Three
three
Tony stops himself from scrubbing a hand over his face and settles instead for running his fingers through his hair frustratedly. Huddled in a janitor's closet with a broom pinning his thighs down, he re-applies the concealer and makeup to his face with one hand. With the other, he holds his phone up like a mirror, making sure he looks okay. He would’ve gone to the restrooms and done this if it hadn’t been so full of muscly man-apes hooting and wiping their sweaty, post-PE faces. (Not to mention that Steve Rogers was one of them.) Man, if Howard saw me now--putting on makeup like a girl--he'd flip out, he thinks bitterly. He makes sure to leave his black eye and purple nose though, because it'd be weird if Pietro and his friends saw him and noticed his bruise from the day before had completely disappeared. It's just the jaw he needs to cover up, this time. The makeup he’d put on before school had been rubbing off.
Finally done, he puts his ear to the door to make sure no one is coming close or walking past, stuffing his makeup kit into his backpack. Relieved that it seems to be silent out, Tony slips through the door and flicks off the light--and comes face to face with Mr. Yinsen.
“Anthony?” The old yet kind looking man looks at him oddly. “What were you doing in there?”
“Hey, Mr. Yinsen,” Tony says, putting on a smirk. “Let’s just say...sometimes boys have needs that must be taken care of in private.”
Then he continues to walk past, ignoring his favorite teacher as he leaves down the hall. It’s time to go find Bruce. He doesn’t like what the implications of Yinsen’s gaze could mean. Which is to say, What does it mean?
When Tony finally finds the perfect candidate to be his science bro, it’s at the entrance of the school. Bruce is waiting for Tony nervously, shifting from foot to foot as he pushes his glasses up his nose awkwardly. Finally, the teen comes scooting out, checking his watch. “Brucie! My favorite!” Tony says loudly.
“It’s three thirty,” Bruce says, glancing at the energetic boy next to him.
“Yeah, I know, sorry,” Tony babbles, “but believe me, all will be forgiven when you see what I have in store.”
They walk over to Tony’s hot rod red Ferrari, which has a gold lightning bolt sort of thing running across either side. Tony spreads his arms wide. “This is Betty,” he says happily. “Betty, meet Bruce. Bruce, Betty.”
“Um...who?” Bruce stammers. He looks around. Is Tony messing with him?
“The car,” Tony says impatiently. “Betty is this beautiful baby.” He raps his knuckles against the window of the vehicle.
“Oh, well, nice to meet you,” Bruce says, feeling absolutely and utterly stupid. “Uh...do I...I’ll get in…”
Tony hops to the side and swings open the passenger door with a flourish. “After you, Banner.”
Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder and Bruce turns around, jumping back instinctively.
“Hey,” Tony says, suddenly a lot more cold, “Don’t do that to my science buddy, Capitan Underpants.”
Steve Rogers frowns down at the billionaire’s son, arms folding into a hard pretzel. “What are you doing with Bruce? I thought Pietro made it clear not to harass any of us.”
Bruce opens his mouth, but Tony beats him to it. “I’m not harassing him,” he says stiffly. “We’re going to my house to science.” The teen looks Steve up and down slowly. “Not that you’d understand that.”
Steve grits his teeth. “Listen here, Stark”--and Bruce sucks in a breath; is he really going to have to watch Tony get beat up for the second time in two days?--when Tony sprints to the driver’s side and gets in. “Bruce, let’s go!” he hollers.
Bruce looks at Steve. They’ve never been very close--he’s always felt like an outsider in their tiny, tight-knit group. But still…
“C’mon,” Tony says, waving impatiently. “Unless you don’t want to come. It’s cool, I get it.” The last part is shot out so fast that Bruce almost misses it.
“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Steve says. “That he’s bothering you.”
“He’s not bothering me.” The teen surprises himself as he says it, but even as his mind struggles to understand what he’s just said, his legs are carrying him to the passenger’s seat.
Steve gapes as Tony grins and shoots up the engine, screeching out of the parking lot. Bruce doesn’t look back.
The drive is short, especially with this smooth and fast car, so within the span of twenty minutes Bruce finds himself standing in the lab of Stark mansion, almost sad that he won’t get to explore anything in this massive place. “Your house is amazing,” he says quietly.
Tony winks at him. “Of course it is, I live here.” Then the genius claps his hands together. “Okay, so, knock yourself out. I’m just here for technology, but you’re definitely here for that chemistry shit or whatever you do.”
Bruce hesitates. “I’m...I’m allowed to...touch this?” he says, surprised. Even more so because he can’t believe Tony’s letting him run wild with all of this high-tech, gorgeous equipment. What if he breaks it? What if Tony ends up--ends up suing his family?
“Why wouldn’t you,” Tony says, cocking his head. He hops up onto a table and picks up a tablet, fiddling with it.
“Won’t your dad get mad?” Bruce says, but then Tony snorts and shakes his head. “Fuck no, you think this is his? All of this I built myself. The machinery, the tech, everything except for the telescopes and tables and shit.”
Bruce’s eyes widen. He knows Tony’s a genius. But seeing the real, touchable products of his genius is something else magical altogether.
Tony seems to like Bruce’s shocked silence and smirks. “Get to it,” he says. “I’ve got my own code to work with.”
Bruce’s cell rings. “Hold on,” he mumbles, “I have to, sorry, I have to take this.”
“Sure,” Tony says, engrossed now with whatever he’s doing on his device. “Come back when you feel like sciencing, Big Green.”
Bruce doesn’t even bother questioning Tony’s weird nickname.
Outside, with the glass doors slid shut again, he slips his phone from his pocket and checks the caller ID. It reads, “Clint Barton.”
“Hello?” Bruce says. “Clint?”
“Steve told me you went home with Tony Stark,” the other boy says incredulously. “Tony Stark. Hey, if he’s blackmailing you or forcing something over your head, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Bruce shakes his head before remembering Clint can’t see him. “I, um, I wanted to come. It’s okay.”
“Wanted to?” Clint says. “Why? And remember, he literally killed Wanda and Pietro’s parents and he’s an asshole and--why?”
For some odd reason, Bruce finds himself getting irritated. He’s had a therapist for three years now, working with him on his anger issues, and he digs his nails into his palms to tamp down his emotions. “He’s not so bad. And that was his dad who killed their parents.”
Clint sputters. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree though,” the teen says.
Bruce’s blood turns to ice in his veins. “What?” he says, and has to lean against the wall to calm himself. “I--I--”
Clint realizes what he’s said, remembers that Bruce’s dad is quite possibly the most disgusting monster he’s ever met (even worse than his own dad who apparently has no ability to stick around), and bursts out, “Oh, God, Bruce, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that--”
Bruce hangs up. He’s sick and tired of “I didn’t mean it like that”s. He puts his phone back in his pocket and stumbles into the lab, chest knotted up.
“He’’s back,” Tony exclaims, but the light in his eyes dies when he sees the state Bruce is in. “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” He slides off the bench and puts down his tablet, coming over to Bruce. His fingers flutter like he’s going to touch him but then changed his mind.
“Nothing,” Bruce says, his voice tight, shaking his head as if that alone could erase what Clint has said--even if by accident.
Tony pauses before hopping up onto the work table, carelessly shoving vials and beakers aside. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. Shouldn’t have asked.” Dark brown eyes connect with dark brown. “But...I’m here if you need to talk, you know. I get that some people just need to vent sometimes.”
“Do you, ever?” Bruce asks hesitantly, then clarifies, “need to vent.”
“Most of the time,” Tony admits. “But no point, right? Putting my shit on other people just because I feel like it.”
“That’s unhealthy.”
Tony quirks his lips at Bruce. “I could say the same for you. You don’t exactly look like someone who likes to talk about themselves, Brucie bear.”
“Brucie bear,” the other boy says dryly. The banter between the two seems to come as smoothly as butter, and Bruce is grateful for it. Despite the fact that Clint had spoken carelessly and without really registering what he was saying, he’s still a little shaken about it. Thank God for Tony, he finds himself thinking.
Tony nods eagerly as if this nickname is the most inventive thing in the world. “It fits you,” the teenager says. “You look all fluffy and warm and cuddly but I bet you have some teeth underneath.”
Bruce snorts. “Maybe.”
Tony claps his hands together and grins. “Okay, sciencing time for you now, kay? No more talking about anything else. You go science and I’ll go tinker.”
Bruce feels something warm expand in his chest, where just minutes previously a knot had been, and picks a slide from the array of samples on the table. He sneaks a quick glance at Tony, where the teen is already completely engrossed in whatever he’s doing--it seems to be a mini robot, from what Bruce can see. For the first time in what seems like ages, Bruce smiles a little and feels the happiness of everything swallowing him up in a little cocoon.