to shed tears
“It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, "more like deer than human being." To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”
―
23.
Morning dawns slowly.
It begins with the slow trickle of sunlight through the gaps in the curtains, the warmest it's been all winter. It's so quiet you could almost, almost hear your own heartbeat. The air seems to sing where it threads through the small crack in the windowpane, and there are small pockets of silence everywhere. Some of the floorboards are rickety, and the walls need to be repainted, but. Something - maybe the quiet, or the sun, or maybe Tony himself - makes it beautiful.
When Tony awakens, it's as slow as the dawn. This time, he has no nightmares, so his body feels heavy - like it's drifting through a world woven from gossamer. He opens his eyes and he almost has to drag himself away from the temptation of sleep, like he's dissolving out of it rather than jolting back into reality like he normally does.
It's not only silent in the room; inside himself, nothing moves, nothing speaks, nothing screams.
And then it hits.
It's Christmas.
At first he's not really sure how to feel about it. It wasn't always like this, you know? - The feeling unsure, he means. Back then, they used to put a tree up, Jarvis and Ana, and Tony would help hang the ornaments, balancing on his tippy toes to reach the highest branches. The tree looked so big, then - it towered over Tony, who was barely hitting three and a half feet at that age and thought everything was gigantic. But then, you know, Ana died, and by the time Jarvis died too, Tony was old enough to realize what he was missing - how Christmases aren't just about the gifts, they're also about, well, parents being there. Your mom and dad being under the fucking Christmas tree waiting to give you something instead of a half-assed Christmas card that just has the dash mark preceding the name.
See, when you're young, you don't realize what you're missing. The world is how it is. And then you grow up, and you get expectations, and you blame yourself for those expectations - but you can't go back. Tony can never go back.
And now he's not even at home, where at least he can hole up in the workshop and feel safe. Instead, he's at Steve's house, with six faces that are still barely recognizable as friendly and a mom so nice he feels as if he's betraying Maria with every wistful thought sent Sarah's way. Even worse, he's got nothing to give them in return for their hospitality beside a stupid box of hair ties and It's A Wonderful Life, which Barnes had even said he didn't want but Tony's giving it to him anyway, and what if he's done it all wrong, again, and -
Shit. He's spiraling.
"Mornin', Tony," Bucky yawns, clearly unaware of Tony's internal turmoil, and Tony snaps out of his thoughts to see Bucky looking at him with a sleepy, kind expression on his face. Something inside of Tony twists, hard, as he suddenly realizes that certain kind of domesticity about the scene - everyone sprawled out, languid and loose-limbed - and how dangerously easy it would be to lose all that.
It shocks him even more when it comes to him that he desperately does not want to lose it.
"Morning," he says back softly.
"You remember that it's Christmas?" Bucky says, grinning at him. He pushes the floppy dark hair out of his eyes, and Tony's stomach does an unusual and unexplainable flip-flop.
Tony pushes a wry smile onto his face. "How could I forget?" It doesn't seem to be convincing, however, because Bucky's relaxed smile instantly morphs into concern.
"Somethin' wrong?" he says, searchingly.
"Just…" Tony waves his hand. "It's Christmas, but I don't really have anything to give you guys. I never thought I'd be here till Christmas, but I can't find a flight for any earlier than the third, and I'm really sorry, I mean, I can get my dad to wire money to your bank account, but I, uh, I can't really do much other than that. I can pay all of you back when I get to school, though? Whatever you want - I mean, I'm a Stark, I can get it. Unless it's a night out with Beyoncé or something. She's really nice, but I don't think she'd, um." He lets out a weak laugh that only further peters out when he realizes Bucky doesn't seem to be amused at all - in fact, he appears almost angry. "Sorry."
"You don't have t' pay us back for anything." Bucky scoots closer, eyebrows drawing in as he looks Tony directly in the face. His eyes seem darker than normal, more grey than blue. "You know that, right? It's not like you broke an expensive piece a furniture or something, Tony. Think about it this way. You invite someone to your house. You wouldn't expect them to pay you back for the food or bed, right?"
This feels like a trap. "Um, no, I guess not."
"Okay, then." Bucky spreads his hands. "There ya go."
"I'm not exactly a guest, Barnes."
Bucky snorts. "Get all of that 'I forced you guys to take me in' crap out of your head right now. You think we're the kinda people who'd do stuff that really bothered us? Steve and Tasha and Clint are the most stubborn people I've ever met. Trust me, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but if Natasha hasn't gutted you and hidden the body yet, you're no bother."
"Still…" Tony trails off, wisely choosing to ignore that Natasha is deadly as hell. "I feel like - when I say I could get you anything you wanted, I could. If you guys want anything…"
Bucky cracks a smile and just shakes his head. "Anythin' I want can't be bought by money," he says.
It scrapes at Tony. He's grown up thinking, all his life, that most things a person could want had a price tag stapled to it. So what is he then, if he can't buy things for people? Not even the rich friend, not anymore, no - just useless. Good for nothing, useless, worthless piece of shit, boy, you're no son of mine.
Bucky seems to not notice Tony's newfound silence. Instead, he turns away, to where Clint's cackling at having said something outrageously funny, leaving Tony alone to his thoughts.
Imagine, if he were four again, and crying only because he'd pricked his finger on the hook of an ornament. Not noticing yet that his father was absent, too busy working on another project, and Maria was at his office pleading Howard to rest for a second and come out, because the marriage was still new enough to hope that people change.
People rarely change, Tony knows now. You can't go into marriage expecting that you'll be the one to change your husband, because if anything is strong enough to change a man for the better, it's not going to be his wife.
And now he knows better than to cry over a stupid bloody finger, anyhow. He's got bigger things to cry about.
The Rogers family and the rest of their merry gang have got to be the kindest people ever born in this world. It's an inevitable conclusion, really, Tony thinks as they wrap up their rounds at four o'clock pm on the dot.
By "rounds," he means, at precisely eleven am in the morning, the Rogers and everyone else packed up huge bags of presents into the car and proceeded to drive around town, dropping off little gifts and trinkets at nearly every doorstep and then concluding their afternoon by visiting a nursing home. It's almost ridiculous how nice it is, and Tony finds himself feeling notably better by the end of it all. He still remembers the shy but elated smile of the little girl he'd given a paper-wrapped engineering set to ("her name's Riri, and she loves engineering," Sarah had told him), and the way she'd shaken the box and then ran over and twined herself around his waist.
"I've heard of you," she'd chirped eagerly, and Tony had tensed, waiting for the mother to yank her away, say something like don't talk to that boy he's bad news, but instead Ms. Williams had waited with a patient and proud smile as Riri chattered on about Tony's various engineering accomplishments.
Riri's had been his favorite house in all honesty. That girl was going to go far, and Tony wished with all his heart that when she was grown up, they'd meet again. Maybe even share revolutionary ideas in a lab somewhere in the famed Stark Tower and watch them come to life…
"Whoo," Steve says, coming to a stop beside Tony as they exit the nursing home. He runs a hand through his slightly-matted blond hair and grins at his mom. "Good day."
Man, this guy cannot get more unreal - and normally Tony would find it in himself to let loose a disdainful laugh or two, but instead he can only dig up a growing admiration. Both for having raised a kid like Steve and for overall being a great person, Sarah is one phenomenal woman.
"Have fun, Tony?" Sarah says, leaning forward to get a good look at him. Her gaze is warm as she chuckles softly. "It's probably not how you imagined spending today."
Tony blushes. "I wasn't really expecting anything," he says. "Today was - yeah, it was fun."
"Now we get to go home and open our own presents," Sarah replies, winking. "And don't think we didn't get anything for you, Tony."
Before his brain has time to catch up with that statement, Sarah's already hopped into the car. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then clambers in after Steve. God, he's got nothing to give them, nothing but some stupid trinkets Bucky'd mentioned he liked at that fair, and by God Sarah deserves as much as he can give...but maybe he can do a rain-check on it. Find something later, something that will only barely nudge the iceberg of things everyone, especially Steve's mom, has done for him since he arrived.
For the first time, he wants to cry because of the goodness of people and not the bad.