white in my eyes
and please do not hurt me, love,
i am a fragile one, and you are the white in my eyes
please do not break my heart,
i think it's had enough pain to last the rest of my life
- keaton henson, 10am gare du nord
18.
Tony munches on the rice-and-beef wrap he's just purchased contentedly. Despite the cold, the warmth from all the fires and heat lamps around the park as well as the hot tinfoil in his hand help to keep him feeling cozy. In his pocket, he's got about twenty five cents change, a fifty, and two leftover tens.
It's almost five now, and the sun's already begun to set - it's not the kind of sunset that would be happening in Malibu right now, with its pink streaks strung through a golden wash, but it's a different kind of beautiful. The kind where the cool grey slowly fades away to this startling, almost snowy white until darkening under the star-speckled sky. Beneath it - around him - he can see others setting up along the sidewalks and around the edge of the park, snug in blankets and coats and earmuffs.
Beside him, Bruce is holding a bag full of rock candies for all of them. Tony's never eaten one of them before, but they're like colored crystals on toothpick-thin sticks. Clint's never had them either, so Bruce takes it upon himself to explain it: "It forms from allowing sugar to crystallize." And to Tony: "A supersaturated solution of sugar and water crystallizes on a surface suitable for crystal nucleation - like a stick. The sugar precipitates and the water binds to the sucrose molecules so that they can be pulled away into the solution."
"We should probably start setting up if we want to get a good seat for the parade," Steve says, basically echoing everyone else's thoughts. "Ma left blankets and a tent in the car."
After trudging back to the van and hauling their things out, they set up near a heat lamp, sandwiched right between a jolly-looking family speaking German and a family with three wild-eyed little boys. Sarah smiles briefly at Tony as he finishes off the rest of his wrap, handing him both a stick of rock sugar and a blanket. "We've got plenty of blankets, so put this one around you. You look cold."
It is almost night time now, the sky a deep, inky color that is both pale and not, all at once. The townspeople have evidently picked their festival day well - there's only soft snowfall, and the wind - for once - is absent. However, he's distracted once they've finished unfolding the tent - instead of the normal opening of a tent, the entire side wall and the door flaps have been cut out like a box left on its side.
Tony stares.
Sarah catches him doing so, and laughs from beside him. Happiness looks really good on her, Tony thinks absentmindedly. It creates more lines in her face, but Sarah Rogers is the type of woman to whom smiling and laughing belongs. "Don't worry, we have another tent," she says amusedly. "This is just for fair days, so there's more room for everyone to see rather than just out of a small slit."
"That...makes sense," Tony offers, because it does, even if it's kind of not something people normally do. Sarah just laughs more at whatever she sees on his face.
Once they've pinned the tent down with long stakes ("so that it can reach the ground through the snow," Bruce explains), Tony tries to wedge himself in the very side of the tent but somehow ends up directly in the middle between both his science buddy and Thor. He doesn't even know how it's happened, but he has the sneaking suspicion that Sarah pulled Thor, Rogers, and Barnes aside on purpose to have them file into the tent after Tony. He can't figure out why - is this a punishment or a kind gesture of sorts? - but god damn, Steve's mom is smiling softly at him again and he has no idea what he did to deserve this woman.
"The parade is starting," Thor says brightly as a horn sounds and drum beats thrum in the distance. He glances down at Tony from where he sits, towering at least four inches over the other boy. "You will enjoy this greatly, Stark."
"Yeah, actually, even though the town is small, the performance is great," Bruce adds. He's watching the streets intently, not even looking at Tony as he speaks. "They use a lot of lights, and since it gets dark so early in the winter, it looks beautiful."
Tony swallows. "Lights...like…" His face burns and he avoids the glances from either side consciously.
Bruce's gaze is sharp as he glances aside. "Not fire," he reassures him softly. "Lights that run on electricity. And some sparklers. That's about it."
The parade starts marching down the street, and even though they're still too far away to see beside the odd flash of colored light, Tony can't help but lean forward in anticipation. He's never watched a parade before - or, at least, he doesn't think he has, not even on TV. And it shouldn't be such a big deal, considering he's been to Spain and Greece and so many other countries that he can't keep track, but also he sometimes feels like he's missing something. Somehow.
As the parade trails down the street, Tony can see the faint figures of a marching band lit up by lights strung around their necks. Some of them are young - very young, almost twelve or thirteen - but they're all in tune, the bm bm bm and rat tat tat of the drums and the hwwwwms of the trumpets creating the distinct tune of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. At first it's nice, you know, just nice, and pretty anticlimactic, and Tony's enjoying the songs although he's not altogether impressed. But then suddenly he sees it. Behind the rows of drummers and trumpeters are huge, glowing floats, the hum of a motor heard faintly from beneath them. Interspersed between the floats are men and women on horses, singing and waving.
"Wow," he finds himself whispering, and he's straining now, half in the snow, watching the huge floats as they close in from down the street. They're massive, glittering gold and green and red and blue and purple, and there are people on it, people singing, is this what Disneyland celebrations are like?
All along the street and in the park, people are cheering and hooting, clapping and whistling, and the parade actors are shouting back in their bright flashing costumes. The streets are bigger here, in this town, probably because there's so much empty land, and so it looks almost like the floats are meandering through a black sea in the empty dark spaces between the edge of the sidewalk and the lights.
"It's pretty cool, huh?" Bruce says, and he's just as breathless as Tony. "I mean, it's not out of this world or anything, but...you like it, right?"
"It's amazing," Tony says honestly, and he's rewarded with the brightest smile he's ever seen from his science buddy.
"It really is."
"Do you have parades where you live?" Thor asks curiously from beside him, angling towards the two other boys. "Such as these?"
Tony bites his lip and decides on a shrug. "Dunno. I don't get out much. Or, well, I do. But I travel a lot. No time for parades or fairs."
There's a smile on Bruce's face, but it isn't mocking, just teasing. "Flying to other countries the richer version of parades, then?"
Something twinges in Tony's chest, but to his surprise, it's not as painful as usual. Instead, he chuckles a little, looks down at the fresh snow lining the ridge in front of the base of the tent edge. "Yeah. I guess it is."
The floats pass by and Tony scooches out of the tent, ignoring how the snow seeps into his pants. He's taken by all the colors, so vivid and bright, as clear-cut and brilliant as the snow, and imagines touching them, improving them, transforming them into technological marvels. It must be so satisfying, to have been a part of this process, to know that your work is the reason for another's joy. He thinks maybe it would feel good to have that pride.
"Who makes all the floats and organizes everything?" he whispers to Bruce.
The other boy turns to him briefly. "Well, the town has a committee. It's kind of a team effort from everyone, to be honest. Most people contribute something, whether it be big or small."
It's a surprisingly heartwarming image. Tony tries to imagine the people in his neighborhood putting on something like this, all the rich families living in nearly isolated mansions along the Malibu coast, and has to tamp down the inappropriate laughter that threatens to bubble out. Not that they wouldn't appreciate the holiday spirit, he thinks, but they'd much rather hire professionals to perform for them.
And it's not like hiring experienced performers is a bad thing - he can definitely see the appeal in that as well. But there's something sweet about Steve's small town, too. Something he isn't really sure how to explain; something that ought to be felt rather than wasted by inadequate description.
As the floats move on by - and by God, there must be at least ten of them, magnificent in its size and delicacy and twinkling with hundreds of Christmas-themed lights - Tony just gazes up, wide-eyed and stunned into immobility. "Do you see that?" Bruce says, and beside them, Clint, Thor, Natasha, and Bucky all snicker and elbow a blushing Steve. Bruce points and Tony follows his finger to a truck that's following the last float, illuminated by several lights framing its sides.
"Wow," Tony says, because wow.
On the side of the truck is a gorgeous painted depiction of a family huddled around a hearth. There are two boys and a woman sitting there, and the strokes and colors are soft and warm. Immediately, hoots begin to rise up around the tent.
"Sarah and Steve made that," Bruce says, sounding as proud as if he had painted it himself. "Ms. Rogers is a fantastic artist. I guess talent just runs in that family."
Tony opens his mouth, closes it. Stares at the huge oil painting as it continues on by. "Holy shit."
"Yeah." Bruce's eyes are so happy that it warms Tony just to look at him. "It's of their family. I mean, Mr. Rogers isn't in it. But it's of their family now. Sarah used to paint generic images, but after Bucky, she started using the holiday truck paintings as a way to show him he would always be welcome."
Imagine that, Tony thinks. Dating an artistic blonde beefcake and being so god damn loved that the beefcake's mother actually thinks of you as family. He can't even muster up enough jealousy, because the image is so fucking wholesome and like he's thought before, who cares if Tony will never have that? At least that kind of happiness exists, because really, Barnes is a good guy and so is Rogers. And good people deserve good things.
After another half hour, the parade finally starts to wind down. The sky has fully darkened during this period, and the dancers and singers tromping after the floats are now all the way down one of the last streets, still twirling and stomping and caroling for the few parade-watchers that have come straggling in in the last few minutes. "Are we all done eating?" Barton asks, licking an ice cream cone. "'Cause I kinda wanna go on some rides."
"You'll puke if you do that right after dessert," Natasha says mildly. "You have a weak stomach, remember?"
Clint pouts and pulls up his jacket to reveal a muscled abdomen. "Aww, Nat, you think?"
"You know what I mean." Natasha levels the other boy with a look. "And put your shirt down, unless you want your belly to turn blue from hypothermia."
Rogers shrugs, looking around the circle at everyone. Sarah's no longer standing next to him; his mother's gone off to find the Carters. "We haven't had any real food for about an hour or so. If everyone's up for it, I don't think a ride will be too harmful."
"Sure," Bruce and Barnes agree immediately.
"Hell yeah," says Clint, and Natasha rolls her eyes but nods all the same.
"Aye!" booms Thor.
Tony just ducks his head and nods a little. His opinion probably doesn't matter, but he isn't sure if not agreeing would be a better option anyway.
When he looks up again, Steve's watching him with a little bit of concern, but then the teen turns away, grins and loops his arm through Bucky's. "Let's go," he says agreeably. "Where to?"
"Carousel!" Barton takes another bite of his vanilla scoop. "The flying one though. Like, where all the seats go up."
"Oh, thank God, not the lame kiddy one," Barnes says.
"Asshole, you know I was going to suggest that one next."
"How about you, Stark?" Natasha says suddenly. "What do you want to do?" Tony feels the weight of every gaze as everyone turns to him, and his heart starts to pound. Why that crazy assassin-y redhead keeps doing this - those weird freaky comments that make all the attention go to him - is beyond him.
"Um, carousel, that's fine." He swallows. "I like...I mean, carousels are fun."
Steve seems to take that as permission to go ahead, and the group heads off toward the ride. There's already a long line full of tweens at the entrance when they arrive, but it doesn't matter - Barton's pinging all over the place by this rate, hyped up on sugar and the sort of frenzied spirit that's coming from everyone else in the park. Even though Tony ought to be used to Barton's fluctuating moods by now, it's still a little odd to reconcile the image of the boy who hates Howard Stark's son with this one. This one, who seems to have an endless reserve of energy alongside a love of laughter and corny jokes. Tony doesn't pretend to think that Barton's had a good home life; you can tell, oftentimes, with a lot of people - the ones who've been roughed up have a certain attitude, a sort of distinct carelessness. And he recalls how Bruce's eyes light up here the way they don't really at school, and realizes that maybe the dislike runs so much more personally - imagine having a special thing, with people you call your family, and having to take care of a stranger instead. It's not about what Tony's done to one of Barton's best friends, even; it is that he is an intrusion, a blemish on an otherwise spotless surface.
Before he's even realized it, the ride's settled down again and the man at the front unlocks the gate. "Alright, you all have fun now," the guy says.
"Thanks, Mr. Dugan," Rogers says with a polite smile, and the man - Dugan - claps both Barnes and the blonde on the back.
"Good to see you two."
Tony ends up settled next to Thor on the ride, and he can't help the wild thrill that thrums through his blood when the seats lift up and he feels the pull of his own body release in the air. Jesus, he loves being in the air - it's like flying, all heady and fierce, the strange feeling of looking down and being untouchable by everyone who stands beneath. But the best part of being in the air is the weightlessness of his body, the intoxication of something so freeing. Only air between his body and the ground. In his dreams, the good ones where he doesn't wake up shaking and crying, he always gets to fly.
For a while, they sit in silence, just enjoying the cool night air and smells wafting up from below. "I am glad that you appear to be enjoying yourself now, Stark," Thor says abruptly a few minutes in from beside him with a kind smile. The blonde's long hair is flying in the wind, and for some reason it reminds Tony of a big, muscly fairy.
"Oh. Yeah." Tony quirks his mouth sheepishly. He's acting like he did when he was a little kid again, getting all excited over dumb stuff. Remember what Dad always said? Don't be so childish, Tony. "I just - I don't go to many fairs. It's nice. This is nice."
"Yes," Thor replies softly, his voice faint under the wind. "What would you like to do next? A game, perhaps?"
"I dunno." Tony fidgets in his seat. The ride's begun to slow down a bit now. "I like the rides, I guess."
"Aye, I do as well."
There's something encouraging about Thor, Tony decides, like he's supposed to talk more or something. Okay, he can do that. He's concluded long ago that the blonde is genuinely friendly, unlike some of the other jocks he's met in the past. "I guess I just like heights. And the adrenaline rush. I mean, I suppose you can't really find that unless you're at a theme park. But - uh - yeah. I guess...it's just fun. I know that sounds lame, but…"
"That is most certainly incorrect," Thor proclaims. "A festival is meant to be enjoyed, yes? Your enjoyment thereby reflects only on how well the festival is doing its job, not whether or not you are 'lame.'"
Okay, sure, Thor talks kinda funny, but in this moment, Tony cannot comprehend how anyone could think that this hulking six foot jock could be anything close to dumb. Sure, Thor doesn't look like much in terms of the brain department, but when he opens his mouth, he's surprisingly eloquent. Medieval speak and all.
"In conclusion," Thor says as the ride finally lowers them down and slows to a stop, "you are anything but lame, Tony Stark."
-
Tony doesn't know how the guy at the gate let all of them pile into the same damn carriage, but right now everyone's crammed together on the Ferris Wheel and they're traveling upward slowly but steadily. Barton is basically on top of Barnes's lap, who is sitting across from Tony. Romanoff is squished beside them, and Rogers's huge frame is taking up so much space in the side that it's making Barton howl with laughter. "Jesus, we're going to break the god damn carriage," Barnes snorts. "What are we, like a thousand pounds?"
"Actually," Bruce says pragmatically as he adjusts his glasses, "since there are seven of us, and we're all most likely over one hundred thirty pounds, you're not actually that off."
"Wouldn't that be a scene," Barton says. "We'd make the papers for sure. Especially with Stark, 'cause he's famous or whatever. Hey, Stark, is it fun being famous?"
Barnes is watching him with a funny expression.
"Not...really," Tony says hesitantly. He isn't sure whether or not Barton's really expecting honesty or not. "There are some perks?"
Barton cocks his head, but to Tony's surprise, it's Barnes who speaks up. "Seems tirin' in my opinion. I wouldn't wanna be famous."
He could easily take the comment as an insult, but for some reason, Tony likes Barnes a little more for it. It's the acknowledgement, he thinks; because it is tiring, being watched all the time, being... judged all the time. "That seems fair," he says drily, rubbing his palms on his pants to hide the nerves.
The carriage finally reaches the top, and Tony's breath gets caught in his throat as the vastness of space and the night sky hits him. The stars, twinkling above his head, are cold and beautiful, ethereal in their grace, cruel in their distance.
"We should wish on a star," Barnes suggests softly amidst the quiet. "My ma used to tell me it would bring good luck."
It's interesting, Tony reflects. How we would wish on something we'll never see up close, or touch. Things that are so far away. The thought makes him ache with a warm cold.
"You okay, Tony?" It's Bruce, touching his arm gently.
"Yeah." The word unsticks from inside his chest, dry and whisper-quiet. "Bruce?"
"Mm?" He thinks maybe he can feel Barnes watching still, but the stars have him in their cool grasp, glittering like melted snow.
"Do you believe in that? Wishing on a star?"
The corner of Bruce's mouth quirks wryly. "There's no harm in doing it," his science seatmate says, voice quiet but thoughtful. "I suppose if something comes true, it's better than having not done it at all."
"I think that's just luck." Tony frowns, looking over the edge of the carriage. He can see, dimly, people moving beneath them. Even though this town is by no means rich, it's also a haven for cheap living and lots of extra space to be renovated.
"Sure." Bruce shrugs. "But people need something to believe in, don't they?"
"The stars are beautiful," Rogers says suddenly, face open and awed under the moonlight. "Okay, Buck, I guess I can see what you like so much."
Barnes grins. "Finally gaining an appreciation for scenery beyond landscape painting, huh?"
Tony leans back and tilts his head up. When he was a kid, he had asked for glow-in-the-dark stickers to paste on his ceiling one Christmas. Of course, he'd never gotten them, because his father had decided allowing his son into his workshop for the first time was a better gift. Granted, entrance into Howard's workshop had been long coveted by a five year old Tony, but he had wished fervently at the time to have gotten some stars too.
When he was still young and soft from innocence, he used to play a game with his mother. She was more attentive then; everyone always says that a young child is harder to care for than an older one, but Tony's always thought that the reason why his mother struggled as he grew up is because that's inherently false. Sure, a little kid is immature, wild, doesn't know boundaries. But it is so very easy to get a kid to love you. To forgive you for your faults, your defects. But then it gets old. No more pretending Santa exists. No more acting like your father's busy; oh no. He just doesn't have time for you.
Anyway, he remembers they played a game about dividing the world. His mama told him she read about the idea in a book somewhere, a book by Jandy Nelson translated to Italian back when she had enough energy to read. "How it goes is there are the stars, the sun, the flowers, the trees, and the ocean. You have half, and I have half. But we can trade them, for favors." She nudged him, winked.
"What do I get?" Tony had asked, furrowing his brow. "Can I have the sun an' the stars, Mama?"
"Why the sun and the stars?" Her smile had been so patient. He remembers that patience.
"'Cause they're in the sky. An' I wanna fly when I'm older. Planes, or a spaceship."
"A spaceship? Do you want to be an astronaut, mi Antonio?"
"Yeah." Tony nibbled at his thumbnail. "I wanna see the stars. Like real stars. How far away are they?"
"Very far." Maria took her son into her arms, one of the moments where she would let herself soften completely. "But you are very special, bambino mio. You will reach the stars even when no one else can."
"What're you thinking so hard about?" Bruce says softly, looking at Tony with amusement and jolting the other boy effectively out of his thoughts. "You have the same look you get in Physics when you're working on a new design."
"Just this game." The shorter teen feels his face heat up.
"What game?"
"Uh. It's, um, this thing about splitting up the world."
"What's this about splitting up the world?" Barton's looking over at them from where he's half-sprawled over both Barnes and Romanoff. The carriage shifts over a little, but it's still at the very top.
"My mom...she used to, uh, play this game where we split up the world between each other." Tony shifts so that he's sitting on top of his trembling hands. His fingers, they must be cold. "It was the sun, the flowers, the trees, the ocean, and the stars."
"What did you take?" Bruce asks curiously.
"Sun and stars." Tony fidgets. "My mom was willing to give me three so that I'd have one more than her, but all I wanted was the sun and the stars."
"I think I would've liked the sun and the flowers," Rogers says thoughtfully. The carriage begins to cycle around again.
"I would've taken the sun and the stars." That's Barnes, who's gazing up at the night sky. "Or maybe just the stars. I think that would've been worth it."
"Trees," Barton interrupts.
"Ocean," Bruce adds. "Personally. Imagine all the undiscovered creatures that live down there. I thought you would have been interested in that, Tony."
That's true, truer than Tony would like to admit. As a creator by nature, he is fascinated by the unknown, of all the things that can and will one day be discovered or invented. But what he can't say is that he can't handle large bodies of water anymore. Not after the Ten Rings, anyway. After that, water became a taboo.
In the earliest days, he couldn't even handle a god damn shower.
"I wanted the sun and the stars the most." He lifts a shoulder. "I was a kid. The ocean was just another word for 'beach' to me at that age."
"How about you, Nat? Thor?" Rogers asks.
Natasha shrugs, examines her fingernails. "Flowers. Stars."
"Lightning and mountains," Thor says calmly. "I would give you all the five that Stark mentioned for such an exchange."
"Thor, buddy, that's not how it works." Barton curls his arm around Barnes's neck and snuggles his feet under Natasha's thighs.
"I don't see why not," Thor argues, frowning. "There are endless beauties in the world to choose from so that we all may partake equally."
The carriage finally reaches the bottom of the Ferris Wheel, and the guy at the gate leans over to look at them. "Hey," he says, chuckling a little. "There's hardly any line. Want another ride?"
"Nah, I'm getting off," Barton says. "Gonna get more ice cream."
Rogers looks around the carriage, ever the mediator. "Everyone okay with that?"
Tony surprises himself by saying, "I think I might, uh, stay on. Just for one more cycle."
He's even more surprised when Barnes gives him a discerning look and then adds, "Me, too. This is my favorite ride."
"Alright, then," Rogers says, sounding faintly startled. "Okay, um - if you and Buck are okay with that. Then I guess we'll just meet you in a few back at the tent where we left it."
"Alright," Barnes says casually. "We'll see you guys later."
As soon as the others have left - all looking almost suspiciously between both Tony and Barnes - the ride monitor shuts the carriage door and cranks up the Wheel again, sending them back around. Without everyone else to crowd him, Tony's a little bit more relieved - but also, the awkwardness between he and Barnes is now heavy in the silence.
"So." When Tony looks over, Barnes is stiff, staring out over the edge of the carriage. "Why'd you want to ride again?"
"It's peaceful." Tony bites his lip. "I guess I just like the idea of being up high."
"Yeah," Barnes says gruffly. He chances a look at the shorter boy. "Away from all the problems, right?"
Tony nods shortly. It seems like with every step he takes with Barnes, he takes two back. He has no idea where they're at, what they're doing, only that Barnes has already seen him at his worst - twice - and yet he still barely knows anything about the boy with the silver arm beside a rough backstory.
Barnes sighs, but it sounds like one of contentment rather than the exasperation Tony would normally expect. "The stars feel a lot closer from up here, don't they."
Tony finds himself shaking his head. "Nah," he disagrees. "Farther. When I'm up here, it's like...I realize how far away I am from the ground, and yet...I'm nowhere closer to the stars than I was before."
Barnes tilts his head, grey eyes on the other boy now instead of into the vast space beyond their carriage. "But it's kinda comforting. At least the universe isn't some big black empty space full of nothin'."
Tony eases back into his seat. It feels so solitary up here, as if he and Barnes have hollowed out a space of their own that exists apart from everything else. "Guess I never thought about it that way. I mean, when I was a kid, that's why I wanted to put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling...uh, my dad said it was for babies, so I never did, but I thought it would...um. Make the stars feel closer. Less distant, I suppose."
Barnes tilts his head. "Powdered doughnut."
It takes Tony a second to grasp onto the change of subject. "What?"
"Powdered doughnut." Barnes motions upwards. "That's what I imagine the sky looked like, thousands of years ago, before we invented pollution and fucked the whole atmosphere up."
Tony looks away, his heart a strange hum inside his chest, but smiles a little. "Spilled sugar."
"A sea at night reflecting scattered light from a search helicopter."
"That's a good one," Tony says softly. The carriage rocks a little as it begins its descent. "Black and white Jackson Pollock."
"Eh, it was a mouthful," Barnes says. "A white disco ball spinning lights around a club."
"Rain passing down in front of headlights. When the lights reflect through the drops."
"A slow song during a concert, when everyone takes out their phones and turns on the flashlight."
Tony feels his seat careening gently beneath him; they've slowed to a stop halfway down. Barnes is fidgeting, tugging his sweater sleeve further over his glove. It's his left arm - the metal one, probably. "Have you been to a concert?"
"'Course." Barnes runs a hand through his long, dark locks absentmindedly. "I mean, they're expensive, but I've been before. You probably have, right?"
"I - um. No." Tony swallows. "I haven't." He doesn't know why, but he feels the strong need to defend himself. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just, I never have the time, traveling and all…"
Barnes must see something in his face, because he opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, "You aren't missin' much, Stark. They're not all that fun. Can't even hear the singer over the sound of drunk college students screamin' incorrect lyrics in your ear."
Tony huffs a laugh. "I suppose all the bands I like are from the 70s. Wouldn't find concerts with them anyway."
Barnes regards him with new interest. "Fan of old music? Couldn't have pegged you as that, to be honest. Dunno what I would have assumed."
Tony shrugs, looks back up at the stars. "AC/DC, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins. Metallica's okay. I like classical music too. I, uh, I can get into MGMT sometimes."
Barnes nods thoughtfully. "Grunge, rock. Fair enough. I like Flora Cash and Saint Motel now, but I was a die-hard Swiftie when she was still in her country phase."
Tony can't tamp down the snort - Jesus. Early 2000s Taylor Swift. Bucky Barnes, with that brooding look and metal arm and scary friends like Romanoff. A thought crosses his mind briefly - what was Barnes like, before he lost his arm? The same? Different? Kept the same music taste, or did it change? - before being forced to the background.
"I can see it," he teases quietly. The almost unreal quality of the night's made him braver, looser. He's still got a few twenties left in his pocket. "Think it might be the hair."
Barnes smirks, and like that - open, amused - he looks like he's talking to a friend. "Makes sense. Thor never even got out of his Swiftie phase, and his hair could beat a Disney princess's."
"And here I thought he'd go for someone more Joan of Arc," Tony says dryly, "time period and all."
Barnes lets out a bright, surprised laugh. "Well, I guess none of us can go t' concerts at all then. Our favorites are all dead."
"Hey." The guy from earlier raps his knuckles against the edge of the carriage, and Tony realizes with a half-stifled flinch that in the time that he's been talking to Barnes, the Ferris Wheel's brought them back down to the landing again. "Sorry, man, but ride's up this time. Line got longer."
Sure enough, there are tons of kids and couples clamoring for the spot now.
"Thanks," Barnes tells the guy as both he and Tony get out. "For the extra ride, too."
"Yeah, no biggie!" the monitor calls back as the two teens exit.
"So, ice cream." Barnes shakes his head as he leads the way back to the tent. "If Stevie didn't get me my own cone, I'll just steal his."
Tony keeps his eyes trained on the ground, but even he can hear the gentle and fond tone framing Barnes's words. In his mind's eye, he sees the other boy laughing as he playfully nabs a bite of Rogers's ice cream.
The rest of the walk back to the tent is mostly silent, except for the occasional comment from Barnes about a good smell or interesting game. Tony can already feel them reverting back to whatever it is they were before the Ferris Wheel, but he isn't quite sure what he even means by that. He so badly wants to both scrub the memories of the previous days from his mind, but he also wants to grab Barnes by the shoulder and pull him aside and ask him if he remembers as vividly too. What he really thinks about Tony, if he even thinks anything about him at all. The wound is a mix of raw and old, as if everything that has happened thus far has been part of some disconcerting dream.
Honestly, Tony rarely feels present and tied down throughout each day. For all of his genius IQ, he struggles remembering what he ate yesterday for breakfast even when he thinks hard, and things he's seen only seconds before feel faded, like something already converted to distant memory. In that sense, everything strikes him as some sort of lingering dream. It is not so hard to imagine that this could all be a dream as well.
The sky's given the town a brief reprieve - it is hardly snowing anymore, just the odd bit of fluff drifting down here and there. Covertly, Tony manages to catch a snowflake on the tip of his tongue and folds the ice into his mouth, letting it melt there. His footsteps leave imprints that cross-etch the hollows others have made before him in the dirt and snow, impressions overlapping impressions - there is something uniquely fascinating about walking in an old place on old land, touched already by other people. And it is fascinating vice versa, too, when the snowfall is hard and white blankets everywhere like it did yesterday, and he can be the first person to have ever touched it. Leaving an impernament mark without lasting consequence.
"Hey." Bucky's stopped at a booth, and his gaze wavers like he isn't quite sure how to go about things. "Do you mind if I look at this for a bit?"
Tony jolts himself out of his reverie, realizing Barnes is in front of a little stand filled with movies and record player discs. And that he's asking him permission. "Uh - go ahead."
He joins Barnes's side to look through the movie section. They're all in locked plastic cases, and there are selections like Men In Black and even some Sandler comedies. But Barnes is all the way in the oldies section, labeled "1940s". Tony is pretty sure people from the 40s didn't have CDs, let alone a TV with color, so these must have all been converted.
Barnes catches him looking and his mouth twitches up briefly. "I like old movies, like Stevie. Anythin' old, or a romance or comedy or action or somethin'."
"I like scifi," Tony says softly. He scrunches his brow. "Only the accurate ones, though. I also like fantasy, even though I don't believe in that kind of thing."
"Magic?" Barnes says, amusedly. "No ghosts, or messages from the ether, or anything?"
Tony runs a finger over the delicate spines of the covers. "I get the feeling that if someone wanted to tell me something, they wouldn't have waited so long."
Barnes cracks a smile. "What if it's just not the right moment? What if aliens invaded? Y' never know."
It's just nice enough that Tony feels brave enough to roll his eyes. "Let me know when E.T. phones home."
"It's a wonderful life," Barnes says suddenly.
"I'm glad you're happy," Tony says awkwardly, his voice raising in pitch in his confusion. Okay, well, it's great, that Barnes thinks his life is wonderful. But it's kind of an abrupt change in topic, and -
"No," the other boy says, voice a little raspy. His eyes are a little glassy as they flick up towards Tony. "I used to watch this movie all the time with my parents. Before." He holds the case up, and sure enough, the title scrawled across its front reads It's A Wonderful Life. Tony's definitely heard of it before - it's a black-and-white film, he thinks - but he's never seen it.
"It's a good holiday movie," Barnes says, placing the movie gently back in its place. "Should watch it if you haven't, Stark."
"Are you not going to buy it?" Tony asks curiously. He knows he's pushing the line a little bit here, invading in Barnes's carefully crafted privacy, but he saw the look on the other teen's face when the guy picked up the movie, and that was the expression of someone who wants.
"Nah." Barnes shakes his head, withdraws the metal arm that's covered by a sweater sleeve. "Just reminds me of the past. No point. And I left all my money with Steve, anyway."
"I could pay for it," Tony offers slowly. He doesn't doubt for a second that this could be very easily taken the wrong way - he's heard the famous Stop trying to buy friendship, Stark! way too many times to relax - but also, sitting on the steps of the porch that night comes back clear-cut in his mind. Of Barnes, sitting there, talking about both parents dead. Casually, flippantly, like he was over it. And Tony's come to learn over the years that things like that, things that hurt that bad, can fade. But no one ever really gets over it.
"It's fine, Stark." Barnes won't look at him. "I'm gonna look at the music for a bit. Buy if you see somethin' you like."
After Barnes has moved away to the other stands, the top of his dark head hovering over the small shelves set on the little tables, Tony doesn't even think about it before he's plucking It's A Wonderful Life back out of its spot and putting it under his arm. He peruses the movies a little more, but there isn't really anything that's piqued his interest. So, after a bit, he goes to the cash register that's cushioned on the side of the tent. Barnes is still behind one of the music shelves and hasn't appeared to move since Tony last looked up, so he quickly pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it into the cashier's hand.
"Thank you, sweetie." It's a blonde woman who looks around her mid-thirties. "It's only a dollar. Anything else?"
"Um, no - " Tony's eye catches on a woven basket sitting next to the register. It's the standard basket that's full of random trinkets, as there is wont to be in any store or marketplace. And there's a four-pack of grey, black, white, and pink scrunchies sitting in it. "Actually," he says before he can even consider what in the hell he's doing, "I'll take these too."
The voice unheeded by social anxiety, insecurity, and the variety of other issues that he has says, Okay, Tony, you've already recognized that Barnes's current hair ties are boring as shit. You're doing him a favor. And Barnes will laugh.
The other part of his brain screams, You fucking idiot. Dad was right, you can't do anything right. You think Barnes is going to somehow like you more just because you're thinking of maybe giving him a movie that reminds him of his dead parents and hair ties that come off like you're making fun of him? You can't buy friendship, Tony, you would think you would have learned that by now.
"Alright, a dollar sixty five is the cost," the woman on the other side says - Amanda, that's what her name tag says - giving him a warm smile as she transfers the change. "Would you like a bag?"
Okay, whatever. Christmas is still days away. He doesn't have to give this to Barnes or anything. It's a dumb gift anyway. Maybe he can bring it home and watch it himself. He'll just find something else. Or something. He kind of owes Barnes, to be honest. It's not buying friendship if he's just repaying the guy, right?
After he's gotten his purchases safely in a bag, he steps behind the shelf where Barnes is. "Bought some stuff," he says casually, pretending like he hasn't just made a really dumb and careless decision. "Do you - I got back a lot of change."
"Nah." Barnes gestures out at the rest of the festival. "We should probably get back." However, Tony doesn't miss the way his eyes flit to the movie stand for a second, gaze almost wistful. How Barnes runs a hand over his left shoulder briefly, like something there is aching.
"Yeah." The bag in Tony's hand makes a rustling noise as he shifts his grip. "They're, um, probably waiting."
The rest of the walk back is quiet.