Chapter Text
He’s floating. Floating on a cloud of ecstasy while his mind runs pain-free and relaxed. All he’s aware of is the fuzzy ray of light meeting the damp skin of his resting face, enveloping him in comfort and warmth to let him relish the only peace he knows.
Everything is so calm.
Quiet.
Better.
The mute humming inhabiting his weightless body is suddenly overpowered by an outside voice. What? Must have been the wind. But...there’s no wind here. Here... Where’s ‘here’? Where is he, no, better, who is he? Does it matter who he is in here? He hopes not. He doesn’t want to be someone, he’s tired of it, tired of being the sole bearer of this horrendous legacy and exhausted after years of trying to be enough. Being someone, now why would he want that? All that has ever brought him are glares, comments whispered behind his back, insults spat in his face, and a pool of hatred to bathe and drown any sense of self-worth in.
Drowning? He hates drowning. Is there anyone in the world who enjoys drowning?
The arms embracing him in light and warmth let go of him and the cloud he’s floating on dissipates, leaving him to fall fall fall in a frozen abyss whose claws pull him downward, further and further away from the paradise he had built for himself.
He’s drowning. He can’t breathe! The creatures of the abyss are everywhere, scratching and grabbing and choking him. How familiar.
Familiar. No, no it’s not. He doesn’t want it to be, he doesn’t want to remember!
The dark and shifting beast having at his mind disappear, leaving him to fend for himself, but the respite is short. The shadowy monsters of his own creations are soon replaced by ones much worse, coming from the deepest pit of hell with their familiar eyes and cruel grins.
They’re holding him underwater, putting their hands on him, reassembling him to the desired shape, remodeling him after what he should be. He’s forced into nothing, reduced into a puddle of imperfections in which he’s quietly drowning.
He hates drowning, but more than drowning, he hates them.
He’s drowning in the puddle, in himself, in hate, in regrets, and all he can do is watch it happen all over again.
Watch? How can he watch, isn’t this happening to him? What’s going on?
The puddle is bigger now, a pool. He recognizes that pool, and he hates it too. Hates the memories it brings back.
There’s water everywhere blurring his vision, but is it tears? Is the pool filled with his tears, it must be, that’s why the level keeps rising.
He screams, loud and desperate but his voice is muffled by the body of murderous water engulfing him. Arms flailing around, he’s reaching out to... Reaching out to what? No one will help him. No one will help you Anthony so quit crying and act like a man.
The water fills him from everywhere, eyes, mouth, ears, nose, enabling him to perceive anything but the voice that’s back and mixing with a now obnoxious and loud buzzing. Loud. So, so loud.
“Sir”
It’s so fucking loud. He can’t move properly underwater, never could. He opens his mouth to chase away the vultures, the greedy fucks who always want something from him, who can’t resist pawing at him, but his tongue is made of sand and needles.
“Sir”
It’s louder, clearer. The water that was drowning his senses is gone now and all that’s left is the cold and crisp air that makes him shiver. He knows that icy atmosphere, knows it too well, and the uneasy feeling of not belonging that comes with it is all too familiar for his liking. He’s home, the last place he wants to be.
“Sir”
He manages to peel his eyes open, tearing down the last barrier shielding him from reality. Everything is impossibly blurry, a veil set on his senses by none other than himself when he tried to escape. When he tried to run away from his life, if just for a night.
“Yeah, I’m awake Jarvis” Turning away from the man, he plows his face on the wettened pillow, which feels much less comfortable now that he acknowledges the cold sweat on it. “Can you tell me why?” Really, he doesn’t have anything important to do today, so why not let him enjoy his buzz while it lasts?
“According to your schedule, you had class today at eight, Sir” Like I said, not important.
As he talks, the annoying, but oh such a god-sent, butler pulls open the curtains to let more of that comforting light in and Tony hums in contentment, still semi-conscious when his body warms up a little as it makes contact with his exposed skin. “It is currently eight-thirty. I took the liberty of waking you up since I assumed you would not do so yourself.”
Tony can hear the affection in the reprimand just as well as he can see it in each of Jarvis’ actions and services. He knows he didn’t place this bottle of water on his bedside table, much less the packet of powdered electrolytes next to it and the box of tissues, kindly put there so he can wipe away his tears and the pearls of sweat on his body inconspicuously. All of this is just another proof that Jarvis is a saint and that he’s used to Tony’s routine. He’s been on the waking side of too many of Tony’s nightmares to do anything to make him uncomfortable and acknowledge them out loud but every morning following a rough night is orchestrated to help him get over it quickly and effectively, as per his silent request.
How did Howard ever get his hands on you?
Jarvis, forever concerned for his favorite’s well-being, hands him a plate of fresh eggs and fruits he seemingly pulled out of nowhere while reminding him of what’s planned for him today. Eggs, one of the best hangover cures and his usual breakfast for that same reason.
The meal is engulfed in record time, Tony nearly choking on his green and crunchy grapes. Licking his fingers, he interrupts his butler, who he wasn’t listening to anyway.
“Mmmh, this is fucking exquisite Jay! Is this balsamic vinegar that you drizzled there? Shit, even Howard doesn’t get the balsamic treatment for breakfast. I knew I was your favorite; this is just confirming it.” Huffing a laugh at his remark, he’s quick to hide behind the bottle of now electrolyzed water to swiftly rub and clean the underside of his nose.
Unseeing, that’s rare, and familiar with this kind of interruption, Jarvis deadpans “I am not allowed to have favorites, Sir” He takes the plate out of his secretly favorite’s hands and makes his exit, leaving Tony to prepare for his day.
Unceremoniously throwing the covers on the ground, he’s quick to yell across at the closed door as he gets up “Yeah, sure, but if you were allowed to it would be me!”
When Jarvis' discreet laugh confirms that he was heard, Tony stretches and aims his tired footsteps towards his room’s adjoined bathroom, pondering over the necessity of a shower. Upon seeing himself in the mirror, he notices some marks on his body and flakes of dried cum spread over his abdomen. Well, apparently, he had someone over yesterday and they aren’t a fan of aftercare. No one he sleeps with ever is, but still, gross. What bothers him the most are the hickeys and bruises, more visible than he’d like. The ones on his wrist are the darkest, like they had been griped and whoever did it had not been gentle.
No matter whose cum it is, his or the other’s, he puts a stop to the quiet debate he was having with himself and jumps in the tiled shower, letting the hot water relax and fully wake him up while he starts washing the night away. Some shampoo gets in his eyes when he applies it and he tilts his head up to rinse it off, getting some water in his nostrils. After blowing his nose in his hands, he opens his rinsed eyes to see a blooming swirl of red in the water at his feet. Shit, that’s not supposed to happen.
Transfixed, he loses himself in the pool of pinkish water at his feet, eyes darting to the little darker dots joining in as blood drips from his nose.
Drip
Drip
Drip
He stays like that, staring at his own blood until it’s all washed down the drain and his hand stays unstained when he swipes it under his nose.
Wake up Tony.
Out of it, he resumes washing off while thinking of the best course of action. He’ll have to hit up his plug to know what happened, he never gets nosebleeds normally and maybe the chick messed up his order or something and gave him the stuff she usually gives to the rest of her clients. Everyone has to pay a pretty dime to buy it, but he pays even more to get to best of the best from her to avoid just this kind of thing but mostly to get the best results. Some lucky bastard is having the time of his life with my stuff right now.
Whatever, if she screwed him over, he’ll just change supplier, he’s done it multiple times before with others who had. With his kind of money and careless reputation, anyone in their right mind would try to do him dirty, it’s only natural.
Still, he hadn’t had to do it in a while. Funny enough, every time he got handed the wrong order and suffered the consequences, whoever the culprit was always ended up with their face bashed in. Although he never got proof of who did it, the fact that Rhodey always showed up with bruised knuckles the next day was as good a confirmation as any. Word of his secret vengeful hero spread and after a while the dealers and stopped messing with him, at least until now.
He makes a quick but effective job of washing himself then gets out, checking his nose in the mirror to make sure he’s not still bleeding then dries himself off and puts some concealer on the marks on his neck and wrist. Wouldn’t want his hubby to be worried and go on a rampage to find who did it.
Tony makes it to his walk-in. Thanks to Howard’s shitty taste, it's filled to the brim with suits and other formal attire, but he would rather lick the school janitor's feet than pull up to college dressed as a pen-pusher.
Digging in a drawer, he finds something more suitable to wear, and in his not-so-humble opinion that means a worn-down band-tee and some random ripped jeans he dug up from behind a pair of slacks.
Heh, that's sure to piss off the old man
It sure does. The moment he sets foot outside his room he's met with a disapproving glare from down the stairs. Howard, always the loving father, doesn’t grace him with more than that and a disapproving humph and returns to wherever he was heading, talking on the phone.
Not wanting to face his son.
His disappointment.
His mistake.
Not giving his 'father', emphasis on the quotation marks, any more thoughts than necessary, he runs down the stairs, thanks Jarvis when taking the jacket he’s left on the pole for him and makes his way to the garage. When he enters the luxurious space, which looks more like a showroom with how the vehicles are displaced and the fact that there are spotlights on every car, he looks down at the set of keys he picked at random when rushing off.
"Guess we're going with the Ferrari today" He shrugs then gets inside the bright red car. He likes that car, though it might get him more comments than usual.
Whatever, they always have something to say anyway.
He rolls it off its illuminated rotating platform and the automated garage door lets him out after scanning his face.
Then he’s off. Out of this cursed crypt.
Speeding is a euphemism to describe how fast he drives away, and driving isn’t the appropriate word either. He's practically flying, appearing only as a bright flash of color to pedestrians when he zooms past them, skipping red lights and swerving past other cars. He's going so fast, a slight twitch off his hands and he'd go barreling off the road. If he loses focus for just a second, he will put his life at risk.
Tony's hands are clamped incredibly tight on the wheel like he’s trying to choke the life out of it. The small pattern on the leather is sure to leave indents on the skin of his palms with his vice-like grip. It should hurt.
He doesn’t feel it.
His unblinking eyes are fixed on the road, undisturbed even by the wind whipping at his face. The pools of whiskey are dry, but his brain doesn’t register it, and his dilated pupils are only focused on the highway. It should hurt.
He doesn’t feel it.
All he feels is the thrill
The danger
The power he holds in his hands. Power over his own life.
And he fucking loves it.
He's on cloud nine. Even with the air slashing his face, he can't help the crazed glint in his eyes.
There it is
An uncontrolled smile spreads across his face at the same time his foot presses down a notch more when speeding past a motorcycle.
There's a hint of the feeling he basked in the previous night like energy is flowing right through him, and he can feel everything and is invincible at the same time. No one can touch him when he's like this, no one can take him down and hurt him.
He's flying again.
Oh, how he loves to fly.
He's not flying as high as he was yesterday, but it's still a good replacement. The thrill also helps him keep the inevitable headache at bay. He knows it'll catch up eventually, they always do, but the pain can't catch up with him when he's high in the sky.
Because that's all this is about right, running away?
He pulls into the parking lot with a loud screech of the tires, some passerby students jumping at the sound, others hurling curses at him. Howard's money and reputation had finally been put to good use at the beginning of the semester and Tony had managed to bribe the school into leaving him three whole spots near the entrance for him to use.
He parks the Ferrari atop the golden letters forming his name on the asphalt ground, marking the space as his, perks of being rich.
Getting out with a shit-eating grin on his face, he blows kisses to the people still standing around and glaring after screaming at him. Fucking NPC. One of them gets pushed aside by a tall figure, whose path is dead set on Tony, and it’s enough to prompt the haters to leave and put a genuine smile on Tony’s face.
"Platypus!" Chugging what is left in the bottle he brought with him, he hurls himself at Rhodey, clinging to him. His best friend, though sporting a frown on his handsome face, welcomes his embrace and holds him close.
“Hey Tones” A strong hand holds his head to the chest he’s pressed on, and Rhodey’s voice hardens a bit, although not losing its fondness, when he asks, “Wanna tell me what happened last night?”
Shit. Of course he knows. Shit.
Pretending to not have heard the question, Tony peels himself off Rhodey’s chest and starts walking toward the college’s doors and speed-talking, hoping to somehow hypnotize Rhodey into forgetting his question.
"How's my hubby doing on this fine morning? Did you sleep well? I know I did, well, before Jay woke me up. You know this robot I talked to you about? I've started a little program so it should take form soon. I don't know what I'll name him tho, do you have any ideas? Anyway, I could make him play catch and stuff like that, you know, because Howard never did. I always thought movies depicted fathers as way too affectionate individuals, like, what do you mean he’s supposed to love me and respect me and care for me, that never happened! But you know what did happen? My eight am class that I missed, not that it matters. What time is it actually?"
Unsurprisingly, his poor attempt at hypnotizing Rhodey is a total failure and the man is left unfazed and rolling his eyes at Tony’s uninterrupted rambling, and after some more nonsensical questions and Tony answering them on his own, he stops him in his tracks, turning him around.
With two hands firm on his shoulders and big, brown, concerned eyes looking down at him, Tony already knows he’s fucked. How does hypnosis even work anyway? I’m sure it’s fake, has to be otherwise I would’ve mastered it already.
"Tones, you know this doesn’t work on me." Although filled with bright and all-consuming love, Rhodey’s eyes are tainted darkly with concern, not unlike Jarvis.
"What happened yesterday, Tones?" There is no anger in his words as he repeats the questiom, only apprehension. He's scared of the answer, even if he already knows it. Even if he's used to it by now.
"First of all, rude." There's no second.
Tony's eyes dart to the ground to fix on a patch of grass and pull at his sleeves, hiding the already concealed wound on his wrists a bit more. Huh, this needs mowing. He keeps inspecting the ground as if it’s hiding the most interesting programming on earth, which would currently be a code to avoid and disarm a concerned best friend. Hell, he’d look at anything to avoid facing Rhodey like this. Because this has always been the worst part.
Facing the consequences of his actions.
The headache he can subdue with pills.
His father's resentment he can cope with.
Jarvis's concerned looks he avoids as much as he can.
His mom practically isn't in the portrait and has no idea what is happening back home. If she still calls it that.
But Rhodey...Rhodey he can't escape. He's like an overprotective mama bear, always there to look out for Tony. The dude will literally pop out off fuck knows where to watch over him, make sure he's not digging himself another grave. Seriously, what did he do to deserve this specimen of a friend? They should study him in a lab. Rhodey, that is. I wouldn't pass the drug test.
"You interrupt me all the time, stop whining." The brown eyes fixed on him grow softer, but Tony doesn't see it. He doesn’t want to. Rhodey shouldn't care that much, he's not worth it.
"Tony look at me." He complies, but oh, at what cost?
The thing with big, brown, concerned eyes is that they turn Tony into a puddle of unresolved attachment issues. What if one day, Rhodey is fed up with his bullshit? What if one day, he looks into those eyes and finds nothing but hate and resentment? What if one day, Rhodey's eyes turn into Howard's?
His 'father' has already given up on him, and Tony is now only playing to see how far he can go before he's disowned.
Maria, pff, at this point she might as well have forgotten all about him. He hasn't seen her for longer than two consecutive hours outside of charity events in two years, she doesn’t care what her son is doing.
But Rhodey...Fuck, his whole world would collapse if Rhodey ever looked at him the way the others do. Like he was nothing but another of his father's failed attempts at perfection. Tony may pride himself in being an independent queen, but that, along with all the rest, is just a facade for the much sadder truth. The truth being that without this amazing man, he wouldn't be alive right now, and if Rhodey were to ever leave him, Tony wouldn't stick the landing.
He would crash.
And he would not get back up. Simple as that. Easy peasy. Well, that’s depressing
"What happened?" Rhodey's voice is quiet, almost a whisper like he doesn't want to scare Tony away. Out of his down spiraling mind, Tony finally finds it in himself to talk back.
"Just got some mind-blowing sex. You should try it sometimes it'll help you relax a little"
"Yeah, and were you conscious during that 'mind-blowing' sex of yours?"
He wasn’t. Or maybe he was, and he just doesn’t remember it. He took a lot of shit that night, though he usually doesn’t forget that much, but that’s probably because of the inferior quality of what he took.
"Of course I was, how could I have gotten my mind blown otherwise?" Sarcasm oozes out of his voice like honey dripping off a spoon, trapping any chances he has of coming clean like flies.
"Huh uh, alright, who was it, in case I want some mind-blowing sex of my own?" Welp, he never could lie to Rhodey, not effectively anyway. He pauses for a moment, searching through his foggy memories. Rhodey would want to make sure the person, whoever it was, would keep quiet and Tony had no problem with that, but the thing is, he must have taken a crazy amount of various stuff yesterday because he can’t quite remember.
Diving into last night’s fragment of lucidity, he only manages to recall glimpses of insignificant moments. Drawn curtains, dimmed light, a head of blond hair, or was that brown, hunched over the glass table in his room, hands, a hint of a smile, a bright flash of light, more hands, soft pillows. The last thing he remembers is the click of his door closing when who-knows-who left, then it was just him hitting on Morpheus until Jarvis woke him up.
"I have no fucking clue" Laughing it off, he resumes his walk to the entrance.
“Dick or vagina? Don’t tell me what you did, just what they had”
He shrugs, opens the door, and winks at the secretary when passing her.
“You don’t remember how they got into your house? If you picked them up or they drove?” Rhodey is already right beside him, working his mind to find the mystery fuckster.
“They drove, I think” They both head to their lockers, which Tony had made a deal with the principal to get them to be side by side, even after the final configuration of the students' lockers had been made. Another perk of being rich is that you can submit anything late with cash on the side and your demands will be met.
“Texts? Maybe Jarvis saw them?”
Unpocketing his phone, he vaguely acknowledges the low battery and checks his latest texts.
“Nope, I must’ve talked to them in class or something” Which is not unusual, that’s mostly how he gets his one-night stand.
“Alright, ok, and Jarvis?” Rhodey is looking at his phone over his shoulder, inspecting the texts himself.
“I always tell them how to avoid Jay so he doesn’t see a thing, you know that” The man doesn’t need to be more concerned for Tony than he already is. If he knew that the kid he basically raised was whoring himself out, he would find ways to keep him inside forever.
“Fucking hell Tones. Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?” Before Rhodey can begin inspecting every possible inch of Tony and risk uncovering his exposed bruises, he bats his hand away and opens his locker.
“I’m fine Honey Bear, now get your things before you lose your perfect attendance streak.”
“My class starts at ten-“
“Exactly, who’s gonna be Mrs. Buzzkill’s favorite if you’re only thirty minutes early?”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, man”
Huffing a laugh at his friend’s exasperated sigh, Tony pats him on the back.
“I love you too. Alright, I gotta go, I’m already, wait let me check, an hour, twenty-seven minutes and thirty-four seconds late, thirty-five now.”
Before he could get interrupted by more of Rhodey’s worries, he assures his friends that he’ll be alright and after filling up his water bottle again and throwing in some more electrolytes, leaves for his nearly over first class; Shapes and Colors: Creative Process, Aka the most boring class ever. The only reason he’s showing up at all is to get that one ginger girl, Nathalie?’s number.
Oh, and also, they were starting on a project today, but he’ll just ask the professor if he needs to catch up on anything.
Tony just hopes Mr. Curtles remembered to not put him on a team.
Son of a-
“Sonnova BITCH!”
“Bucky- “
“Mister Barnes, I suggest you watch your language when addressing your teacher. Now, I know you prefer your assignments to be done with Mister Rogers, but there’s a reason I’m choosing the teams for this project. The whole purpose of this semester’s collaborative creation is to get students closer together, hence my decision!”
The happy-go-lucky teacher claps his hands and then extends his arms, smiling like he wants to show Bucky how to achieve world peace with the power of friendship, and fucking rainbows.
Yeah no, fuck that.
God help him, he will slash his tires, Steve or not.
“We understand Sir, and I’m sorry for Bucky’s reaction-“
Unlike Steve, Bucky is not apologetic for his behavior and makes it known by frowning even more than he already was at the man.
“Stark? Of all people, Stark? Comon now, you’re not serious about this. You can’t do this to me! Sir.” That last bit is added after Steve elbows him in the ribs.
Losing his smile and dropping his arms, Mr. Curtlles looks down at his watch and back at him, a grin on his wrinkled face.
“I can and I am, now sit back down Mister Barnes, I have other students to see.”
He has never felt so betrayed in his entire life. He liked that teacher! He sits back down with a frustrated sigh and lets his head fall heavy on his table while the traitor walks around the class to assign their teams to the rest of the class.
“Comon Buck, stop being so dramatic you’ll be fine.” Steve has sat back next to him and is hunched over their shared table to look at his face, a strong hand patting his back.
“Fuck off Rogers, you got paired up with Peggy. I can feel you practically glowing, you simp.” It’s true, Steve is looking stupidly giddy next to him, a big smile stretching his lips even if he tries to hide it to support his friend. Although he acts disgusted and on the verge of death every time Steve makes one of his ridiculous speeches on why Peggy is the most perfect woman on god’s green earth, his words, not Bucky’s, he’s still glad his friend got paired with her. If only he had been paired with Natasha or literally anyone other than Stark.
“Pfff, I’d much rather be with you”
At that, Bucky raises his head from the table and straightens up, making Steve’s hand fall from his back, and arch a brow while grinning at Steve.
“No you wouldn’t, shut up” Steve’s face flushes red and it’s his turn now to press it on the table to hide from his best friend. Bucky thinks he hears him mumble something about Peggy being oh-so-smart and perfect and yada yada yada and smiles despite himself.
“Maybe that'll get your head out of your ass and you can manage to form an actual sentence when you talk to her”
Returning the favor, Bucky pats him on the back, harder.
“I mean, I hope it does, otherwise I don’t know how you two will get this project started if you can’t even talk to her without sputtering some dumb shit like last time”
Sitting back up, Steve pushes his hand and bumps his shoulder before picking back up where he left his charcoal drawing, their project for today’s first period.
“Shut up man”
Not one to shut up nor to stop teasing Steve, Bucky starts mimicking him when he stutters in front of Peggy, which earns him a punch to his right arm and a glare that Steve probably hopes is scary. However, Steve physically can’t be pissed at Bucky, the sentiment wholeheartedly returned, and he breaks into a laugh.
“Alright alright, shut up Bucky!” Steve hides his tomato-like face in his left hand and keeps drawing, ignoring Bucky’s pretend cry of pain.
“Just kidding, you know I’m glad you got paired with her.” He picks up his charcoal too, but drops it and takes the eraser instead to fix one of his many mistakes. Not everyone is as talented as Steve alright.
“You’re not supposed to- ugh” His hands get batted away and Steve picks up his fancy eraser instead to fix whatever he thinks is wrong with Bucky’s drawing, and hey, Bucky wants a good grade, so he lets him have his fun. “Anyway, you’ll be fine with Stark. He might be a dick but he’s not dumb”
“You’re one to talk, your partner actually shows up to class” Steve’s blush is back on his face at the word ‘partner’ and Bucky can’t help but roll his eyes with a smile and a shove to his side. The sound of a chair being pulled gets his attention and he turns his gaze to a head of ginger hair.
“Heard you got Stark as your partner” It’s said more as a fact than a question as Natasha strolls to their table and sits in front of them.
Steve and he talk at the same time when greeting her, something she hadn’t deigned doing in favor of jumping straight to business, as usual.
“Hey Tasha” “Good morning to you too Nat” She simply nods back and then focuses on the latter, putting her wallet on the table. Bucky and Steve both eye it suspiciously like it might attack them or explode or do something, and to be fair, after the last time Natasha had given them a paint bomb disguised as a sharpener, they could never be too careful.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” After a few years of friendship, Bucky learned to recognize some of Nat’s body language and facial expressions when she wasn’t expertly masking them, and that slightly hunched posture along with the glint of hunger in her eyes means, maybe, probably, that she wants to make a deal.
“I have a little something going on with Stark and I can’t let Clint win that bet, he’d get too cocky, and we all know we don’t need that.” He hums in agreement and signals her to keep talking with a nod.
“Stark thinks my name is Nathalie, Nathalie Rushman, and I want you to keep that as it is while you’re working with him”
“What do you have to offer?”
She slides a fifty towards him and keeps her manicured hand on top while giving him a measured look.
“Now comon, that project’s supposed to take all semester, you can’t expect me to keep your little lie going this whole time for a mere fifty” He grins, signaling to her with his hand to give some more.
Another fifty, and a neatly trimmed arched brow.
Bucky tilts his head to the side and Steve, who had been watching, grunts before going back to touching up his already flawless drawing. “Don’t you have work to do Nat?” His remark is completely ignored as they continue their stare-off.
“Here, two hundred. Half now, the rest if you manage to keep quiet”
Seeing the hundred-dollar bill that she had slid with the rest, Bucky smiles and offers his hand for a shake to seal the deal. Neat.
“Nice doing business with ya Nat” She rises from the chair, taking back the two fifty bills and turns away with nothing more than a smirk to go back to her seat where some random guy looks at her with heart eyes.
The rest of the first period goes as usual after the teacher has explained the project and they continue their current drawings, the due date being today during the break. Bucky tries not to think about the impendent hell of working with Tony Stark, busying himself with his math homework since Steve had finished his own drawing and was now working on touching up Bucky’s. In this case, touching up means erasing more than half of it and starting anew.
When they’re dismissed for their ten-minute break, they rush to the cafeteria with Natasha to buy some snacks and get with Clint who’s waiting for them at a table.
“Sup fuckers” Clint’s greeting is followed by a quick snatch of some of Steve’s carrots, and he seems disturbed and then disappointed when they fall in his mouth.
“Seriously Rogers, carrots? You know they sell fries, right?” He keeps munching while Steve rants about the importance of well-balanced nutrition and the negative effect too much salt has on the body.
While he’s talking and nobody’s listening, Clint turns to him with a mocking grin.
“So, Stark uh?” Turning to Natasha, he frowns at her faux-innocent face.
“You already told everyone?” When she only smiles at him and slurps on her energy drink, he kicks her in the leg “You’re a bitch you know that”
“Hey, that was my leg you idiot” Clint flips him off when Bucky tells him to get over it and then perches himself on the table. “Anyway, guess whose class got canceled? Can’t believe I came here for only one period, what a waste of time”
“Time for what, sleeping and jerking off?”
“Yes, Tasha. This would be a much more important use of my precious time”
Steve and Bucky look at each other with an incredulous look on their faces and burst out laughing, after what Steve quips “Your time’s so precious you call every hour to tell us to hop on COD? Shut up man”
“Yeah yeah, whatever, you show up alright so you’re not any better. Anyone free or y’all have classes after this?”
After informing Clint that the rest of them have classes and won’t be able to slack off, cue Clint being offended, they start sharing their plans for tonight and before they know it, there’s only a minute left until their second period.
“I’ll try and get a hold of Stark, but I’ll text you if I’m free. Good day dickhead”
With these affectionate parting words, they leave Clint to finish Steve’s carrots and hurry back to their class, somehow losing sight of Natasha in the process. When they burst through the door, the rest of the students have already left their usual seats to join their teammates, and while Steve apologizes to Mr. Curtles for being late, Bucky’s eyes lock with Natasha’s, already sat down and not at all looking as exhausted as she should after sprinting up three stories.
“How the fuck did she get here before us?” Bewildered, Bucky looks at Natasha like she has grown a second head as she gives him her usual enigmatic smile. Not at all focused on this specific girl, Steve mumbles something Bucky doesn’t bother to try and decipher. Instead, he just pats his back and slightly pushes him towards where Peggy is sitting.
“Alright Don Juan, see you later. Try and make sense when you talk to her will ya?”
Bucky snickers at his friend’s face and sits at the table, taking his phone out to text Nat.
How tf are you here? When he looks at her, she’s talking to her partner, not even looking at her phone but he still gets a notification. Shortcut (;
At this point in his life, Bucky doesn’t bother trying to understand how she does that. He once witnessed her have a full-blown debate with a teacher and another classmate while having a back-and-forth with Clint sending each other reels. He turns to the papers sitting on his table and sighs looking at the list of instructions and rules to follow for the project and journal where they’ll have to note their ideas and progress as the semester goes on. More like I’ll have to since he ain’t gonna show up.
His gaze is lost in the black ink forming words he doesn’t really see and while he’s sitting and staring into what feels like a void, his mind wanders on the desolate plane that is his abandoned memory palace. He doesn’t venture to those lands often, he tries to avoid them in fact, but the project woke some deeply buried cursed gems. The teacher may have presented his ‘Super-duper cool project!’ with a great deal of enthusiasm and his usual big pearly white smile, the heart of it remains rather dark in his opinion. Said project is apparently an invitation to delve deep into their personal world, to confront and engage with the aspects of life that resonate with them on a profound level through the means of artistic expression. Each team was tasked with creating a piece that embodies an issue, emotion, or experience that has shaped both members’ journeys. To achieve this, Mr. Curtles said, they will have to share their soul, his exact words, in order to better understand and work together. The piece can be about a struggle, an aspect of their identity, or a universal truth that weighs on their heart. When the piece is presented, it should invite others to feel, understand, and connect with it.
“This is not just a project; it is a journey of introspection, vulnerability, and creative expression! I’m telling you guys, you will have so much fun doing this!” While he started to hand out papers, he continued his overexcited ramble, saying how he’ll have even more fun correcting it. While he talked, Bucky honest to God considered throwing himself out of the window. That and he’s still suspicious Mr. Curtles is on drugs at the moment.
The problem with this shitty project is that Bucky doesn’t want to explore his past and whatever shitshow shaped his journey. It’s in the past, and he’s pretty damn glad it is. He struggled enough as it is and still has to fight through the harder days at home, why the fuck would he want to explore the depth of his feeling on the situation? And with Stark?
Please, the guy hasn’t faced anything harder than his dick since birth. What is he gonna talk about, how hard it was when his dad stopped giving him pocket money?
He’s calling bullshit. On what, he has no clue. Stark, the project, this class, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. That’s bullshit.
Actually, he usually likes this class so maybe ‘bullshit’ is a strong term. Utter nonsense, that’s more like it. When you don’t think about Mr. Curtles’ weird obsession with expressing their feelings, the two hours are enjoyable and a welcomed change of air. Unlike the other courses at the School of Heightened Intellectual Education and Learning Development, SHIELD for short, this part of the week is rather light and he revels in the freedom it offers. When he’s not asked to talk about his feelings that is.
That’s a big, bright red, and neon-lighted ‘NO’ sign with a wired fence guarding the entrance to the cave, with additional yellow tape everywhere and a nuke. Some may think that a nuke is rather drastic, but Bucky really, he means really doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. He’s got enough of Steve’s look as it is and he knows that if he starts talking, the sympathetic puppy face would turn into much worse.
His heart can’t take another blow from Steve’s tears, it would crumble and be left to rot and die. Simple as that. Easy peasy. Well, that’s depressing.
A burst of laughter brings him out of the trenches and he turns to see Peggy’s gorgeous face contorted with laughter as Steve smiles dumbly. ‘Good job pal’ he mouths at him with a grin while giving him a thumbs up, to which Steve’s smile widens. Turning back to properly look at the sheets this time, he’s determined to get this over.
The instructions are rather short, they have free range on what medium they’ll use for their art piece as long as it’s presentable in class and they have a reasonable amount of time to come up with something worth a good grade. Their piece also has to be made of at least forty percent recycled material and there’s a possibility for bonus points if it’s interactive. What’s that on the last page?
A list can be found with topic suggestions, but it is strongly recommended that you come up with your own shared experience between yourselves. If you are not a hundred percent convinced your topic of choice is appropriate and relevant enough, please come see me in class or email me.
Have fun :)
Surely enough, at the bottom of the page is a list compiling diverse subjects the students may choose from, and after reading the first two, depression and grief, Bucky doesn’t bother to look at the rest.
Throwing his arms in the air, he lets out all his frustration with a resounding grunt that could rival a titan’s war cry when he’s reminded of why he was mad
Something he shares with Stark, what the fuck is he supposed to do with that, make a piece about how they hate each other’s gut? Wait a sec. He pauses his internal tantrum, looks at the journal, and reluctantly opens it to write down his idea. Great, an art piece about hate, that shouldn’t be too hard right?
He spends the next thirty-something minutes thinking about how to put the vast concept of their mutual hate in a single piece while meeting the requirements. What’s great about this art class is that Mr. Curtlle is so open-minded he wants everyone to express themselves how they see fit as long as it’s not hurtful to the rest of the class.
That means he could hand in a painting of himself punching Stark and it would be accepted as long as both concerned parties agreed to be put on canvas. And since Stark isn’t here well, it’s not like he can say anything against it.
It turns out Bucky can be quite motivated to use his imagination when it comes to hating the Stark heir. The journal quickly fills up with more and more ideas, each one something Bucky has fantasized about.
He lets his twisted hate run rampant in his brain to come up with the most lucrative way to portray his disgust toward Tony Stark’s existence before putting it on paper, and for the sake of the grade, he adds little notes on each one for the interactive part. The first idea put in the journal is a personal favorite, having been the subject of many of his fantasies: A statue of Bucky made from recycled plastic punching the shit out of Stark. For the bonus points, every student gets to punch him too. Take that fucker.
He writes down every idea that crosses his mind whether or not it can be done and starts to enjoy himself. What Stark doesn’t know can’t hurt him after all, not that Bucky gives two shit anyway. Nothing he writes is something he truly considers handing in at the end of the semester, but he can’t help the twisted pleasure he feels when letting his imagination work its magic.
Before he knows it class is almost finished and he hasn’t written anything particularly useful but he’s stopped clutching his pen so hard. Taking some time to appreciate what he last wrote, something about a burning pile of money with Stark’s face on the dollars bill, he looks up just in time to see the door open to reveal none other than the unbothered Tony Stark who strolls in the room like he isn’t an hour and a half late. That little fuck.
Though he tries to return to his ‘work’ now that his motivation doubled, he can’t help staring at Tony when he goes to Mr. Curtlle’s desk after sending a salacious wink Nat’s way. Bucky watches from across the classroom and smiles in satisfaction when Tony’s face drops, probably after learning who his assigned partner is.
The conversation between Stark and Mr. Curtles visibly heats up and quickly turns into a debate and Bucky is sure Stark is about to unpocket his wallet to bribe him when the professor speaks up.
“This is non-negotiable Mister Stark, now go help your partner. Mister Barnes has been working alone for the past half hour because you couldn’t bother to show up to class on time.”
His voice is strict and authoritative, a rare occurrence that leaves Stark no chance to retaliate as he points to where Bucky is sitting and not so subtly watching, just like half the class.
“-ucking bullshit” He can’t keep the smile on his face from widening when he hears Tony mumbling curses, satisfied beyond reason to see Stark’s pretentious mask crumble under frustration.
Stark, that attention-seeking whore, makes a whole show of stomping his way to their table, scraping his chair loudly on the floor when pulling it before letting himself fall, no, crash, on it with a drawn-out exasperated sight. What irritates Bucky the most is that the pompous brat still manages to look pretentious and grandiloquent, showing off the whole time he’s throwing his fake tantrum, being loud for the sole purpose of drawing everyone’s attention to him, like he can’t live without it. Even when he sits it’s exaggerated.
Damn brat.
For a good twenty seconds, which is way too short in Bucky's opinion, the other is quiet and they’re both just staring at each other. After those glorious moments of quiet between them, Bucky assumes Stark has had enough of Bucky sending him threats and telepathically cyberbullying him through the sheer force of his mind and powerful glares, Sam once told him it’s basically his superpower, and he tears his eyes away from his. Ah, I won, loser.
His gloating is cut short when Stark claps his hands and snaps his fingers at him.
“Alright let’s get this shit show on the road. What’d you got for me, Barnes? Oh, and by the way, being the clearly superior intellectual mind here, I elect myself the supervisor, boss, and executor of this project. I’d tell you to just sit back and look pretty, but I don’t want you to hurt that smooth brain of yours by thinking too hard, so why don’t you just leave this to me” He snatches the papers “and go take a walk or something. I hear dogs need at least thirty minutes of exercise a day and look!” He exclaims in faked excitement and points at his watch, a shining and silvery Cartier, then waves at the door “You still have time so, off you go.”
Red. He’s seeing fucking red as Tony dismissively waves a hand at him and starts reading his notes with his feet propped on the table, balancing on the back legs of his chair.
How fucking dare he, that obnoxious little attention-whore, high-energy jackrabbit, wannabe big-time small-time loser, never stopping shit-talk windmill, bothersome, irritating motherfucking nepo baby in the making. That overconfident little rascal who walks and talks like everyone owes him their firstborn’s weight in gold thinks he can simply show up and order him around as he does with everyone else? Over my dead body. More insults flow through Bucky’s brain and it takes a considerable amount of willpower to not hurl them at his face along with his pencil case.
“Listen here you little fuck, you-” He’s cut short when Stark turns to him with big eyes and raised eyebrows on his ugly mug. “You’re still here? Wow, that’s impressive, maybe I should hire you as my intern or something. Hey, go grab me a cup of coffee while you’re here and useless, ok? Just tell’em it’s for Stark and they’ll have my order ready.”
Nevermind red, Bucky is fucking fuming now.
He raises from his seat just enough to loom over Tony from across the table and his hands come down on its surface with a thud.
“Listen! If you think you can stroll in without a care in the world and take over my work, over this project just because you feel like it, I have some news for you, Stark-” He spits out the name like he would an old piece of gum and the hate fuelling his words fills his mouth with a bitter taste. The man in front of him looks just as unfazed as he did a minute ago, looking up at him with a shit-eating grin and it does nothing to appease Bucky’s growing frustration.
God, Bucky wants to punch that smile off his smug face.
“Work? You don’t mean those two pages filled with crap about me getting beat up right, because if so, that’d be embarrassing, really, I’ve seen a wrench with more imagination”
Oh, yeah, that’s right, that’s all he did the whole period. Nevertheless, fuck him!
“Keep runnin’ your mouth smartass, and it won’t only be on paper”
They’re both staring at each other again. Bucky’s fuming from where he is and Tony only looks bored and amused at the same time, making Bucky’s frustration rise. He’s about to tell Stark where he can shove his ego when the man in question lowers his chair back on its four legs while crossing his at the knees and resting them on the chair’s armrest, discards the papers on the table inadvertently sending one flying on the ground, and laces his fingers behind his head. He looks all the more like the pretentious asshole Steve had first told him he was in this position, relaxed and somehow looking down on him when Bucky’s the one standing.
“Alright Barnes, I see how it is. You don’t want me to do everything, fine, very considerate of you I appreciate it” Fuck you. “Now, tell me if I’m wrong, tho I know I’m not, you want a good grade. Welp, so do I, here’s what we’re gonna do.”
“Stark if you think you can tell me what to do-“ Bucky had to give it to him, Stark had mastered the art of eye-rolling. No really, it’s like he’s trying to look into his brain. Doesn’t that hurt? I hope it does.
“Oh my god, can I get more than two sentences out before you get all pissy? Fuck it’s like teaching quantum physics to a five-year-old”
“Why the fuck would you teach quantum physics to a kid?”
“Why wouldn’t I? That’s not my point anyway, just listen!”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Oh, and here’s that eye roll again, great. Maybe if he gets him to roll his eyes far enough, they’ll fall off. Wouldn’t that be satisfying?
He hears Tony mumbling something along the line of ‘fucking hell’ when he lets his hands fall on his face and rubs his eyes.
“Oh, I’m not high enough for this. Ok. Look, not telling you what to do by the way look wherever you want or close your goddamn eyes I don’t care, here’s what I suggest we do”
Tony isn’t blessed with an answer, he just gets glared at.
“You will- “
“No I won’t.”
And Bucky couldn’t be happier when Stark throws his hands in the air, feet slamming down back on the floor when he twists back to sitting normally and yells out.
The whole twenty-five minutes left of the period are spent with the two of them arguing back and forth, insults thrown around every five words, and when the teacher dismisses the class, they’ve come up with only the tenth part of the beginning of a plan: They’ll text each other to set up a meeting.
In Bucky’s opinion, the fact that they even managed to agree on something is impressive. No wonder they agreed though, it was Bucky’s idea.
“Alright, Stark gimme your number” He is not going to end up in Stark’s DM ever, the guy is blocked for a reason.
Without looking back, Tony picks up his bottle, the only thing he brought to class, and flips him off walking to the door. “Ask around dipshit, you’ll find it easy enough”
Men fuck this guy
It’s true though. All he had to do was ask a random guy as he was leaving the classroom, and he had Stark’s number along with a weird lingering look and a wink.
The fuck you winking at me for?
After his calculus class, which sucks hard by the way, he meets up for lunch with Sam and Steve, the only two who got a break with him on Tuesdays. Lunch is spent with Steve talking their ears off about Peggy and her training routine he’s apparently going to try, Sam throwing shit at Bucky, and him complaining about math.
“No but seriously, how can the people in this class be so dumb? This is basic knowledge, and the guy had to spend a whole hour explaining algebra to a bunch of morons!”
As he’s helping Sam remove a piece of celery that flew in his hair during Bucky’s tirade, Steve berates him “Buck, stop talking with your mouth full”
“Yeah man, gross. And shut up about calculus alright, at least you’re not in Stark’s class” Steve looks at Sam with pure horror and despair in his eyes, his lips forming the words “Not you too” and he drops his head on the table before plucking his ears as Sam goes on complaining on how Stark is ‘such a bitch’ and keeps correcting the teacher. After a few minutes which Stev spends grunting and trying to calm them down, Sam and Bucky are so devoted to bitching Stark that they forget themselves and yell out their outrage. “Man, just teach the damn class at this point!” “And then he just leaves me to fetch his fucking number!”
“Alright, enough complaining about Stark for God’s sake! He gets on my nerves enough as it is, I swear if he becomes your favorite topic of discussion, I will kick you off the team!”
Just as Bucky and Sam begrudgingly apologize to a grumpy Steve, Bucky’s eyes roam across the cafeteria and land straight on an angry set of glaring eyes five tables away, the dark brown coloring them almost hidden by the eyelids with how narrowed they are due to the owner’s frown. If Bucky didn’t know the guy by reputation, he would be certain James Rhodes was about to jump them.
“Looks like you’re not the only one mad at us Stevie.” He discretely points to where Rhodes is sitting and staring at them “Yeah, I think we better shut up Buck before Stark’s bodyguard comes for us” Sam turns to him, agreeing yet somewhat mocking.
“Please, the guy’s just paid to stare and be the scary dog privilege, I doubt he actually cares enough to do something when his boss’s not with him”
After finishing their lunch between barbs and playful banter, not paying any mind to the man still staring, they pack up and head to their respective classes. For the next four hours of class, half of it English, the other Chemistry, Bucky has something other than his project partner to think about and it’s only when he’s back in his car and on the way home that he remembers their agreement to get in contact and meet sometime tonight, both not wanting to deal with this longer than necessary and wanting to be done with it already.
After a big sigh and pressing pause on the music busting his speakers, he resigns to call him. “Hey Siri, call Pretentious Asshole please”
“I’m sorry, there is no Anonymous Jerôme in your contact”
“No- call ‘Pretentious-Asshole’” Stopping at a red light, he takes the time to stretch the words.
“Results on ‘Fast and Furious-Actors’”
The light turns green and Bucky exclaims “What? No I said- Ugh, nevermind”
“Playing the Nevermind album by Nirvana”
“I- Yeah ok fine” As Smells Like Teen Spirit starts playing, Bucky sighs for the umpteenth time today but covers the sound by turning the volume up and decides he will call Stark once home.
At a crosswalk, he signals a group of kids to let them pass and ponders on the shitty night ahead of him. Clint will probably call him to hop online and join for a game as per usual on a regular Tuesday, but this isn’t one of those. No, this Tuesday night will be spent in the worst company he could ever think of, and he not-so-quietly expresses his grief at this loss with a whine, which quickly turns into a screaming and singing match with Kurt Cobain as Territorial Pissings starts playing. More screaming than singing though.
Pulling into the driveway, he lets his head thump on the steering wheel a few times before parking and turning off the car and then takes his things and head inside. A quick greeting to his mother and he flees downstairs to his room to avoid the rest of the household. Who knows how his father is feeling today, he was running late to work this morning and it’s better not to risk it. Once behind his closed door, he tries to call Stark once again, smiling at the name on the screen. He quits smiling when his call isn’t returned and he’s sent straight to voicemail.
“You gotta be shitting me”
He calls again. And again. The fourth time he’s sent to voicemail by the nagging voice telling him to ‘Leave a message, or don’t, and I’ll consider if you’re worth calling back. Or not. I probably won’t.’, he curses at the screen and leaves an angry message for Stark to find when he decides to quit being a bitch and start picking up his damn phone.
After a few seconds, the anger turns into resigned boredom, and he goes to the living room, which is pretty much his since he’s the only one using the basement and he decorated the space himself. The whole living room, much like his room, is painted in dark blue and he added noise-absorbing panels to the ceiling to not disturb his family upstairs. The television has its place on the shelf, which is filled with games but mostly the ‘good-ol classics’, and the sectional sofa he restored sits nicely in front of it even if it’s too big for the room.
Sat down on the black cushions, he sends one quick text.
Get off your dick and get online dickhead
Shit, I forgot to charge my phone.