An Attempt at Sunshine (Winter Soldier) (Marvel)

[18.00] [October 25, 2015]

I have spent the last few days attempting to be social and stealing Steve's clothes.

Tony, a twisted reflection of a man I think I once knew, decides we ought to put a stop to the latter. Steve confronts me, he is much different around the others, he tells me we are going to a store. I ask him what kind of store. He says 'WalMart'. It doesn't answer my question.

I am also Not Allowed to wear my mask.

There are many things I am Not Allowed to do, like open the windows (and take the screen out), leave the door open when I put new clothes on, and leave the refrigerator door ajar. I still do not know what a refrigerator is.

We go down an elevator, which is not screechy or rattly like the others, and into a garage. A garage is a place where they keep cars. We get into an 'inconspicuous' red car that sits low to the ground. I am put in the back next to Steve. Tony drives and Bruce sits next to him. Steve shows me how to use a seat belt, which would have come in handy about 50 years ago.

We pull up onto a street and the sight takes my brain for a spin. The buildings are filled with windows, they touch the clouds and close in the streets. The street itself is filled with cars, angry red lights glowing, horns blazing. Steve watches me, smiling to himself.

"I was the same way when I first saw it. I love it just as much as the 30s."

"Nineteen Thirty?"

"Yes."

"I remember. You said we lived in Brooklyn. Is this Brooklyn?"

"Not quite, it's close. We can go there someday soon if you want. I think they turned our apartment into a museum." I nod and rest my forehead on the window, staring out into the world.

"Is it safe?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah." Steve says. "There's law enforcement."

"No. To bring me outside."

We are quiet for a moment.

"I think so, but if anything goes wrong, we can stop you."

"Okay."

My hand brushes my face, the skin there a strange replacement for leather and steel. We drive out of town for a bit before we pull over next to a short and wide building. The car stops and we get out.

There are many people, all with metal carts filled with plastic bags. They come in and out of the large sliding doors. I follow Steve and Tony and Bruce into the store, a fat man with a large beard says hello as we walk in. Tony doesn't take off his sunglasses. The people make the walls close in, the air claws at my throat and I want to go home. I hold onto ghost-boy's sleeve instead.

We twist and turn through aisles filled with bags of chips, bananas, small boxes with pictures on them, a large wall that plays big colorful pictures. They let me stand and watch it for a while. A television is a device used to play videos and movies.

We finally find a place that has shirts, pants, shorts, socks, all stacked in neat little piles on wooden shelves. Bruce grabs a cart that was left abandoned near a shelf covered in shoes, he follows us with it. Steve tosses a pack of underwear and a pack of socks into the cart. They wander around, touching things and I decide to do the same.

There is a rack covered in what appears to be large sweaters, though I can't tell because there are so many so close together. I brush my hand against them, and feel the inside of a sleeve, the fabric is impossibly soft.

I stand there and rub the fabric between my fingers until passersby give me strange looks and Tony runs over, glad to have found me. He asks me if I want to get it. I am confused.

"I don't have any money."

Tony laughs. "I know- I'll cover it."

I look at the price tag and the number seems impossibly large.

"It's too much."

"Barnes- It's fifteen dollars, that's cheap for a hoodie."

The number doesn't feel right, but we put one of each color, in the 'L' size, in the cart.

We walk around a bit longer, Steve occasionally asks me to hold my arms out, then he holds a shirt against me and will either throw it in the cart or shake his head and put it back. Bruce keeps an eye on me, avoids aisles with too many people, and keeps on asking me if I am okay. I keep on nodding my head.

By the end of the trip, the cart is very full and I am very tired.

We go home and Peter helps me organize the clothes in the dresser against the north wall. I slip on a baggy pair of fleece pants and an over-sized shirt that was the last of its kind, too large, but too comfortable to leave behind.

I go and get a drink of water, say goodnight to Steve, and watch fire-girl walk out of the room to avoid talking to me. I climb under the grey blanket and don't sleep for the third night in a row.