socializing
"To live is to risk it all."
—Rick Sanchez, Rick and Morty
28.
Tony tries his best to catch himself from slipping up, but as the days go by, it gets harder and harder to remember that he was never acquainted with Bucky's friends in the first place.
After an afternoon at the greenhouse with Bucky—and Tony's embarrassed to admit that that was one of the better days of his whole entire life—he starts sitting with his new friend group. He even finally gets to meet Sam Wilson, the last member of the group, and to his surprise, Wilson treats him just like everyone else.
At first, he's super self-conscious, battling between acting abrasive to prove he doesn't care and reining himself in in the hopes that they'll somehow start to genuinely like him. But as time wears on, and then a full week passes where he's sat at their table and nothing bad has happened, he finds himself losing that self-consciousness slowly but surely.
He rolls over in bed and pillows a cheek on his arm, smiling absentmindedly. This week's just been so good— Ty's left him alone, for the most part; and he finally gets to talk to people who actually like each other. Not to mention that Bucky's been really nice to him ever since that day at the greenhouse, and fake kindness or not, it feels good. Really, really good.
His phone dings. hey tony, the text notification on the screen reads. we r having a study session in an hour. kamar-taj library. would u like to join us? A second text filters in a second later. by study session i mean that bruce is tutoring us in hon physics bec none of us know what we're doing.
Tony's grinning before he can stop himself. Shit, he'd show up even if they were studying Literature, or, God forbid, Linguistics. sure, he types. i'm not doing anything right now.
great, Bucky sends back, even going so far as to add a little smiley face at the end. see you soon.
So far Bucky's been the one communicating with Tony for everything, and the conversations are mostly just about which lunch table they've picked for that day. They must have group chats with each other, ones that Tony isn't in, but he understands that he's still not truly part of the group. At any rate, this is the first time he's been invited to something. The nervy excitement that wells up in the pit of his stomach is almost embarrassing.
He sits up and rolls out of bed ungracefully, eyes roving over his floor and half-open drawers for things to wear. What does one wear to a study group? Truth be told, he's never been, unless you count the tutoring sessions with Harley or the ones where he did homework for people he slept with. It's distracting to study with others, and besides, it's not like there's much he can't grasp that other people can.
After awhile he just settles on his standard red sweatshirt and sweatpants. Making a fruitless effort to pat down his hair, he checks his phone—okay, well, nothing wrong with being forty-five minutes early—and then heads out.
No one's there when he shows up at the library, but that's fine. He selects a random table in the corner and pulls out the homework that he's got due next week. He's never been one to start homework early— hell, it's a Friday—but algebraic geometry is actually almost difficult to master if you're not giving it a decent amount of attention. Not to mention that it's for an independent study course with Dr. Forge, a research fellow at SHIELD who's arguably one of the brightest mathematicians Tony's ever met. Hell, anyone who can give Howard a run for his money at least deserves well-done homework.
Soon, he becomes completely engrossed in his work. Pages and pages of equations on complex manifolds loom in front of him, blank and unsolved. Oh, great, he forgot a variable, so now he has to completely fucking erase all the work he just did…. No, no, that takes too much time, he's just going to rip out a new page. Okay, this makes more sense now, he just has to use Sternin-Shatalov integral transform to solve the equation's singularities. He can do that, even though this kind of abstract math is definitely less interesting than differential equations. Now onto balayage problems, which he sort of— sort of—needs a refresher course on, not that he'd ever admit it, and he flips open the textbook and skims the listed theorems with a critical eye.
"Christ," a voice says loudly. A shadow appears over the pages. "Is that math or AP Art?"
Tony flinches back violently and jerks his head up to see Clint staring, his eyes wide and expression apologetic. "Sorry, man. I didn't realize you were, uh, studying so hard. Thought you saw us arrive."
Tony blushes red when he realizes that both Clint and Natasha are sitting in front of him. "Um, I….," he stammers weakly. "Yeah, no, I noticed, I was just…. Yeah. Yup. That's me. Studying hard."
Luckily, they both seem to give him the benefit of the doubt, or at least take pity on him. "What kinda math is that?" Clint asks, nodding at the still-open textbook. "For the record, I'm taking AP Calc right now. And that...does not look anything like AP Calc."
Tony allows himself to grin. This, now this is something he can show off about. "More broadly, algebraic topology," he answers. "Specifically, Cauchy problems."
"Okay." Clint plops down and waves his hands in the air. "Genius stuff. Got it."
Bruce and Thor arrive moments later, Bruce shivering from the wintry cold and Thor dressed in a casual long-sleeve and jeans. They say their hellos and Bruce takes out several worksheets, presumably for everyone to practice on. Clint helpfully informs Tony that they've all got a test next week, and that they'd be "well and truly fucked if not for Bruce."
"You guys mostly have it covered," Bruce offers weakly. "Just...there are some other things to practice." He ducks his head as he combs through his binder, but not before Tony catches the blush working its way up Bruce's cheeks.
Steve, Wilson, and Bucky are the last to arrive, and it would be lying to say that Tony's heart doesn't squeeze nervously in his chest when he sees Bucky. Unlike with the rest of his newfound friends, he's under the impression that Bucky might actually not mind hanging out with him, or at least tolerates it—and he desperately wants to keep it that way. Last week seemed to indicate that, anyway. Rhodey once told him that he needed to stop pushing people away just because he was too afraid of fucking things up, but then again, Rhodey would've probably never guessed that Howard Stark paid money for people to be his son's friends.
Bucky plops down on the other side of Tony as Steve and Wilson take the seats next to Natasha. "I am not lookin' forward to this," he says, shaking his head with a wry grin.
Clint snorts. "Right? Dr. Richards is always like, 'I can't believe I have to teach Honors Phys,' blah blah blah, as if we want to be there any more than he does. Imagine how he'd treat Reg or Remedial?"
Bucky nods over at Bruce. "How's AP Physics for you?"
Bruce sneaks a sly glance at Tony. "Well," he says, deliberately slowly, "I'm doing fine, but maybe I could do better if someone wasn't always whispering to me during the lectures…."
Tony rolls his eyes. "Brucie, I'm sure your ninety nine percent in Physics means that you don't need to pay full attention."
"Why am I not at a hundred then, Tony?" Bruce retorts, but his mouth is twitching at the corners and his eyes are bright.
"You blew up the lab after hours!" Tony says incredulously, pointing across the table. "That. That right there is the blame game. The only reason why Richards didn't punish you more is because he likes you and it didn't happen during class."
Bruce just gives him an amused look. "Okay, okay, we can save this for later. Let's get to the Physics now. Can one of you take out your textbook and show me what material I need to cover again?"
For the next hour and a half, Bruce quizzes the group on various physics rules and equations. Tony studies quietly beside Bucky, his mind running at lightspeed as he finishes up his algebraic geometry problems and moves onto refining his blueprints for repulsor technology. At this point in time, it's all just pure hypotheticals, but hopefully someday he will see his ideas come to fruition.
Finally, the sun lowers outside the library windows, casting the inside in a buttery soft light. Wilson yawns, setting down his pencil and rubbing at his eyes. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I think I'm okay for now."
"Same," Clint says. "I think I learned so much that I'm gonna have to stop now if I want to remember any of it."
After equally exhausted nods of agreement, Bruce starts packing up his laptop and notes. "Man, there's no way I'm gonna ace this," Bucky sighs as he also begins to put his things away. "At least now I'm goin' from an F to a C."
"You guys will do fine," Tony interjects, surprising even himself. He shuts down the panic he feels at speaking up before it has a chance to surface. "I was paying some attention during the study group. You're all smart, you all understand the core concepts. It's just small math errors you're making, but that's mostly due to lack of practice. If you score low you'll probably be at the top of the curve."
"I think you have too much faith in us, Tony," Bucky says, but the stress lines between his eyebrows and on his forehead have eased up somewhat.
Steve checks his wristwatch. "Do you guys want to go grab a bite? It's only five, we can get takeout and go back to my dorm room or something."
"Terrific plan," Thor replies, a response that is echoed by everyone. A pang jolts through Tony at the fact that his time with everyone was mostly taken up by studying, but seconds later, he decides to just be thankful. He quickly stuffs his notes and books into his bag as everyone else rises from the table, and then hurries to form the tail of the pack they automatically form as they exit the library.
Steve, Wilson, and Thor lead the way toward the east end of campus, which means they're either going to stop at Warner Dining Hall or Rae's Restaurant off Columbus Drive. Tony's dorm branches off at the midway point, so he's got some time before he has to leave alone. He stays hovering at the back of the group as they tromp out into the snow, which crunches under the weight of their boots, and into the milky light of the setting sun.
It feels a little depressing to see the way they huddle together, with their arms around each other's backs and waists and their hips and elbows and shoulders brushing each other's. He tries to ignore the way he feels stranded on the outskirts. As soon as they reach the split in the paths that lead to east campus and back to the dorms, Tony starts walking quickly away in the opposite direction in the hopes that no one will notice if he just disappears, but of course, he's never that lucky. Just as he moves to leave, he hears Bruce call out, "Aren't you going to eat with us, Tony?"
He half-turns awkwardly in the snow and catches the surprised faces staring back at him. "Um." He scratches the back of his neck. "Well, I just thought…."
"Is it the food?" Steve asks. "We don't have to go to Rae's."
"No, I just…." Tony trails off. "I thought dinnertime was a, you know, a 'you guys' thing?"
If possible, Steve's face gets even more startled. "What do you mean?"
Jeez, so he's really gonna make me spell it out. Tony sticks his hands in the pocket of his hoodie then moves them to his sweats because that looks more laidback. "Just...I didn't think I was welcome."
"Oh, no," Steve says, and Tony's heart plummets for one split, ice-cold second. "Of course you're welcome. It's—I'm sorry we gave you the impression that you weren't."
"You're part of our group now, remember?" Bucky adds, shifting so that he's fully facing Tony. "That means you're part of everything we do."
"Oh." Tony shrugs, faux-casually. Shoulders back, chin up, careless slouch, that's it. "Well, if you guys are okay with it. Rae's is nice, I like burgers. So I guess I could grab a bite."
"Great!" Steve says, sounding almost relieved. "Okay. Rae's it is."
This time around, Tony ends up sandwiched between Bruce and Thor, the latter whose beefy arm somehow ends up around his shoulders. "Friend Tony," Thor says solemnly as they track through the snow, "have we done wrong? Have we made you feel inclined to walk away from our companionship?"
"No," Tony answers without thinking. He glances up, towards Thor's heavily-shadowed face. "No, of course not, I just. Only eat lunch with you guys. This is all new, still…." And by "new," he doesn't just mean eating and hanging out with them, he means...he means the comradery, as pathetic as it is.
Thor hums. "Yes, I understand what you mean," he says in that low regal voice, although Tony isn't quite sure Thor does understand. "Change is difficult. All of us, we know this better than most."
Tony just nods, not really sure of what to say, and Thor drifts off into another one of those long, pondering silences. It's strange, really, that for such a cheerful, happy-go-lucky persona, Thor does that a lot. Ponder, that is.
Steve makes the call to Rae's for takeout so that their massive order will be on its way by the time they arrive. Tony orders one measly cheeseburger and a water, just because he doesn't know if they'll split to pay, or if they let one person pay at a time; and he knows it would look bad to order carelessly as he normally does without knowing how the group operates.
They loiter around the front of the restaurant until all of their orders are finished, and then they collect their bags—apparently they do split their bills by order after all—and head back to Steve and Bucky's dorm room, where they kick off their outer gear and pile up on the bed, the floor, and the beanbags in the corner.
For awhile there's just the sound of bags crinkling, mouths munching, burgers squelching between fingertips. Tony tries to eat his cheeseburger as inconspicuously as possible, suddenly hyperaware of his eating habits and whether or not he counts as a neat eater. The others appear to have no such resolve, as demonstrated by the grease dripping down Thor's chin and Wilson's smirk as he chomps loudly and openly in Bucky's direction. But as Tony eats, he can't help but feel the familiar burn as his stomach struggles to distance itself from the anxiety that's been festering in his gut all afternoon. There's such an exhaustion to performance, whether it be theatre, dance, or the social aspects of hanging out with people you like but are deathly afraid of for not liking you back. And he loves hanging out with them—more than he'd like to, more than he'd ever care to share—but it really is draining. For all that he is Tony Stark, he's quite used to spending time by himself.
With one hand holding the remains of his burger, he swipes open his phone to see a text notification from Rhodey. The text is a GIF of a cat pawing angrily at the camera, with a message attached reading: i know you're in your workshop rn. put the project down and go get some food or so help me god.
actually, he types back, soft smile edging its way onto his face, i got dinner with some people just now. you know, barnes and rogers and the rest. eating a cheeseburger. see? He snaps a quick photo of the mostly-eaten burger.
wait a second. The three dots that indicate Rhodey's typing appear, disappear, and then appear again. aren't those the people you said hated you? the ones that hated you literally only two months ago? those ones? the guy whose prosthetic you broke?
Tony winces. jeez, honeybear, no need to remind me, he types, then deletes the message. Yeah, he deserved that. yes….
what's going on, tony? Rhodey asks him. Not for the first time this week, it's a question he has no clear answer for. what are you doing?
trust me, he decides to say. As if Rhodey could trust him when he doesn't even trust himself. He finishes the last of the burger and takes a sip of his water, relieved to note that everyone else is, for the most part, still eating. they're good people, i've told you that. and i didn't say everything…. it's complicated. but things are good now, rhodey. i promise.
There's a long pause, then: okay. okay, i trust you. but you let me know if anything goes wrong, alright? if you need me, i'm here.
yeah, yeah. so sentimental, is it the old age?
shut up, tony stAnK.
There's a low clearing of the throat, and an elbow bumps him gently. Tony turns to see Bucky lift his chin at the phone. "Who you textin' that's got you smilin' like that?" he asks, but he says it in a gentle way.
"Oh, just Rhodey." Tony slips the phone back into his hoodie pocket. "I don't think I've mentioned him before."
"I recognize the name," Bucky says thoughtfully. "I think you might've. Don' remember him from SHIELD, though."
"Oh, yeah, he's from back home. Not from around here." Tony shifts the ice cubes in his drink around with his straw absentmindedly. "Him and Pep. They're my best friends. Back home."
Bucky nods. "Do you miss 'em?"
Tony's first instinct is to say no, not really, because what do you say to a question as personal as that, but he finds himself blurting out, "Yeah, all the time," anyway. "You'd like them. They don't take crap from anybody, and they'll go to the ends of the earth for the people and things they believe in."
Bucky chuckles. "You love 'em, huh?"
Tony softens. "I do," he says, carefully flippant. He clears his throat. "Anyone would."
"You know how I met Steve?" Bucky says suddenly.
"No," Tony answers, although he phrases it as more of a question. He realizes—with a start—that he doesn't know much about any of the group. And, sure, he knows bits and pieces of Bucky's past, but he doesn't know him—he doesn't know the guy's favorite color, his favorite food, his favorite sport; hell, whether he even likes sports….
"We grew up together," Bucky's saying. "Same apartment building East side of Brooklyn. We were nine, I think. He was gettin' beat up, for mouthin' off to some older boys—three of 'em, and believe it or not but Steve was pretty scrawny back then. Didn't take more than a stiff wind to knock him over. So he had no chance. I jumped in, didn't think it was right for a little kid to get beaten up by some older fellas. So, guess what happened?"
"You kicked their asses?" Tony says.
Bucky quirks a smile. "Nah. The complete opposite, actually. We ended up both gettin' our asses beat. But, we ended up with a lifelong friendship, so. The bruises and scrapes were worth it."
"I would've expected nothing less," Tony says lightly. "And it's nice, how you guy are da—"
"Hey, what are you two talking about, huh?" Clint interrupts, eyeing them. His face is creased, though, making him look open and curious rather than suspicious or mad. "Whispering over in the corner like two gossips."
"Aw, shove off, Barton," Bucky says mock-angrily. "I'm jus' tellin' Tony about how I met Steve."
Wilson laughs. "You told Stark about Steve getting beat up? Man, that's cold."
"We both got beat up," Bucky points out. "Steve was just the dumbass who decided to tell people five times taller and older than us that they were disrespectful pigs who should spend less time looking up girls' skirts and more time hitting the books."
"Nothing's changed, huh?" Tony says, thinking back to Steve's righteous anger over Bucky's broken metal arm, and to even before that, hearing whispers about tiny Steve's reputation of standing up to bullies. "I remembered you. From before. You have a bit of a reputation at SHIELD, for, well—y'know—doing that."
Bucky barks out a laugh of surprise. "I'm gonna ask a raincheck on that so you can tell me all of the rumors flyin' around about Stevie."
"Get out of here," Steve says, but his words carry no resentment. He balls up his burger wrapper and throws it at Bucky's chest. "You all better not have left any crumbs on the carpet, I get enough of that with Buck's mess as it is. Here, we can use this." He stands, holding his paper bag out for everyone to dump their trash into.
Tony tosses his wrapper and napkins into the bag with a grateful nod.
"This has been great and all," Wilson says, "but Maximoff just texted me and asked if I want to go drunk-bowling with him." He smiles apologetically. "I'm probably gonna take him up on the offer."
"Yeah, leave us, why don't you," Clint says, crossing his arms, but choruses out a good-bye and pats Sam on the calf as the other boy moves to leave.
Tony finds himself laughing at Clint's disgruntled expression as Sam exits. The sound gets drowned out by the rest of the voices in the room, but he's startled yet again by his own lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Each day, it seems like he's less and less in control of what he says, does, feels…. Sooner or later, he's going to find himself talking about whatever pops into his head, the way he tends to ramble in front of Rhodey and Pepper, and he can't let that happen—not in front of his wonderful new friends, he can't, he can't.
Not that laughing is anywhere near as bad as spewing a ton of nerdy info about Star Trek, or obsessing about recent technological developments—hell, it's probably just him functioning like a normal friendly human being for once—but even that causes the back of his neck to heat up. The everlasting curse of anxiety—or, at least, the everlasting curse of living every day in the limelight—means that he's hyperaware of every little thing he does, every little thing he says. Is he acting okay? Is he acting like himself? Is acting like himself too much for other people? Is it not?
Part of all his self-consciousness probably stems from Howard and Maria, to be honest. Howard—well, Howard's rather obvious, what with his constant criticism of his only son. But Maria's effect on him has been more subtle. When she's not completely zoned out from the world, she's constantly fussing over him, asking him why he's not eating much at dinner or why he's looking sad. It's made him feel like he's always got to act a certain way around his mother, as if seeming anything other than strong will make her break.
It feels selfish, but sometimes—when he's not so busy worrying about how he looks, or how he presents himself, or what other people think of him—he feels a deep, intense, neck-throttling rage at what his parents have made him become. He knows, oh he knows, that not all of it is their fault; Howard Stark Senior fucked up Tony's dad badly, and Maria is trying her absolute best in a position she was never really ready for. And honestly, Tony was always a shy, nervous kid—he can't blame his own mindset and genetics entirely on his parents.
Yet…. Sometimes he hates them, really and truly hates them, for having had a hand in making him into the scared little boy he is today. Sometimes he feels like maybe he could've turned out better if not for them. Sometimes he feels the helpless dread at the "what-if"s—what if he could've been everything he is not, if not for them? What if he would've been more confident? What if he didn't have to second-guess himself over things as stupid and small as laughing?
But, he supposes, there's no point in thinking about the what-ifs.
"We should go to a party," Clint interjects into the ensuing silence as the door to the bedroom clicks shut. "Sam's got it down—let's go have fun, guys. Thor, isn't your Cosplaying Club always throwing something on Fridays?"
The club Thor's a part of somehow manages to throw parties that are both the nerdiest and coolest things on earth. Tony has actually never been, although he's heard great things from peers—hell, even people in Stone and Hammer's group have stopped by before. Everyone dons cosplayer outfits and parties, and people mesh together without complaint. There are areas for the gamers to mess around, areas for roleplaying, and areas for people to just let loose, dance, and roll on molly.
"I'm probably going to step out of this one," Bruce says, blushing. "Um, the party scene's not really my thing. Not even the cosplaying kind. Sorry, Thor. I'm kind of tired to be honest. I'm probably going to go back to my dorm and sleep."
"You sure, Bruce?" Steve asks, peering over with concern. "We don't have to party."
"Yeah, no, I'm tired. Don't worry," Bruce says with a gentle smile. "I'm not just making up excuses. You guys go have fun, I'll probably review some notes and then go to bed."
"Okay, so, party?" Clint says.
"Um, I don't really have a cosplayer outfit," Tony says hesitantly, looking around the room. "So I don't know if I can attend…."
"No worries, Friend Tony!" Thor says jovially. "You may accompany me home to my dorm and select from the array of outfits I have stored under my bed. I am sufficiently prepared to provide for all of you."
"Oh, okay, great," Tony says slowly. A strange combo of nervousness and excitement thrums inside him.
"So, you in?" Bucky asks, watching him intently. His grey-blue eyes are soft at the corners, transforming all his hard edges into something wondrously open and kind.
Under that gaze, in that room, Tony knows what his answer will be before he even says it.
"...I'm in."