Two
He can see it in the creases of her forehead, the downturned corners of her mouth, and the angry slant of her eyebrows that Wanda is pissed. No, more than pissed. She's furious.
She snatches Pietro by the elbow and drags him over to the wall next to the bathrooms, surprisingly strong. When had she moved from being his little sister to an independent young woman?
Her dark eyes pierce his blue ones as she glares at him. “Tony Stark is the son of one of the wealthiest men on the planet,” Wanda says fiercely. “He can do anything to us that he wants. Do you not think that Howard Stark will want revenge? Have you ever thought of someone besides yourself? Think of me! Do you know what could happen to us both?”
Pietro swallows, allowing his bangs, bleach-white, to fall into his face. “I...I did not think of that.”
“Of course you did not!” Wanda snaps. “You never use your brain, Pietro!” Then she sighs and wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. “Be more careful, мой брат,” Wanda murmurs. Pietro feels a spark of warmth at the words “moy brat”, my brother. They have not used the mother language for oh so long.
“I will,” he tells her softly, like a promise. But he says it in Russian so it comes out “я буду”, ya budu, instead.
~-~
Tony can feel that it's going to be a bad night as soon as he steps through the doorway into his house. The atmosphere pulses with tension, and faintly, he can hear Howard screaming. Already. He makes a face. It's only six o’clock, even though it's surprisingly dark outside, so Howard can't be drunk. It's too early.
Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he quietly turns the corner to see that not only is Howard drunk too early, but his mother is also standing there, face tear-stained and hands trembling. Howard's coffee cup lies shattered in pieces on the floor, brown liquid pooling over the hardwood. Papers slowly soak more and more in the mess, the writing on it already illegible. Tony sucks in a breath, thinks, Shit.
“Huh?” Howard shouts, flinging his arm at the mess. “What do you call this? Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters before spitting: “Can't do anything right, can you. Stupid bitch.”
Tony flinches instinctively, even though he's not even the one whom Howard is mad at.
Howard raises his hand, fingers splayed, and Tony shouts before he can really think things through: “STOP!”
His father turns, sees his son standing frozen in the doorway, and smiles. There's a glint in his eyes, something crazed. “What did you say, Anthony?”
His defiance wins. “I told you to stop, asshole,” Tony blurts before stepping back, cursing his loose cannon of a mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He doesn't even see the punch coming until Howard's fist is already sunk deep into his gut. He hears a strangled noise, thinks vaguely, That was me, before gasping for air. He chokes, doubling over, and a backhanded slap catches his throat. It feels like someone's dropped a huge hairball into his lungs, and when he struggles to say sorry, his voice comes out raspy and hoarse and broken. “I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry I'm sorry.” Through the haze of pain, he sees that María is long gone.
He knows that sixteen year olds shouldn't be this weak, so he stifles a sob even as Howard backhands him again, this time across the jaw. He lies on the floor, curls up. Why don't you fight back? he's asked himself thousands of times. Even through it all, is it a lingering sense of love for his dad?
His back flares up in pain from the kicks. Knuckles land on his shoulder, his forearm, cracking against the side of his ribs. Tony clenches his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. It'll be over soon. It's going to be okay.
In the morning, he feels worse than crap. He's sore and aches all over where Howard colored him black and blue yesterday. His throat is a faint green, and there are even some yellow and purple patches on his shoulder. I'm a walking rainbow, Tony thinks bitterly as he yanks a shirt over head. He pulls on a jacket that has a neck long enough to cover his bruised throat.
He wishes Jarvis, his old butler, were here. But Jarvis is long gone, fired personally by Howard Stark two years ago. It still hurts him to think about it. Jarvis was his first real family member in all of his first fourteen years.
“Hi, Mama,” he mutters as he enters the kitchen, hair still tousled from a night of tossing and turning. He purposely tries to forget how she just left her own son to Howard's mercy, and grabs a bagel that he knows tastes horrible. “Why're you up so early? You usually wake up at twelve or one.” Tony fights to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
María Stark looks at him, eyes bloodshot, and shrugs. “Couldn't rest.” A pill bottle sits on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”
Tony stiffens, but he clamps down on the anger that's just flared in his veins. “It was hard to when every time I breathed it hurt,” he says quietly.
“Honey--”
He pushes past his mother, who is feebly calling after him, and feels immediately like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders once the front door closes behind him. María is family, but only by blood. She's motherly to him, he supposes, but not often. Most days she spends passed out in her bedroom with empty cocktail glasses littered on her nightstand and pills scattered across the carpet.
Happy, the latest and best (by Tony's standards) driver, asks, “Ready?” The genius nods wordlessly and gets into the backseat of the sleek Aston Martin. He usually lets Happy drive him to school because the guy can at least lift his spirits. That way, his smiles are a little less forced.
~-~
Bruce closes his eyes. He doesn't need to pinch himself--he knows very well that he's not dreaming--but still...it couldn't hurt to try. It seems like within the span of two days, he's been seeing Stark’s name everywhere, coupled with his. First it was the tent group...now it's bus seating. And of course, of course, Tony Stark is sitting with him. But then, so is Wanda, and maybe Bruce will get lucky and end up with the girl in the middle.
He's only exchanged a few words with the dark haired twin from Sokovia, but fortunately, Wanda seems nice enough as well as the type who would understand Bruce's predicament. But Tony...okay, so, he might have a little tiny crush on the genius. But only because he has one of the most magnificent minds in the world, he's actually pretty muscular from time spent in his workshop, and he's hot.
Bruce feels his face redden. Where had that thought come from? Plus, if Brian Banner wasn't locked up in jail, he would've killed Bruce for having such “homo” thoughts. But Dad isn't here, he has to remind himself silently.
“Hey, Brucie!” he hears all of a sudden. He shoves his glasses self-consciously up his nose but leaves the hair; his curls are such a mess that they'll never get untangled. He turns to see Tony rushing at him with a wide grin on his face.
“I have a proposal!” the genius continues. Without waiting for a reply, he barrels on. “Since you're, like, supersmart--I read your papers on gamma radiation and they're brilliant--and we’re going to be sitting on the bus together and sharing a tent, I thought, why not have a little bonding time?” Tony nudges Bruce lightly. “I can drive you home tonight, my place isn't far and I don't mind taking you home either. So after school? I can show you my workshop, it's really cool and my dad won't be home till seven so we’ll still have like three to four hours--”
“No,” Bruce blurts. His mind barely has time to register Tony's compliment before the rest of the guy’s speech clicks in. “I mean, sorry, that was rude, uhm, sorry...I’m busy tonight,” he blatantly lies. Spending time with Tony Stark might give him a heart attack, if the car doesn't first.
Tony's expression wavers for a second. “It's okay. We can shorten it to one hour. Come on. It'll be fun. Just sixty minutes and you can play with all the science-y toys you want.”
Bruce shakes his head quickly. “I'm busy, sorry,” he says.
Tony bites his lower lip before nodding. “Don't say I didn't offer, though,” he says before turning to retreat.
“Wait,” Bruce says, unsticking the words from his throat. “I...uhm...actually, I think I can do one hour. But just one.”
It's as if someone's flipped the lightbulb in Tony's eyes on; his face lights up immediately like he's just gotten the best Christmas present ever. “Okay, that's perfect,” he says brightly. “I'll come find you at three, ‘kay, Brucie?”
“Y-yeah,” Bruce stammers before taking off as fast as he can without appearing rude. His heart is still thud-thud-thudding like a drum in his chest.
In all honesty, he's both relieved and disappointed that he'd lied about being busy. Maybe if he hadn't, he could spend at least three more hours with the guy. Well, it's not like I have a chance anyway, Bruce thinks to himself. Tony has a well known reputation for being not only a rich genius, but also a playboy, and nobody has ever guessed that he is anything but straight.
Bruce sighs, letting his tangled brown curls flop into his eyes, and hunches his shoulders instinctively. He figures that anything to do with Tony Stark will not end up well for him.