friends
"friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... it has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival."
—c.s. lewis, the four loves
26.
Monday
james barnes: *meme*
james barnes:*meme*
james barnes: last one, i promise
james barnes: *meme*
-
Wednesday
james barnes:sunny over there?
james barnes:like eggs
james barnes: sunny side up eggs
james barnes:okay, don't reply to that. natasha tells me i'm not funny
-
Thursday
james barnes:thor misses you
james barnes: hey, hope you're okay. the radio silence is kinda deafening
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Sunday
james barnes: school in a few days. see you then
james barnes: don't be a stranger, okay?
-
Sunday
james barnes: see you tomorrow, tony. good night
james barnes: :)
james barnes: cawjjcaw motherfjcker - clint
[chat closed]
At lunch, Bucky checks his phone again. And then re-checks it. And then re-checks it once more. Besides the group chat that's always bustling with activity from his friends, his phone hasn't buzzed once in notification.
"You've checked that thing three times in the last minute, Buck," Steve says, glancing at his friend sidelong with a lift of a slim eyebrow. "What's going on?"
"Nothin'," Bucky says, too fast. His eyes dart down to his phone before he can stop himself. "Just...Tony hasn't replied all break. And I haven't seen him today. That's all."
"Okay, so, he's busy, got a new number, or broke his phone," Natasha interjects. She gives him a look—the patented you're being stupid look. But there's a hint of concern in the way she sits too, stiff even despite the usual poise.
"He's Tony," Bucky says stupidly. "That wouldn't stop him."
"Yes, he's Tony," Natasha replies patiently, "so he's probably been stuck in a work binge or something ever since he got back home. He told us himself that he forgets the real world when he's inventing things."
"He's not at home anymore," Bucky says weakly. How can he possibly articulate what he's feeling without sounding like a complete dick—how can he possibly say, But I thought Tony would at least reply to me.
Natasha rolls his eyes and nudges his shoulder. "Seriously, Bucky. Don't worry. I'm sure he's fine. If you want, I can ask around and see if anyone's seen him all day. But I wouldn't be surprised if he's just busy. After all, school just started back up again."
"Yeah, I guess." It doesn't sit right still—what would Tony have to do on the first day of school after winter break? But Bucky's sure he's just overthinking things. Being self-absorbed, or something.
Natasha side-eyes him. Gentler, now, she says, "Don't worry. Look, we can just ask Bruce—he's coming over now."
"Hey, guys," Bruce says he approaches the table with a shy smile. He still sometimes acts like he doesn't deserve to sit with them or belong at their table, and it makes the protective hackles within Bucky rise. "What's up?"
"Hey, Bruce," Bucky says, leaning forward. "Um. Have you seen Tony at all, today?"
Bruce frowns. "Yeah. Why?"
"Just." Bucky swallows. "Was there anythin' off about him maybe? Just wondering."
Bruce's frown deepens. "Is this about how he hasn't been texting you back?" He unslings his backpack from his shoulder and sits down next to Natasha. "As a matter of fact, yeah… AP Physics was weird today."
"How so?" Natasha asks.
"He normally sits next to me, but today he showed up maybe half an hour late to class and took the seat closest to the door," Bruce recalls. "I thought at the time that he was just embarrassed, because our physics teacher is Brashear and he's pretty strict about people coming in late. But Tony's not really like that. He'll just walk in and sit wherever he wants."
Bucky straightens. "You think he coulda been avoiding you?"
"Normally, no…" Bruce's eyebrows draw together. "I mean, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for it. It was just one class."
"And the fact that he hasn't returned my texts since he went home," Bucky says. "Maybe somethin' bad happened."
"He didn't look…" Bruce looks away. "Never mind."
"No, what?"
"He just looked really tired. Like he hasn't slept in days. And that's normal, for Tony at least, but he also looked a little unsteady. Like he was stoned out of his mind, to be honest." Bruce sighs, rubbing one hand on the back of his neck as if the admission pains him.
Steve's eyes are sharp. "During class?"
Bucky huffs; he feels remarkably on edge as he glances over at Steve. "Relax, Stevie, it's not like that's a big deal. Don't go gettin' all high-horse on us now."
"It's not about that." Steve shakes his head. "Just...who's the person who sold to him if he looks as bad as Bruce was saying?"
Bucky tenses, but Clint interjects, "Hey, man, I'm not saying that whoever sold is a nice guy or what, but like, Tony's probably just tired and wanted to have something to get through the day. If he needs some alone time, who are we to say he can't have it? Haven't we kinda caused enough problems for him already?"
"You mean you have, what with you bein' an ass to him an' all," Bucky snaps with a vitriol he didn't know he had, and Clint's eyes go cold.
"You're the reason why any of us hated him in the first place, Barnes!"
"Okay, hey, listen," Steve interrupts, loudly and firmly enough that everyone quiets. "Buck, I'm sorry Tony hasn't texted you back, but there's a perfectly good reason that he hasn't. And all of those reasons shouldn't have anything to do with you. Clint, that was uncalled for—no, listen, that was uncalled for. But what Bucky said wasn't right either. Settled?"
"Yeah," Clint mutters, but he won't look up.
"Okay," Steve says, picking up his sandwich again and eyeing everyone. Quieter, for just Bucky, he adds, "Hey, remember that Tony's not really… I mean, I know you might be feeling a little hurt that he's not answering your messages. But the circumstances aren't really ideal. I mean, he came home with us because he couldn't catch a flight in time. I don't know if he regards us as friends—he has so many at SHIELD anyway."
That's not it at all, Bucky thinks but doesn't say. That's not it all. Out loud, he agrees halfheartedly and shrugs a shoulder—the blood-and-bone one, not the one that's attached to the arm Tony made him. "You're probably right."
Steve smiles at him and knocks their shoulders together. "So. Tell me about the argument between Hill and Hammer again, huh?" he says.
Bucky allows the previous conversation to fade slowly away from his mind and settles on smiling back. "Sure. So Hammer holds up his hand during class with that smarmy smile again, and starts talkin' before Hill's even called on him in the middle of her lesson…"
It's a bad trip.
Well, serves him right. He's been feeling like shit for the past couple days, and now there's a huge knot of anxiety inside him and the sun just feels so inexplicably cold.
He spent the whole of AP Physics watching the wood designs of the desk crawl around under his hand, and he's pretty sure Brashear knows there was something off, but he can't bring himself to care. Whatever, whatever, whatever.
He only has an eighth of shrooms left in his pocket, and some coke in his backpack but he's not going to do any lines right now. Time is so fucking slow—and he gets caught up with the way the grass is moving next to his head. It feels like every second is a new moment happening, and he tries to wrap his head around it—then he blinks and the feeling renews itself, and all the thoughts float away like bubbles.
He makes faces at the sun. Tongue hanging out, goofy. Nose scrunched up, disgruntled. Eyes blown wide, loopy. He really doesn't fucking want to be here, but even through the anxiety the veil over his eyes makes the world seem a little more bearable.
He still can't believe Bucky, Bruce, all of them, lied to him.
It's probably just something else he doesn't get. Like, that need for money. No money probably justifies a lot of things, like doing things you might not even normally do because you need it. Tony wouldn't know though, because he's been living with a silver spoon all his life.
So he can't even hate them. He thinks about Bucky's soft smile, Bucky's eyes when he talked about the stars. He can't hate that—Bucky was just trying to get a couple bucks on the side. There's nothing wrong with that.
Can he even be mad at Howard? Maybe his dad was just trying to help. Howard has his moments, sometimes—like once when Tony was four and sick in bed, he made hot lemon water and gave Tony a cold towel before disappearing. And then, even duller now, this wispy memory of being read a lullaby. Stark men have never been very proficient at communication, so maybe this was just Howard's way of trying to make Tony happy.
It's so confusing to be mad when he isn't sure who to be mad at or whether he even has the right to be in the first place. He doesn't even want to be mad, and that's the strangest of all—he just wants to go up to Barnes and the rest of them and ask whether they even liked him in the first place. Or, like, how much was the pay? Why did my dad choose you? Even—even though he doesn't think he's pathetic enough for this yet— can we still be friends?
But they don't know he knows, he reminds himself. They don't know, and he only knows because Obie said so. And so maybe he can enjoy the friendship for a little while, under the pretense of ignorance, and then figure out what he's going to do with his life when the gig is up and they cash in their checks.
"Hey, Stark." Someone's standing above him. It's Ty, and he's smiling almost sinfully, standing out of the way of the sun—probably doing it on purpose, the bastard. Tony rolls over slowly and blinks at him. For some reason it jogs his memory of a past day, the day he first met Clint.
"Stone."
"Gimme some, huh?" Ty curls a finger, palm out. "Of whatever you're on."
Tony hands him the rest of the cubes. He paid thirty five dollars for the remaining grams, but then again, it's not like his wallet's suffering for it.
Ty flops down next to him and curls up close. "Ready for some f-g action?" he whispers to Tony, and slides a hand up Tony's thigh. With his other, he stuffs his hand into the bag. "Stuff tastes like fuckin' ass. How do you eat this shit?"
"Tastes...almost like raisins," Tony says, closing his eyes. He doesn't remove Ty's hand from where it's inching closer and closer to the fork of his pants. "It's not bad."
"Yeah, okay, sure," Ty says. He presses his nose—it's startlingly cold—into the crook of Tony's neck. "Missed you."
"Did you now," Tony says. He turns to Ty. His nose bumps against Ty's forehead.
"Hard to believe?"
"Very," Tony murmurs. A strange, inexplicable happiness spreads inside of him on top of the prevalent anxiety—probably the psilo working its way into his brain—and he smiles into Ty's hair.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Stark." Ty rolls on top of him. "C'mon, I know you're eager for it."
Tony cracks an eye open. "This is, like, a hate fuck at best. Don't ruin this by being an asshole."
Ty shrugs, sitting up and hooking a finger into Tony's collar. "Oh, you bothered?"
There's suddenly a loud crash from somewhere behind them—a sharp clanking noise. It's coming from the bleachers, and someone's there—staring at them—Ty jerks off of Tony—
"Fucking—you think he saw?"
"No, no," Tony mumbles numbly, half to himself, half in answer to Ty, because that's Barnes right there, gripping his left arm (the metal arm) tightly, his face white. "Shit."
"Yeah, shit is right," Ty snarls, "I'm gonna kick that dude's ass. I'm not a fucking f-ggot."
Tony rolls his eyes, but inside he's a storm of emotion. He hasn't seen Bucky at all today, not even since—not since—well. And now Bucky's seen him whoring around again, as if things weren't bad enough.
Bucky makes an abrupt move, as if to walk forward, but then he stops and awkwardly shoves his hands into his coat before walking away.
"What?" Ty snaps. Tony turns; he's honestly forgotten about Ty, that they're sitting next to each other, in this dry field, amongst the clumps of melting snow.
"Nothing," Tony says, then shakes his head. "Um. Nothing. Don't worry. I know Barnes. He won't tell."
Ty examines him for a moment. "How do you know?" Then the corners of his mouth crawl up. "Oh, is he gay too? You guys get together or something?"
"No." Tony pushes Ty away and stands up, the moment ruined. He suddenly feels drained and woozy and his vision going black makes him stumble, the imbalance a combination of the psychs and having sat down for so long.
Ty rolls his eyes and rises alongside Tony. "You need to learn how to chill out," he chuckles derisively. "I'm just kidding. I know your type."
"Yeah?" Tony says, not turning. "What type is that? You?"
"Sure," Ty answers, shrugging. "Normal guys. That stump is nasty—you think people actually get off to that, though? You know—like an amputee kink?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Ty leers at him, licking along the bottom of his upper teeth. "Aw, Tony, don't be such a killjoy. I'm just curious. He's always wearing those long sleeves anyway. Where do you think the arm ends? If he's still got any stub left, he could probably fuck someone with it—"
Tony turns around and shoves him so hard to the ground that Ty has to struggle to sit up, coughing and wheezing. His breath rattles out mistily into the cold air.
"What the fuck, Stark!"
"You better shut the fuck up," Tony says in a voice that's not his own. He feels the Stark blood thrumming in him, encouraging him. Like Howard. "You better not fucking say shit like that ever again."
Ty must see something in Tony's face, because his gaze flickers for a second. "Didn't know he was your boyfriend."
"I mean it, Ty." Tony drags the sleeves of his crewneck over his hands so that Ty can't see how they're curling into fists, and turns away. Why are you defending him? "I'm not fucking around."
He leaves Ty staring incredulously after him and storms across the field, headed in the same direction Bucky disappeared. The anxiety that's been building up in him starts to swell. He digs his nails into his palms as it bursts violently inside him.
Suddenly everything starts to feel wild and uncomfortable. It's a weird feeling, a bad trip on shrooms—it feels like it's all happening inside his head but like everything's getting scrambled, sort of like getting regressed to a child if he's being honest. It's not really direct panic but moreso the feeling he gets when he starts to lose control.
He enters the dorm building and walks through it slowly. He's kind of angry now—Ty fucked up everything—and he keeps getting stuck on the little things, dust mites in the lighting, weird bumps on the walls. Everything around him is breathing in his peripheral vision but only when he's not looking at them directly. The lights are really yellow, the walls have this warm dusky skin-tone color to them. Everyone is rosy-cheeked and blushing and the brown coats and brown shoes are coffee-rich. And yet—he feels crowded in, smothered.
His skin crawls.
Someone taps him on the shoulder. "Hey, wait, don't go yet," says Clint Barton, stepping neatly in front of Tony to block his path. "Stark. Tony."
"Clint?" Tony frowns sluggishly. Distantly, almost amusedly, he notes how his voice comes out sounding normal when speaking feels so disconnected. "What do you want?"
Clint narrows his eyes, but he doesn't make any outward moves to come closer. "Nothing, just…" He thumbs a belt loop and shrugs. "We were just wondering why we haven't seen you around, that's all."
"Who's 'we'?" Tony says acerbically.
"Well—" Clint looks taken aback. Good, part of Tony's mind hisses. "You know… Bucky, Steve, Bruce, Nat, Thor, me."
"Well, places to go, people to see," Tony says carelessly.
"Hey, listen." Clint draws closer. "You're—I can tell from your pupils, you're on something, so you're probably a lot less inhibited than normal. But, man, that's not cool, yeah? We were just wondering because we care. And you haven't texted Bucky back. He worries, you know. About his friends."
Friends. For a second, Tony almost snorts. They're not really his friends. But then he thinks about the slow snowfalls, the kind smiles, Bucky's laugh. Is he willing to give that all up for his dignity? The answer comes a second later when he opens his mouth. "Oh. Sorry."
Clint smiles a little. "It's okay. We know you've probably got better things to do. It's just how Bucky is."
"Yeah. Yeah," Tony says listlessly. "That's how he is."
Clint peers closer at him. "Hey, you're okay, right? Do you need someone to talk to?"
"Nah, I'm always fine," Tony says. He feels unsteady. "Sorry, I just...I'm tired. Stressed."
"I get that," Clint says sympathetically. "First day back and all. And I'm sure you've got a lot of pressure on you, what with being a genius and everything."
"Yeah...yeah. That's exactly it."
"Okay, well, take care," Clint says, reaching out and putting a hand on Tony's arm. Tony tries not to flinch away at the overloaded sensations he gets from it. "See you, Tony. Don't be a stranger, huh?"
"Thanks." Tony tries to smile. "I won't." He puts his hand against the wall so that he won't lose his balance and fall. Then, as soon as Clint's gone, he pushes away and stumbles off slowly down the hall.