of paperwork off the table, turning to go upstairs. "Or clean the garage, or something. With all that clutter, the car will have to park in the driveway forever."
"You got it," Clint says, already hopping up from the table. He grins at Sarah roguishly.
"And don't forget to clear the table and do the dishes!" Sarah calls as she exits and strides into the hallway. "Remember, the dishes won't wash themselves!"
-
The time passes quickly before the Christmas parade. Tony makes quick work of the car - it was just frost in the engine, and he ended up repairing the heating system, the headlights, and the motor. To be honest, he's only done a fair amount of work with vehicles, but it's not hard to recall how each part works or to familiarize himself with the Rogers' car. He notices Barnes watching him at some point and immediately grows self-conscious, shutting his mouth when he realizes his habit of sticking his tongue out as he works is acting up again and he probably looks stupid.
Finally, after he's fixed everything he can (because honestly, this car is old and kind of crappy, not that he'd ever say so aloud), he wheels out on Steve's old skateboard from beneath the underside of the car and finds everyone glancing over at him curiously.
"Did you fix it?" Rogers says, broom in hand, and wow, Tony totally forgot how weird it is to have Rogers look at him with curiosity and only a hint of doubt instead of full on mistrust.
"Yeah, of course," Tony finds himself saying, even though okay Tony, this is exactly why they don't like you. "And made some improvements."
"Improvements?"
Tony shrugs, trying to pretend like his palms aren't suddenly sweating at the thought that maybe Steve and his mom didn't want adjustments. There you go again, Stark, doing things without permission. "Yeah, uh, it's just...if the engine wasn't working today, it was going to be something else tomorrow. So I tried to...I just thought that I might as well fix everything. It's kind of not that great of a job, but at least it won't be falling apart again anytime soon."
He expects the disapproval - the anger. So he definitely doesn't anticipate Steve pausing and then smiling. At him. "Thanks, Stark."
"Uh - yeah. No problem," he stutters, feeling the heat crawl up his spine and bloom all over his neck. "It wasn't hard."
Barnes laughs, and Tony flinches a little, turning to look at the other boy.
Barnes shakes his head, noticing the attention. "Sorry," he says. "It's just...of course it wasn't hard for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony says. He'd honestly thought Barnes and he had settled things, even if they had only been able to do so because Tony had shown how weak he was. Where is Barnes going with this?
"Nothin'." Barnes mouth quirks up a little. "You're just real smart, is all."
Tony's mind spins. Another compliment, and it's only the afternoon. If he didn't know better, he'd believe he's been transported into an alternate universe - one where Tony Starks get compliments, and people actually respect them, and maybe even admire them, and he doesn't feel so worthless and stupid all the time and…
Stop spiraling.
"I - uh - thanks."
"It's almost 3:45," Natasha says suddenly, saving Tony from inevitable embarrassment. "We should probably go." She pins Tony with those bright green eyes and he thinks, Oh hell, she's thinking of ways to kill me, but then she just nods at him and says, "Thank you for fixing the car, Stark."
"Yeah," he manages.
"Alrighty then," Steve says, and claps his hands together in what seems to be the most comically cheesy parody of a cheery all-American dad ever (at least, in Tony's very private opinion). "I'll go get my ma, and then we can go. Don't forget your jackets!"
Tugging his sweatshirt sleeves over his knuckles, Tony climbs into the van after Bruce. He finds himself wedged in the back between his science buddy and Barnes, and wraps his arms around himself so that his body is as narrow as possible.
"You're probably not expecting much," Bruce says softly, his eyes dancing behind his glasses, "but it's actually really nice. It's nothing fancy, obviously, but I hope you like it."
"You like it, don't you?" It warms Tony's heart, seeing Bruce so...openly happy. How he's so openly enjoying himself. Sure, Bruce smiles sometimes when Tony makes a stupid joke in AP Physics, but for the most part - as Tony's beginning to realize - Bruce's school experience has probably just consisted of eating with his friends at lunch and getting harassed in the hallways and a bunch of strangers he's never met before asking him for the answers to homework. Tony understands, probably on a deeper level than is healthy, how that feels, but it doesn't mean he wants other people to feel the same way. And especially not Bruce, with his floppy brown curls and those rare and painfully timid peeks of dry humor.
"Yeah. I really do." Bruce settles back into the seat, watching Tony. "I don't get much of this at home. Not even with Betty, who's a really great foster parent. She's nice, but she isn't much into activity or going places."
Tony hums, because that's all he really knows to do in response. "Well, I'm glad you have this," he says honestly. He glances around the car, at everyone talking to each other lazily but happily; at Barton and Romanoff, huddled together as per usual, and Thor twisted around in his seat, talking to a Barnes who has leaned forward to listen to whatever crazy tale the blonde is telling now. "It's special. What you guys have. I'm glad they're here for you."
"Yeah," Bruce says, sounding surprised. "I'm - really grateful for them. It's cool, that you noticed."
The car settles into a lull when Steve and Ms. Rogers - Sarah - return. Sarah hops into the driver's seat and her son into the passenger's, and Sarah turns around and smiles at them. "Everyone ready? Seatbelts on?" With nods of affirmation from everyone, she starts the car up; Tony breathes a sigh of relief internally at how everything seems to be working smoothly. "Okay," she says, patting the wheel. "Let's go."
-
Bucky is pretty sure - actually scratch that, one hundred percent sure - that the Rogers' van wasn't working this damn good before. Firstly, there's none of that rumbling he's so used to hearing, and secondly - if Sarah's exclamations are anything to go by - the car lights are in perfect working order now as well. He can't even guess what else Stark's fixed, but...damn.
The craziest thing is that back in the garage, Stark scooted out from under there with his hair tufted up and grease smeared on his cheekbone like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he hadn't done anything but a few hours of meaningless, casual work that didn't even deserve a thanks.
He glances over now at Stark; the teen is talking quietly to Bruce, and his hair is still sticking up in dark brown tufts that somehow look stylized even in their wildness. Past Stark is the window, and Bucky sees the more populated neighborhood come into view, where people are already set up on blankets and in tents on the sides of the streets. Although it's still snowy, it hasn't blizzarded since yesterday, and the town is basically set up to provide warmth to its inhabitants with heat lamps lining the streets and multiple fire pits in the park.
Finally, Sarah rolls to a stop on one of the side streets a few blocks away from the park and the empty land beyond, which are home to the festival that goes on both before and after the parade. From what Bucky remembers, there are a few rides - mostly for kids, but fun nevertheless - and tons of tented food stalls. His favorite, however, has always been the Ferris Wheel. From experience, he knows that they don't always put the Ferris Wheel up - this is a small town and it takes a lot of effort to put it together, after all - but it never fails to bring him childish excitement when they do. In fact, part of the benefit of being a small town is that there's a lot more land to use, so that's why they can even have a wheel in the first place.
Treading through the sparse snow that's been, for the most part, cleared off the streets and pushed onto the edges of the sidewalks like a low guardrail, Bucky searches almost anxiously for the telltale top of carriages swinging in the air. And - and there it is. Right behind the plumes of smoke drifting up from one of the stalls - probably a grill - arches the top of the wheel, with a lone pink carriage swinging from its inner curve.
Without even realizing he's doing it, Bucky's face splits into a smile. God, it might be cheesy to say but it's so true that sometimes the smallest pleasures make you the happiest. He fucking loves that ride. He loves the chill air, the freedom, how he's able to look over the entire town in just a glimpse. How maybe if he stretched his fingers out, he could touch the stars.
"What're you looking so happy about, Buck?" Steve says, coming up next to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders.
Bucky ducks his head, but he can't wipe the the deliriously happy grin off his face. "Nothin'. I'm just glad about the Ferris Wheel 's all."
"Oh yeah," Steve murmurs. He shoots a teasing look at Bucky. "I forgot about your obsession with that ride."
Bucky rolls his eyes. "It makes me happy. That's all. Punk."
"Jerk!"
The two stumble, arms wrapped around each other's waists and shoulders, for the rest of the walk to the park. God, in this moment Bucky is so fucking happy nothing can bring his mood down. It's the first week of winter break, it's a weekend, he's at the festival with his best friends in the world and he's been through a lot of shit but it's good now. He might even say that he's okay. Sometimes he still gets nightmares; sometimes he still wakes up screaming and Steve has to calm him down before he gags on the tears and the memories. But it's four and the sun's going to set in half an hour and the sky's this beautiful cold grey color, almost like ice. There are children running around and parents holding hands, and two girls are making out behind a tree and laughing into each other's mouths. The smell of barbecue and soup and hot dogs and snow is thick in the air, and his best friend is at his hip like he's always been, and everyone looks so god damn happy that Bucky could cry. He thinks of all the people who don't get to have this right now - this happiness - just like how he was a few winters ago, scared and lonely and lost and so fucking fragile he could shatter into a million pieces.
Stumbling through the sifted snow with Steve at his side, he wishes fervently for everyone in the world to have an experience of this kind of bliss at least once in their lives. Obviously that's not possible - life isn't fair at fucking all, and it's stupid to say that it is when some people really do get the best ends of every stick - but he hopes that even if there isn't eternal happiness for them all, even if they're all damned in the end, that everyone can have one individual moment of happiness.
"Gosh, I'm just real happy right now, Buck," Steve says into his ear. "Are you?" For a second, Steve's eyes flash with concern. "You are, right?"
"Yeah." Bucky smiles to himself. It's taken a while, but now he doesn't even have to lie about his answer anymore. "Yeah, I'm happy."
Above him, the sky carves through his skin and into his very blood and bone. Take that, he thinks, and sees his parents die and sees his arm get crushed and sees the CPS worker's head plummet through the windshield. Ever since he was orphaned, Bucky's been sad. So god damn sad. And somewhere, deep inside, he's still sad. But still - it makes him feel fierce, like he's won something, that the world can beat the shit out of him and he can stand with the blood leaking from his nose and still form genuine smiles.
Small victories, he thinks to himself, and watches as the Ferris Wheel starts to rotate again and everyone, even Stark, lifts their heads to watch it. Small victories.