Cowboy Like Me
Bruce happens to have this nasty habit of volunteering to do things that will only inevitably end very badly. Volunteering to be Tony Stark’s field trip buddy freshman year. Volunteering to help research gamma radiation with the military. Volunteering to clean up after the Prom.
Terrible, terrible ill-fated things with accompanying life-long trauma.
So, of course, Bruce volunteers to stay with Thor because Mr. Coulson has a meeting.
(“Do you know the number for poison control?” Mr. Coulson had asked.
Bruce reflected on all his experience with Tony for a moment. “I have it memorized,”
“Great,” Mr. Coulson had said, slipping him an index card with a hasty scrawled 09 number. “And call this number if Thor happens to… pass on.”)
Thor seemed alright, or at least not in serious mortal peril if the steady rise and fall of his back was any indicator. Of course, Bruce knew next to nothing about Thor, but you didn’t need intimate details of a person’s life to make sure they didn’t die while mildly comatose, right? Totally a universal experience?
Why couldn’t he have just been left in charge of that kid in his higher physics class who claimed women didn’t deserve equal rights because of “biological inferiority”.
Oh God, he was going to kill Thor. He was going to kill Thor, Thor who always lit up like an electrical storm and waved whenever he passed Bruce in the hallway despite having absolutely no reason to do so. God, Bruce couldn’t breathe, because, for the rest of his life, he would only be remembered as “that guy who killed Thor”. There went his plans of winning the Nobel Peace prize or traveling to India or not being a murderer or-
“Bruce,” Thor asked tentatively, hovering a hand over his shoulder “are you well?”
“Am I well?” Bruce laughed, a hysterical noise even to his own ears.
“Yes. You appear quite stressed.”
Bruce, put lightly, was fucking bamboozled. “Thor, you’re literally having a near-death experience, and you’re worried about my emotional state?”
“I would hardly consider this a near-death experience. Barely even a brush with death.” Thor waved a hand in the universal expression of dismal. “Irregardless, I am not the one - what is the phrase, oh yes - “freaking out”.”
Bruce threw his hands in the air. “I was afraid you were going to die! I think that’s something worth freaking out about!”
“Banner,” Thor smiled patiently, as if dealing with a small child. “It shall take something much greater than Loki’s poison to kill me. He must be experimenting with new poisons after I built up an immunity to the last one.”
“Immunity? Built up an immunity? This is a common occurrence?”
“Oh yes, Loki was ever so distressed when he learned. I suppose after so many years one just naturally becomes accustomed.” Thor laughed, “Did no one tell you? I thought surely Clint would, after our adventure in physical education class last week. Were you not listening?” Thor squinted, “Are your hands turning green?”
Bruce’s hands were, in fact, turning green. Close your eyes and take deep breaths, inhale, exhale, and think happy thoughts. Next time, he was leaving Thor to deal with his stab wound with poison damage by himself.
“Banner,” Thor’s expression was soft again, all giant blue eyes and near pouting. “You do not seem well.”
“No! I’m trying to be mad at you, and you being the human personification of rainbow sprinkles is making that very difficult. I have so many questions!”
“I do not know what these “rainbow sprinkles” you speak of are, but I will take your words as a compliment.”
That did not make Bruce have fewer questions. Great now Bruce’s to-do list included both feeding Thor ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and killing him. How confusing.
“Oh thank God, Tony. I won’t even mention how I sent you to get Thor another shirt from Lost & Found and you disappeared for several hours and came back with Starbucks if you back me up that being poisoned and/or stabbed by your brother is fucking weird.”
Tony, wholly unbothered, shrugged, “Family’s just like that sometimes.”
Bruce was approximately three seconds away from utterly losing his poorly-contained-even-on-a-good-day shit. “You’re both social experiments gone wrong.”
Tony took a long sip of this strawberry acai refresher. “Didn’t you take a swing at a cop?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Wow, and after I touched regular people’s dirtyass clothes for you. Which, sorry, Point Break, but we’ve only got “the south will rise again”,” In one hand, he held up a camouflage hoodie with images of actual woods and deer superimposed onto it, ”and “further proof all gym teachers are perverts”.” In the other, Tony lifted the hot red and decidedly cropped top of the school’s cheerleading team. “Take your pick.”
Without hesitation, Thor selected the cheerleading uniform. Bruce had absolutely no thoughts or feelings about that whatsoever. Tony whistled as the thin material stretched over Thor’s chest. Bruce kicked him in the shins again.
“What? I’m shameless. We been knew.”
“As much as I appreciate the defense of my honor, Banner, I even more appreciate the compliment.” Thor grinned, and oh god, it was almost sly, “Especially from someone such as Anthony.”
Bruce should have seen the signs coming, but no, he didn’t want to believe it. “No. Absolutely not. Stop feeding into each other.”
“Why, Mr. Odinson, you do flatter me. That’s it! You just have to attend my party!”
“Party?” Bruce groaned, “You promised to stop throwing parties in the tower when I’m sleeping there.”
“Surprise!” Tony, the backstabbing bitch, was even doing jazz hands, “Do you think I should invite Rogers? I bet his head will explode when he sees all the “debauchery”. It’ll be almost as much fun as when Beyonce spit on me at that charity gala!”
Bruce sighed. “Suck a dick, Anthony. I’m sleeping on the lawn.”
*
If there was one thing Natasha Romanov was good at, it was detecting a ruse. Call it years of intensive training in hypervigilance and honing her instincts, or simply not being a goddamn idiot, but this Coulson situation was suspicious with a capital sus.
Clint, however, did not share her suspicions.
“I dunno, Tasha,” Clint, currently lying backward of their couch, said, “maybe it is a scam, but a good scam. Like those free church brunches where you have to sit through a sermon about how eating shrimp is a sin, but then you get breakfast at the end.”
“Phil isn’t Jesus pancakes, Clint.”
Clint swung himself upright, stumbling as the blood rushed from his head. “No, but he isn’t a secret agent either. Not anymore anyway, he’s retired.””
“And getting a job at our school?”
“Mid-life crisis?” Clint shrugged. “Better than getting a shiny red sports car shaped like a dick.”
She could feel him deflecting, in the slight inflection of his voice and the too-wide stretch of his smile. Clint wasn’t scant on details, but she knew Coulson had bailed him out of a bad situation. Still, Clint’s feelings for Coulson extended beyond owing a debt, and Clint was far too world-weary to go starry-eyed with gratitude over a few kind gestures. Clint held honest, unconflicted trust in Coulson, and didn’t entirely doubt his motives. Natasha liked Coulson well enough, but she doesn’t trust him. Doesn’t trust his allegiance to the government. And especially doesn't trust his unprompted kindness. Natasha isn’t naive enough to blindly follow adult men who like playing savior to lost teens.
Maybe she’d let her guard down too far, gotten too comfortable. Clint had rescued found her, and she’d allowed herself to be immersed in his world. Allowed Coulson to enroll her in American public school, and to design her a whole new identity as Natalie Rushman. Everything but house her, as her shitty one-bedroom apartment she shared with Clint could attest. Coulson was still unaware of their location, but that was far more of a courtesy than a lack of ability to find them.
Stupid, perfect, idiot Clint always seemed to know what she was thinking. “Let's talk about more pressing matters, like why fucking Tony Stark called Thor a man, but me a guy?” His voice is light, joking, but there’s a softness to his features.
“Obviously because Thor’s a man and you’re a guy.”
“Well, you’re a fiend and a traitor.” Clint gasped, clutching his chest.
“Really, I would have thought you’d be more insulted by the clown joke. Which, for the record, I think your clown crimes were definitely fucked up, but not necessarily evil.”
“Oh, I could be an evil clown if I wanted to. Check the “evil clowns” page of Clownopedia this time next week and you’ll be in for a surprise, bitch.” Clint argued.
Natasha would not be reassured and comforted by stupid banter about clowns, she would not be, would not be, would not b-
“Is this a new Joker origin story?”
Clint stuck out his tongue. “Ew, no. I’m not gay or misogynistic enough to be the Joker. Besides, becoming the Joker would betray the whole Robin thing I have going on. We really need more “orphan acrobats who joined the circus” solidarity.”
“I think you’re plenty gay enough. Just last week you pretended to drown so Tony Stark would give you CPR.”
“Fuck that guy, but how else would you have me attract the attention of a playboy billionaire with a superhero alter ego?”
“I’m getting that printed as business cards. Expect a thousand “I’m a gay clown, ask me how?” cards by Tuesday ”
“Grow up, Tasha, all clowns are gay. It’s a known principle of the circus. Like body glitter and eating out of the garbage.”
“Eating out of the garbage?”
Clint fixed her with his most serious look, “Carnival food is a joke, Tasha. Fried dough? More like fired lies.”
It’s ridiculous and petty and so human, but the age-old instincts, the one always whispering in the back of her mind, telling her to run and run and never stop, is quieted by something as simple as Clint bumping his shoulder against hers. As the ease with which he wraps an arm around her. Natasha doesn’t do trust, doesn’t do connection, but Clint-
It’s been an awfully long time since Natasha had a friend.
She settles beside them on their disgusting couch, throwing her legs into his lap.
“Speaking of Tony Stark,” Clint says, “he’s throwing a party tonight. You can do some recon on our new besties, and I can get pissed on his rich people booze. It’s a win/win.”
Clint lays his head upon her shoulder. “And if Phil turns out to be evil, we’ll leave, anywhere in the world you want to go, I’ll follow. I’m flunking algebra anyways.”
Natasha can’t resist. “How about Budapest?”
Clint groans, “You and I remember Budapest very differently.”