#sopherfly

Tony’s feet met the earth as if he weighed nothing, and he bent his knees only out of habit as he landed. He remembered this part well, and yet he still went through the same motions as if they’d been rehearsed. A key, exactly where it should have been. Door, locked. Too big. And then the familiar note: DRINK ME. Well, a person ought to follow instructions. Tony drank, and Tony shrank, his whole body reduced to something far too small. Too small, too small. Then, another note: EAT ME. Tony ate, and Tony grew, stretching up and up until he was much too big! He could not fathom how even in dreams, one could not achieve a comfortable size.

Tears fell from Tony’s eyes in something of a waterfall, sadness leaking from him like water from a faucet. He had been too large for the door, and subsequently too small for the key, and now so much larger than before that it would be impossible to leave. It must have been the tears that made him shrink again, smaller and smaller, until he found himself trapped inside a bottle, floating through the keyhole and out the door. The water deposited him on the shore of a sandy beach, and he tumbled out of the bottle, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Tony looked around for a familiar face, then found his first companion, the White Rabbit. He followed the Rabbit, running but never growing tired, until they reached a small house in the middle of the wood. Tony knew before entering the house exactly what came next, small then big, big then small, over and over until he could scarcely remember what cake had turned him which size and whether he was supposed to be as tall as the trees or as itsy bitsy as a spider. He was beginning to dislike this repetitive growing and shrinking. It had become entirely too difficult to remember what size one was supposed to be.

The business with the Rabbit left Tony barely the height of a blade of grass, and while Tony could not remember his true height, he was quite sure that grass was meant to be shorter than people. Up to the ankles, or perhaps to the knees in the tallest places. This grass towered over him, casting shadows that blocked his whole body from the sun, threatening to knock him over as each blade moved with the breeze.

“How peculiar,” Tony said, squinting up and trying to see the trees. They were entirely too tall. Enormous, really, and frightening in their size.

“Peculiar,” a strange, low voice repeated.

Tony whirled around to see the Caterpillar perched atop a mushroom - a terribly large mushroom, almost as tall as the grass - puffing at his pipe. The colors were different this time, circles of smoke emerging in hues of pink and violet. The Caterpillar still looked just as Tony remembered, multicolored, with a dour expression fixed upon his face.

“Hello,” Tony said.

The Caterpillar’s scowl deepened. “Who are you?”

“Do you not remember?”

“No,” the Caterpillar replied, extending the vowel as long as he had breath. “I do not.”

Tony sighed. Perhaps since this was his own dream, its participants had no memories of anything at all prior to this moment. Was it sensible that while Tony had met the Caterpillar many times before, to the Caterpillar’s mind, Tony was entirely new?

A ring of smoke caught Tony in the face, and he choked, undignified, waving his hand to clear the bitter taste. “My name is Tony,” he managed through a cough.

The Caterpillar turned up his nose. “I do not care.”

Of course. The Caterpillar, ever ambivalent, never cared who Tony was or where Tony wanted to go. No matter what Tony did, the colorful creature would continue asking “Why?” in that terribly condescending tone, blowing smoke into Tony’s face, ignoring Tony’s questions.

“Do you know,” Tony began, hesitant, not convinced the Caterpillar could be of any help at all, “how I might make myself tall again?”

The Caterpillar pursed his lips. “Eating this mushroom may change your size.”

Tony reached for a piece of the mushroom and tucked it away into his pocket. He would not eat it in front of the Caterpillar - the urge to stomp on the creature once he’d returned to his normal height would be too great. “It was nice to meet you,” Tony said, though it had been anything but. Still, it would not do to forget his manners, even if the Caterpillar had been completely dreadful. “Good day.”

Tony put significant distance between himself and the caterpillar before popping the piece of mushroom warily into his mouth. He closed his eyes, waiting to grow taller, not feeling any different until he blinked his eyes open. He stared down at himself, satisfied to see that he was, in fact, the perfect size, tall enough to see above the grass and the bushes, short enough to be dwarfed by the trees.

He continued forward, certain there was more yet to do before this dream was done. He followed the path that wound its way into the forest, the trees looming tall, casting shadows that could have swallowed Tony whole. Tony had walked this path before, but he could not recall which fork to take and when. The wood grew dark, the patchwork of leaves above him blocking out the sun, and in addition to being horribly and completely lost, Tony became afraid, startling at the sounds of branches cracking and owls hooting in the trees.

At the third fork he encountered, he stopped, attempting to stare down into the distance for as far as each path went. It was hopeless. He had been this way before, he knew, but he could not recall which way to go; and did it matter, when he was fated to repeat the same steps, whether he remembered if they were right or not?

A small rumble of laughter sounded from above. Tony knew that voice. The Cat. What was his name? Ah, yes, the Cheshire Cat. Tony stopped, peering up into the menacing branches. “Hello?”

The Cat showed itself, its ringed tail appearing first, then its body, then its legs, and finally its fluffy head, split down the middle by a wide-toothed smile. The Cat blinked, opening its yellow eyes wide. “Hello,” it said in a deep, sinister voice. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Can you please tell me how to get to…” Tony frowned, trying to remember. “The March Hare’s house?”

The Cat made no reply, but pointed with one paw toward the left fork of the path.

“Thank you. I feel I’ve been down this way before, and still I’m lost. Perhaps I’m going mad.”

The Cat laughed, and to Tony’s wonder - or perhaps his horror - the Cat vanished, leaving nothing but those wide eyes and that enormous smile. “Oh, you can’t help that. We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“Am I?” Tony asked. “How would you know?”

The Cat’s head became suddenly visible, and it spun halfway around, its smile and eyes and nose entirely upside down. “If you weren’t mad, you wouldn’t be here.”

Tony pondered that a moment. Did it make one mad, dreaming about disappearing cats and talking rabbits in waistcoats and growing and shrinking to unfathomable sizes? Did it make one mad to dream the same dream over and over again? Perhaps it was only madness to dream the same dream and to follow the same path. Then again, perhaps this dream had only one true path, only one true ending. Could Tony change the substance or the outcome, even if he wished to?

Tony left the Cat behind and headed, determined, toward his destination. It took him barely any time at all to find the clearing where the Mad Hatter, the March hare, and the Dormouse were having tea.

“Hello,” Tony greeted, standing a few paces back from the table.

“Ah!” The entire company screamed. The Hare jumped from his seat. Tony jumped a little, too, not expecting such a strange reception. Things had never happened this way before.

“H-hello,” the Dormouse stuttered. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tony.”

“Hello, Tony,” the Hatter replied, his voice smooth and calm, his eyes alight with fascination. “Please, sit down.”

“Oh, yes,” the Dormouse agreed. “Do sit. We’re having tea.”

That was… Different. Wrong. The usual response was, Tony was sure, a cold one, with the Hatter, the Hare, and the Dormouse refusing to allow him a seat at the table.

“Tea?” Tony asked, still stuck reciting the same old words. He counted the cups on the table. One, two, three, four, five, six. Every cup was painted blue and white, each a different size. Too many cups for such a small group, but the same number he remembered. Perhaps their odd welcome was nothing. A small variation in the normal order. Nothing to concern himself with. The dream would go on as usual, with the Hatter and the Hare and the Dormouse shifting from seat to seat with a chorus of “Clean cup, move down!”

“I don’t believe I will sit down,” Tony replied finally. Then, remembering his propriety, “Thank you very much indeed.”

The Dormouse huffed. “How very impolite.” She rose from her small chair and jumped down from the table, making an indignant noise before disappearing into the grass.

“I am afraid I must agree with the Dormouse,” the Hare said, standing and pushing in each chair one by one before turning up his nose. “Good day.” He took his leave, following Dormouse, and Tony thought that surely this was not the same as it had been before.

The Mad Hatter smiled, still seated calmly at the table, making no move to leave. He took a delicate sip from his teacup, eyeing Tony over the polished porcelain. “Anthony. Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s… It’s not…” Tony closed his mouth, becoming so suddenly tongue tied that he could not say anything at all.

“Not what you were expecting?” the Hatter supplied.

“No,” Tony said, quite confused. “You’re meant to… Send me packing, I suppose.”

The Hatter nodded, thoughtful. “Then what?”

Tony frowned, concentrating hard to pull the memory from his mind. “I go to see the roses.”

The Hatter took another sip of tea, then returned his cup carefully to the saucer, standing up. “Very well, then. To the roses we shall go.”

Tony blinked and the Hatter was beside him, one hand outstretched. It seemed as though Tony was meant to grab on, and he did, both hands wrapping around the Hatter’s arm. He walked in step with the Hatter, who very nearly skipped, halting, jumping steps making Tony feel as though he was a rider to the Hatter’s horse.

The playing cards were painting the roses red. Tony remembered why - they had planted white roses by mistake, and the Queen of Hearts desired only red roses in her garden.

“You’ve missed a spot,” the Hatter said helpfully, touching one of the roses and allowing paint to coat his fingers. The playing cards gasped and guffawed, creating a commotion in their haste to cover their mistake. Finishing with one rose bush, they hustled and bustled to the next, painting furiously, in quite an extraordinary hurry.

The Hatter grinned, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Do you remember what happens next?” the Hatter asked in Tony’s ear.

Tony cast his eyes in the direction of the Queen’s castle. “We play croquet.”

The mallets were flamingos, the balls hedgehogs. The croquet ground was as Tony remembered, the earth coarse, the terrain uneven. The Queen brought with her an entourage, the King, the Gryphon, the Mock Turtle, the Duchess, and the White Rabbit all in attendance, along with an entire pack of playing cards.

Tony thought perhaps the Hatter had brought him luck. The playing cards fell one by one, bowled over by the Queen’s great skills in this strange, familiar version of the game. The Gryphon, caught up in his stories, paid absolutely no attention. The Mock Turtle moved too slowly, as was his norm, and the Duchess and the White Rabbit fell into conflict regarding the Duchess’s possession of the Cheshire Cat.

The Hatter threw the match, his hedgehog flying off in entirely the wrong direction, soaring into the sky and landing in the trees. Tony pitied the poor Three of Diamonds whose unhappy task it was to retrieve the creature so the game could continue.

The King fell to the Queen, each a worthy opponent to the other - and then they were left with only two. This was not as Tony remembered  The Queen always played first, and the Queen always won. And yet, this time, Tony’s hedgehog behaved rather strangely, rolling easily between the hoops, as if Tony had developed a level of incredible skill that made him superior at the sport.

When Tony won, the Queen was livid.

“You cheated!” the Queen bellowed, frightening the hedgehog so that it unrolled and skittered quickly away. The Two of Spades chased after it, little legs bouncing as it went.

“I did not cheat,” Tony defended, crossing his arms. 

The Hatter grimaced, and the Queen’s face turned a remarkable shade of red until she appeared fit to burst.

“Off with his head!”

The Hatter grabbed Tony’s hand. “Now is the time to run.”

Tony froze, not comprehending. “Run?” he asked.

“Yes. Run.”

The Hatter tugged on Tony’s arm, pulling him forward into a sprawling sprint until Tony’s feet grew steady underneath him. Back across the croquet field they raced, the Queen and her playing cards close on their heels. They crashed through the trees, dodging and weaving out of sight, faster than Tony’s legs had ever carried him.

“Into the bushes!” the Hatter exclaimed, a barely intelligible cry that had them diving headlong into the red-painted roses.

He and the Hatter crouched inside the rose bush, untouched by the thorns, hidden from view. They were unreasonably close, the Hatter’s breath blowing warm over Tony’s face.

“Find them!” the Queen cried. Tony felt the whoosh of air as she brushed past them, her enormous skirts rustling the leaves and petals as she passed.

“I think,” the Hatter said under his breath, the croquet mallet still clutched in one hand, “it’s time for you to go.”

Tony did not disagree. There was no one to defend him, no one to topple the playing cards as Tony had once done with one swoop of his hand. He looked the Hatter up and down, lamenting that he had to leave such pleasurable company. Tony had never found this dreamland to be a wonderful place, not until the Hatter had become his companion. Tony considered, briefly, what might happen if he chose to stay.

For someone who was perfectly aware that this was all a dream, he had certainly become invested in this Hatter person, hadn’t he?

“But,” Tony said, perplexed and terribly concerned, “what about you?”

The playing cards trooped past the rose bush again, their chant fading into a faint echo as they marched in time toward the opposite side of the green.

“I’ll be alright,” the Hatter replied on a whisper. “No one will recognize me without my hat.”

Tony blinked, baffled and surprised, as the Hatter took off the top hat, setting it delicately atop Tony’s head. A Hatter without his hat - what kind of madness was that?

“It suits you.” The Hatter leaned in close, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek. He pulled back, smiling, as Tony reached up to touch the spot.

“I have to go,” Tony said, his face warming in what must have looked a shocking shade of pink.

“Of course.” The Hatter smiled his understanding, tipping the brim of the hat down in a small, coy gesture of affection. “And Anthony?”

Tony raised his eyebrows, entranced, breathless.

The Hatter’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do come back soon.”

~

Tony woke slowly, squinting at the sunshine. It took him a moment to place himself, blinking to clear his vision and take in his surroundings. Something firm and solid against his back - a tree. The tree under which he’d found the rabbit hole. So it had been a dream, after all.

“Hey, doll.”

Tony turned to find James Barnes leaning against one of the tree’s roots, kind blue eyes reflecting the afternoon light. He took in James’s face, and in his drowsy haze, Tony thought he might be looking at the Hatter. Was that mad, to think the two might be one and the same? “Hello,” Tony replied, drawing out the word in his sleep-muddled stupor. “What happened?”

“Found you sleepin’ against the tree,” James said. “Stuck around to make sure no one disturbed you.”

How thoughtful of him, to protect Tony from disruption. Tony tilted his head to the side, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” James lifted a book from the ground beside him, passing it to Tony. “I hope you don’t mind. I started reading it.”

“No. I don’t mind at all.” Tony took the book from James’s hands, flipping briefly through the pages before handing it back. “You’ve started it - you ought to finish. Fair payment for keeping watch while I slept.” Tony grinned. “Besides. I’ve read it before.”

James accepted the book gratefully, and he smiled, inclining his head in thanks.

Tony stared thoughtfully at James’s face. The resemblance to the Hatter was certainly there, but he thought he very much preferred James’s soft, charming countenance to the Hatter’s eccentricity. In fact, Tony realized, basking in the garden’s afternoon sun, enjoying the soft breeze and James’s good company, he quite preferred reality to any dream.

The Winter Soldier’s deadly aim had the gunman laid out before he could fire a second shot. Four bullets in quick succession, head, throat, chest, stomach. Three of those shots were entirely unnecessary. A waste of ammo. The Soldier didn’t care. He liked brutality; he wanted to make bad people bleed.

As soon as the gunman’s bloody skull cracked against the pavement, Bucky was back in control. He turned and knelt down next to Tony, his hands finding the wound and pressing down hard before he even had a chance to think. “Tony’s hit,” Bucky barked into the comms. “I need evac.”

A frustrating, terrifying pause.

“Heading your way,” Clint replied in Bucky’s earpiece. “ETA two minutes.”

Two minutes too long. Bucky ceded just enough control to the Soldier to stave off panic. Tony was out cold; might’ve been going into shock. Shit. Why hadn’t Bucky been paying more attention?

C’mon, doll. Wake up.

Tony’s eyes opened a fraction. The haze of unconsciousness cleared, and awareness bled slowly into warm brown irises.

“Bucky. What…” Tony glanced down to his left where Bucky’s hands were pressed down on his shoulder. “Fuck, that stings.”

“I know, baby,” Bucky said, not giving a damn if anyone on comms overheard. “I got evac comin’. Just try not to move.”

Tony flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You got it.”

Blood had seeped between Bucky’s fingers, staining his flesh hand, smearing over the metal of his prosthetic arm. Even with super strength to help maintain the pressure, he didn’t know how long Tony would last. He was half worried he was going to break Tony’s collarbone, but if he didn’t press hard enough-

“Bucky.”

Bucky blinked, his attention drawn back to Tony’s face. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going to die on you,” Tony said, his voice thin. “I promise. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Bucky insisted. “You’re bleedin’.”

“Occupational hazard,” Tony said, and this time his eyes were bright with humor before they squeezed shut, his teeth clenched on a hiss. The moment passed, but the strain didn’t leave Tony’s expression, even when he opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, as if an apology could do anything at all.

“Hey. Stop. I’m the one who jumped in front of you, remember?” Tony tilted his head back, taking a deep, shaky breath before meeting Bucky’s eyes again. “Besides. It’s not that bad.”

Bucky could tell when Tony was lying for his benefit. “How come you’re the one who’s hurt and you’re still tryin’ to make me feel better?”

Tony’s lips twisted into a pained smile. “If you could see the look on your face, you wouldn’t be asking that question.”

Bucky cursed inwardly. This position was too inhibiting, and he wished he could free his hands long enough to trace the edges of Tony’s jaw, to brush his thumb over Tony’s mouth. He never allowed himself to get that close outside of the privacy of Tony’s room, but damn it, if this was his last opportunity - if there was any chance Tony might go and die on him-

“Hey,” Tony said, reaching up and grasping Bucky’s chin firmly with his right hand. His grip softened, and then rough fingers skimmed gently over Bucky’s cheek. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

Bucky couldn’t explain why that made his eyes sting. He bit back against a wave of emotion, shoving it forcefully aside. He couldn’t fall to pieces now. He wouldn’t. “I’m thinkin’ that jumping into the line of fire while you weren’t wearin’ your suit was a stupid thing to do.”

Tony huffed, a small breath that hardly resembled a laugh. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Tony.” Bucky grew more serious, his intense focus fixed on Tony’s face. “You know I got the serum. You don’t have to take bullets for me.”

“I know,“ Tony said softly. He stared at Bucky, thoughtful, a depth of emotion in his eyes that Bucky didn’t quite understand. “People always do crazy things when they’re in love.”

That brought Bucky and the Soldier to a full stop. Tony was in love? In love with him?

That was impossible. Bucky was broken. Weak. Not good enough for Tony, whether or not Tony had enjoyed messing around the way they had these past few months. It made no sense - and somehow, confusingly, it made all the sense in the world.

“Maybe,” Bucky said, just barely finding his voice, “you can try somethin’ less crazy next time.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, somehow managing to flirt while he was bleeding out on the pavement. “You mean like… Dinner? Drinks? A moonlight serenade?”

Bucky grinned, his eyes prickling again. Hell. Tony Stark was becoming a liability, and Bucky didn’t even give a damn. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Okay,” Tony said, nodding his agreement. His smile faltered, a single tear sliding down from the outside corner of his eye. “I promise not to be so stupid next time.”

“Good.” Bucky gave in then, keeping his hands pressed on Tony’s shoulder as he leaned down to capture Tony’s lips in a kiss. He poured his heart out with the press of his lips, saying everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. I love you too. Of course I love you. Can’t remember a time when I didn’t. Tony met him with equal force, hooking a hand into Bucky’s hair to keep him close even when they broke apart.

“Alright, lovebirds,” came Clint’s voice in Bucky’s ear. Bucky looked up, spotting the Quinjet hovering above them. “I hate to interrupt, but did somebody order an evac?”

~

Helen’s treatment worked like a charm. With the bullet removed and the skin and muscle tissue regenerated, it was almost as if Tony had never been shot at all.

“What do you think?” Tony asked, slipping out of his blue tee to give Bucky a better view.

For a few seconds, Bucky forgot what he was supposed to be looking at. His eyes swept Tony’s well-toned abdomen, appreciative, before sliding slowly up to the spot in question. “Dunno,” Bucky said, stepping up behind Tony to trace the new skin with his fingertips. He dropped open-mouthed kisses along the ridge of Tony’s shoulder, not stopping until Tony’s head lolled to the side. “Think I can still tell the difference.”

Bucky felt more than saw Tony’s smirk. “I’d be insulted if you couldn’t.”

Bucky stayed there for a few seconds, breathing deeply, lips and nose still pressed against Tony’s skin. He couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that Tony was still here, still his. He’d almost lost this, whatever this thing was between them, before they’d even had the chance to define it. The thought made him want to wrap Tony tight in his arms and never let go.

“I love you, too, you know,” Bucky said quietly. The Soldier was still opposed to saying it out loud - something about fear of attachment, or maybe fear of rejection. Either way, it was time they admitted it. They were both completely gone on Tony Stark. “Sorry I couldn’t say it before.”

Tony turned in Bucky’s arms, hands moving to cradle Bucky’s face. He shook his head, denying Bucky’s apology without saying a word, stroking Bucky’s cheek with his thumb as he stared into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky sighed into the touch. What he had done for Tony Stark to love him, he would never know. All he could do was try his damnedest to deserve it. He nuzzled into Tony’s hand, drinking in Tony’s smile, then leaned down, his lips parting Tony’s in a kiss.

Tony’s feet met the earth as if he weighed nothing, and he bent his knees only out of habit as he landed. He remembered this part well, and yet he still went through the same motions as if they’d been rehearsed. A key, exactly where it should have been. Door, locked. Too big. And then the familiar note: DRINK ME. Well, a person ought to follow instructions. Tony drank, and Tony shrank, his whole body reduced to something far too small. Too small, too small. Then, another note: EAT ME. Tony ate, and Tony grew, stretching up and up until he was much too big! He could not fathom how even in dreams, one could not achieve a comfortable size.

Tears fell from Tony’s eyes in something of a waterfall, sadness leaking from him like water from a faucet. He had been too large for the door, and subsequently too small for the key, and now so much larger than before that it would be impossible to leave. It must have been the tears that made him shrink again, smaller and smaller, until he found himself trapped inside a bottle, floating through the keyhole and out the door. The water deposited him on the shore of a sandy beach, and he tumbled out of the bottle, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Tony looked around for a familiar face, then found his first companion, the White Rabbit. He followed the Rabbit, running but never growing tired, until they reached a small house in the middle of the wood. Tony knew before entering the house exactly what came next, small then big, big then small, over and over until he could scarcely remember what cake had turned him which size and whether he was supposed to be as tall as the trees or as itsy bitsy as a spider. He was beginning to dislike this repetitive growing and shrinking. It had become entirely too difficult to remember what size one was supposed to be.

The business with the Rabbit left Tony barely the height of a blade of grass, and while Tony could not remember his true height, he was quite sure that grass was meant to be shorter than people. Up to the ankles, or perhaps to the knees in the tallest places. This grass towered over him, casting shadows that blocked his whole body from the sun, threatening to knock him over as each blade moved with the breeze.

“How peculiar,” Tony said, squinting up and trying to see the trees. They were entirely too tall. Enormous, really, and frightening in their size.

“Peculiar,” a strange, low voice repeated.

Tony whirled around to see the Caterpillar perched atop a mushroom - a terribly large mushroom, almost as tall as the grass - puffing at his pipe. The colors were different this time, circles of smoke emerging in hues of pink and violet. The Caterpillar still looked just as Tony remembered, multicolored, with a dour expression fixed upon his face.

“Hello,” Tony said.

The Caterpillar’s scowl deepened. “Who are you?”

“Do you not remember?”

“No,” the Caterpillar replied, extending the vowel as long as he had breath. “I do not.”

Tony sighed. Perhaps since this was his own dream, its participants had no memories of anything at all prior to this moment. Was it sensible that while Tony had met the Caterpillar many times before, to the Caterpillar’s mind, Tony was entirely new?

A ring of smoke caught Tony in the face, and he choked, undignified, waving his hand to clear the bitter taste. “My name is Tony,” he managed through a cough.

The Caterpillar turned up his nose. “I do not care.”

Of course. The Caterpillar, ever ambivalent, never cared who Tony was or where Tony wanted to go. No matter what Tony did, the colorful creature would continue asking “Why?” in that terribly condescending tone, blowing smoke into Tony’s face, ignoring Tony’s questions.

“Do you know,” Tony began, hesitant, not convinced the Caterpillar could be of any help at all, “how I might make myself tall again?”

The Caterpillar pursed his lips. “Eating this mushroom may change your size.”

Tony reached for a piece of the mushroom and tucked it away into his pocket. He would not eat it in front of the Caterpillar - the urge to stomp on the creature once he’d returned to his normal height would be too great. “It was nice to meet you,” Tony said, though it had been anything but. Still, it would not do to forget his manners, even if the Caterpillar had been completely dreadful. “Good day.”

Tony put significant distance between himself and the caterpillar before popping the piece of mushroom warily into his mouth. He closed his eyes, waiting to grow taller, not feeling any different until he blinked his eyes open. He stared down at himself, satisfied to see that he was, in fact, the perfect size, tall enough to see above the grass and the bushes, short enough to be dwarfed by the trees.

He continued forward, certain there was more yet to do before this dream was done. He followed the path that wound its way into the forest, the trees looming tall, casting shadows that could have swallowed Tony whole. Tony had walked this path before, but he could not recall which fork to take and when. The wood grew dark, the patchwork of leaves above him blocking out the sun, and in addition to being horribly and completely lost, Tony became afraid, startling at the sounds of branches cracking and owls hooting in the trees.

At the third fork he encountered, he stopped, attempting to stare down into the distance for as far as each path went. It was hopeless. He had been this way before, he knew, but he could not recall which way to go; and did it matter, when he was fated to repeat the same steps, whether he remembered if they were right or not?

A small rumble of laughter sounded from above. Tony knew that voice. The Cat. What was his name? Ah, yes, the Cheshire Cat. Tony stopped, peering up into the menacing branches. “Hello?”

The Cat showed itself, its ringed tail appearing first, then its body, then its legs, and finally its fluffy head, split down the middle by a wide-toothed smile. The Cat blinked, opening its yellow eyes wide. “Hello,” it said in a deep, sinister voice. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Can you please tell me how to get to…” Tony frowned, trying to remember. “The March Hare’s house?”

The Cat made no reply, but pointed with one paw toward the left fork of the path.

“Thank you. I feel I’ve been down this way before, and still I’m lost. Perhaps I’m going mad.”

The Cat laughed, and to Tony’s wonder - or perhaps his horror - the Cat vanished, leaving nothing but those wide eyes and that enormous smile. “Oh, you can’t help that. We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“Am I?” Tony asked. “How would you know?”

The Cat’s head became suddenly visible, and it spun halfway around, its smile and eyes and nose entirely upside down. “If you weren’t mad, you wouldn’t be here.”

Tony pondered that a moment. Did it make one mad, dreaming about disappearing cats and talking rabbits in waistcoats and growing and shrinking to unfathomable sizes? Did it make one mad to dream the same dream over and over again? Perhaps it was only madness to dream the same dream and to follow the same path. Then again, perhaps this dream had only one true path, only one true ending. Could Tony change the substance or the outcome, even if he wished to?

Tony left the Cat behind and headed, determined, toward his destination. It took him barely any time at all to find the clearing where the Mad Hatter, the March hare, and the Dormouse were having tea.

“Hello,” Tony greeted, standing a few paces back from the table.

“Ah!” The entire company screamed. The Hare jumped from his seat. Tony jumped a little, too, not expecting such a strange reception. Things had never happened this way before.

“H-hello,” the Dormouse stuttered. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tony.”

“Hello, Tony,” the Hatter replied, his voice smooth and calm, his eyes alight with fascination. “Please, sit down.”

“Oh, yes,” the Dormouse agreed. “Do sit. We’re having tea.”

That was… Different. Wrong. The usual response was, Tony was sure, a cold one, with the Hatter, the Hare, and the Dormouse refusing to allow him a seat at the table.

“Tea?” Tony asked, still stuck reciting the same old words. He counted the cups on the table. One, two, three, four, five, six. Every cup was painted blue and white, each a different size. Too many cups for such a small group, but the same number he remembered. Perhaps their odd welcome was nothing. A small variation in the normal order. Nothing to concern himself with. The dream would go on as usual, with the Hatter and the Hare and the Dormouse shifting from seat to seat with a chorus of “Clean cup, move down!”

“I don’t believe I will sit down,” Tony replied finally. Then, remembering his propriety, “Thank you very much indeed.”

The Dormouse huffed. “How very impolite.” She rose from her small chair and jumped down from the table, making an indignant noise before disappearing into the grass.

“I am afraid I must agree with the Dormouse,” the Hare said, standing and pushing in each chair one by one before turning up his nose. “Good day.” He took his leave, following Dormouse, and Tony thought that surely this was not the same as it had been before.

The Mad Hatter smiled, still seated calmly at the table, making no move to leave. He took a delicate sip from his teacup, eyeing Tony over the polished porcelain. “Anthony. Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s… It’s not…” Tony closed his mouth, becoming so suddenly tongue tied that he could not say anything at all.

“Not what you were expecting?” the Hatter supplied.

“No,” Tony said, quite confused. “You’re meant to… Send me packing, I suppose.”

The Hatter nodded, thoughtful. “Then what?”

Tony frowned, concentrating hard to pull the memory from his mind. “I go to see the roses.”

The Hatter took another sip of tea, then returned his cup carefully to the saucer, standing up. “Very well, then. To the roses we shall go.”

Tony blinked and the Hatter was beside him, one hand outstretched. It seemed as though Tony was meant to grab on, and he did, both hands wrapping around the Hatter’s arm. He walked in step with the Hatter, who very nearly skipped, halting, jumping steps making Tony feel as though he was a rider to the Hatter’s horse.

The playing cards were painting the roses red. Tony remembered why - they had planted white roses by mistake, and the Queen of Hearts desired only red roses in her garden.

“You’ve missed a spot,” the Hatter said helpfully, touching one of the roses and allowing paint to coat his fingers. The playing cards gasped and guffawed, creating a commotion in their haste to cover their mistake. Finishing with one rose bush, they hustled and bustled to the next, painting furiously, in quite an extraordinary hurry.

The Hatter grinned, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Do you remember what happens next?” the Hatter asked in Tony’s ear.

Tony cast his eyes in the direction of the Queen’s castle. “We play croquet.”

The mallets were flamingos, the balls hedgehogs. The croquet ground was as Tony remembered, the earth coarse, the terrain uneven. The Queen brought with her an entourage, the King, the Gryphon, the Mock Turtle, the Duchess, and the White Rabbit all in attendance, along with an entire pack of playing cards.

Tony thought perhaps the Hatter had brought him luck. The playing cards fell one by one, bowled over by the Queen’s great skills in this strange, familiar version of the game. The Gryphon, caught up in his stories, paid absolutely no attention. The Mock Turtle moved too slowly, as was his norm, and the Duchess and the White Rabbit fell into conflict regarding the Duchess’s possession of the Cheshire Cat.

The Hatter threw the match, his hedgehog flying off in entirely the wrong direction, soaring into the sky and landing in the trees. Tony pitied the poor Three of Diamonds whose unhappy task it was to retrieve the creature so the game could continue.

The King fell to the Queen, each a worthy opponent to the other - and then they were left with only two. This was not as Tony remembered  The Queen always played first, and the Queen always won. And yet, this time, Tony’s hedgehog behaved rather strangely, rolling easily between the hoops, as if Tony had developed a level of incredible skill that made him superior at the sport.

When Tony won, the Queen was livid.

“You cheated!” the Queen bellowed, frightening the hedgehog so that it unrolled and skittered quickly away. The Two of Spades chased after it, little legs bouncing as it went.

“I did not cheat,” Tony defended, crossing his arms.

The Hatter grimaced, and the Queen’s face turned a remarkable shade of red until she appeared fit to burst.

“Off with his head!”

The Hatter grabbed Tony’s hand. “Now is the time to run.”

Tony froze, not comprehending. “Run?” he asked.

“Yes. Run.”

The Hatter tugged on Tony’s arm, pulling him forward into a sprawling sprint until Tony’s feet grew steady underneath him. Back across the croquet field they raced, the Queen and her playing cards close on their heels. They crashed through the trees, dodging and weaving out of sight, faster than Tony’s legs had ever carried him.

“Into the bushes!” the Hatter exclaimed, a barely intelligible cry that had them diving headlong into the red-painted roses.

He and the Hatter crouched inside the rose bush, untouched by the thorns, hidden from view. They were unreasonably close, the Hatter’s breath blowing warm over Tony’s face.

“Find them!” the Queen cried. Tony felt the whoosh of air as she brushed past them, her enormous skirts rustling the leaves and petals as she passed.

“I think,” the Hatter said under his breath, the croquet mallet still clutched in one hand, “it’s time for you to go.”

Tony did not disagree. There was no one to defend him, no one to topple the playing cards as Tony had once done with one swoop of his hand. He looked the Hatter up and down, lamenting that he had to leave such pleasurable company. Tony had never found this dreamland to be a wonderful place, not until the Hatter had become his companion. Tony considered, briefly, what might happen if he chose to stay.

For someone who was perfectly aware that this was all a dream, he had certainly become invested in this Hatter person, hadn’t he?

“But,” Tony said, perplexed and terribly concerned, “what about you?”

The playing cards trooped past the rose bush again, their chant fading into a faint echo as they marched in time toward the opposite side of the green.

“I’ll be alright,” the Hatter replied on a whisper. “No one will recognize me without my hat.”

Tony blinked, baffled and surprised, as the Hatter took off the top hat, setting it delicately atop Tony’s head. A Hatter without his hat - what kind of madness was that?

“It suits you.” The Hatter leaned in close, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek. He pulled back, smiling, as Tony reached up to touch the spot.

“I have to go,” Tony said, his face warming in what must have looked a shocking shade of pink.

“Of course.” The Hatter smiled his understanding, tipping the brim of the hat down in a small, coy gesture of affection. “And Anthony?”

Tony raised his eyebrows, entranced, breathless.

The Hatter’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do come back soon.”

~

Tony woke slowly, squinting at the sunshine. It took him a moment to place himself, blinking to clear his vision and take in his surroundings. Something firm and solid against his back - a tree. The tree under which he’d found the rabbit hole. So it had been a dream, after all.

“Hey, doll.”

Tony turned to find James Barnes leaning against one of the tree’s roots, kind blue eyes reflecting the afternoon light. He took in James’s face, and in his drowsy haze, Tony thought he might be looking at the Hatter. Was that mad, to think the two might be one and the same? “Hello,” Tony replied, drawing out the word in his sleep-muddled stupor. “What happened?”

“Found you sleepin’ against the tree,” James said. “Stuck around to make sure no one disturbed you.”

How thoughtful of him, to protect Tony from disruption. Tony tilted his head to the side, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” James lifted a book from the ground beside him, passing it to Tony. “I hope you don’t mind. I started reading it.”

“No. I don’t mind at all.” Tony took the book from James’s hands, flipping briefly through the pages before handing it back. “You’ve started it - you ought to finish. Fair payment for keeping watch while I slept.” Tony grinned. “Besides. I’ve read it before.”

James accepted the book gratefully, and he smiled, inclining his head in thanks.

Tony stared thoughtfully at James’s face. The resemblance to the Hatter was certainly there, but he thought he very much preferred James’s soft, charming countenance to the Hatter’s eccentricity. In fact, Tony realized, basking in the garden’s afternoon sun, enjoying the soft breeze and James’s good company, he quite preferred reality to any dream.